by Donna Jay
Corporate Lines
By Donna Jay
Copyright © 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except for the use of brief quotations in any review or critical article, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is forbidden without prior written permission from the author, Donna Jay.
Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorised editions.
Acknowledgements
Heartfelt thanks go to my esteemed beta-readers, proof-reader, and editor. This is a better book because of you.
Chapter 1
Simone
Shortly after five-thirty, Simone exhaled a sigh of relief. She closed her eyes, basking in the absolute silence.
No phones ringing, no clients to placate, no staff vying for her attention, nothing but the gentle hum of the air conditioner.
Unlike her co-workers, she didn’t race out the door at five on the dot. Why would she? She didn’t have anyone special waiting for her at home. Not even a pet.
Thoughts of Blackie stabbed her in the chest. It’d been six months since he’d been hit by a car, and the pain of losing him was still raw.
Shaking off her melancholy, Simone opened her eyes. Rather than groan at the mountain of paperwork staring back at her, she welcomed it. This was when she was at her optimum.
Without constant interruptions, she would accomplish more in the next two hours than she’d managed to all day. But first, coffee was in order.
She stood, hands on her lower back, groaning when her spine let out a satisfying crack.
In the staffroom, she pulled open the fridge and grabbed the carton of milk. The rubbish bin beside it was overflowing and reeked to high heaven.
The sooner the cleaner arrived the better.
Her stomach flip-flopped as memories of Tuesday night came back to her. A cleaner she’d never seen before had stolen her attention.
The woman was stunning, all long legs, high cheekbones, thick, black lashes framing piercing blue eyes. An image of her in the company issue blue smock skidded through Simone’s mind. It had to be at least one size too small. It clung to every curve of her body and was so short it barely covered her backside.
When she’d bent over to vacuum, Simone’s traitorous gaze had locked on the strip of creamy flesh between her lace-topped stockings and the hem of her tawdry work smock.
Who the hell wore sexy lingerie to work? Okay, Simone did. But not for all the world to see. And she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing nylons while cleaning toilets and scrubbing floors.
The memory of the woman catching her staring made her cheeks flush, just like they had that night. She’d diverted her gaze, but too late.
Glancing over her shoulder, the cleaner had raised an eyebrow and casually asked, “Would you like me to dust lower?”
Flustered, Simone hadn’t bothered answering. Who wouldn’t want a closer look? The woman was sex on legs. She was also an enigma.
What puzzled Simone the most was why she hadn’t been upset when she caught Simone blatantly staring at her backside. She’d practically offered to give her a better view. And why was Simone still thinking about her?
Back at her desk, she tore open a muesli bar and reached for the folder stamped Accounts Payable. She had some great employees, more than capable of doing their jobs, but it was better to stay on top of things before budgets and goals got blown to shit.
An hour and two journal entries later, the rattle of the front door pierced the silence, closely followed by a distant voice calling out, “It’s just me.”
Simone’s heart leapt into her throat. Was it the same cleaner as two nights ago, or was the old cleaner back? She hoped for the first and prayed for the latter. She would love to lay eyes on the woman again, but at the same time, she didn’t need the distraction.
There was work to be done, and their regular cleaner had learned long ago not to engage in conversation.
Why the hell was her heart pounding against her ribcage? Shaking her head at how ridiculous she was being—she was thirty-three not thirteen—Simone picked up the folder stamped Payroll.
Figures swam in her vision, but nothing sunk in. Not knowing who was there was killing her. But more than that, why did she care?
She took her glasses off and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Focus, Emmett.
“Sorry. I didn’t think anyone was here.”
That voice, the husky timbre, it was her. Simone knew before she put her glasses back on and her vision cleared.
“I called out.” The woman shot her a dazzling smile.
“It’s fine. I was lost in thought.” Simone pointed to the pile of paperwork, glad the woman had no way of knowing it was her occupying Simone’s mind.
Other than the smock that barely contained her assets—God, how hadn’t Simone noticed all that cleavage?—she was nothing like their regular cleaner.
The woman had an air about her that screamed power, which was extremely odd considering Simone was the one with a job that gave her authority over others. But were power and authority the same thing?
Ugh, if she didn’t stop daydreaming she might as well make up the small sofa in the corner of her office and stay the night.
“I’ll be quiet as a mouse.” The woman tiptoed into her office…wearing high heels.
If she hadn’t been eyeballing her, Simone would’ve pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“That’s fine, um…” she trailed off, desperate to know the woman’s name but damned if she’d ask.
She glanced at payroll, shut the file, and folded her hands on top. “What’s your name?” She cursed her traitorous mouth.
“Jane.”
“Doesn’t suit you,” Simone said at the same time as her brain screamed do not engage.
“Why? Don’t you think I’m plain enough?” She batted her eyelashes.
She would not answer that. She was at work for God’s sake, not at a hook-up bar, even though that’s what it felt like right then.
“Look, I’m really busy”—And really fucking attracted to you—“so please keep it down.”
In all her thirty-three years, Simone had never lusted after someone she’d barely exchanged two words with, yet here she was, crushing hard.
Needing a distraction, she turned her attention back to payroll. Why did those two zeros look like boobs?
True to her word, quiet as a mouse, Jane set to work, emptying rubbish bins, dusting shelves, spritzing fake potted plants, and leaving her intoxicating scent all over the place like a dog marking its territory.
Calling on all her reserves of self-restraint, Simone managed to tune Jane out for long enough to get through the timesheets.
Why hadn’t Dave entered any hours for the week? He’d already been spoken to, twice actually, about completing his timesheet daily.
Alex was great at data input, but too soft when it came to chasing up timesheets, yet another reason Simone liked to keep her finger on the pulse. Cleaning up everyone’s shortcomings at the end of the week didn’t bear thinking about.
Lost in thought, she leapt out of her chair, back arching, backside lifting off the padded leather seat, when hands connected with her shoulders.
“Relax,” Jane practically purred the word. “You’re so tight.”
How the fuck did she make that sound hot, and what the hell did she think she was doing?
Get your hands
off me. The words were loud and clear in Simone’s head, but a lump of lust prevented her from ejecting them.
Jane pressed her thumbs into the base of Simone’s skull, massaging in slow circles. Damn, that felt good. Her eyes closed; shoulders relaxing.
“Does your wife help you unwind?”
“No wife.” Oh, right, now it was okay for her mouth to work.
No life either. At least her mouth and brain were in agreement, because nothing about this situation felt real.
It felt so right, yet oh, so wrong.
A thought slammed into Simone. Why had Jane asked about a wife? Perhaps Simone had a husband. Two could play this game. Or whatever the fuck this was.
“Does your husband help you unwind?”
A throaty laugh bubbled out of Jane. “No husband, and let’s not play games. You’re as gay as I am.”
Did Simone have lesbian stamped across her forehead? No. She was femme and had often been told ‘you’re too pretty to be a lesbian.’ A backhanded comment she found as flattering as it was insulting.
But whether she was gay or not wasn’t the issue.
“You know nothing about me.” She flicked Jane’s hand off her shoulder like a pesky fly. “Get back to work or I’ll report you for harassment.”
That earned her a deep, throaty chuckle.
Before she could draw her next breath, her chair was spun in a half-circle. And there she sat, facing the back of her office with Jane straddling her lap.
She felt off-kilter from being rapidly spun around and from the entire crazy situation. A glimpse of mauve panties swam in her vision.
The heat of the cleaner’s thighs seared into Simone, her perfume flooded her nostrils, and her deep blue eyes held her captive.
Unable to speak, Simone swallowed hard. Why was she turned on? She should be terrified. But she wasn’t. The feeling of being out of control had awoken something deep inside her she’d buried long ago. But this gorgeous specimen of a woman couldn’t possibly know that.
“Oh, really, you want to report me for harassment?” Jane trailed a finger down Simone’s face, mapping her cheekbone. “Perhaps I should report you for ogling me?”
Fuck.
Like a criminal trying to cover her tracks, she scoffed. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. Women check each other out all the time.”
“Maybe.” Jane lifted one shoulder. “But there’s a difference between checking someone out and undressing them with your eyes.”
Her smile was cocky. Damn her to hell. Why wasn’t she cleaning?
“Get off me,” Simone said, trying to sound stern and failing.
God, why was she pulsing with need? She hadn’t had a one-night stand since she was a teenager. It had been hot as hell, but back then she was young and reckless, not the CEO of a one-stop home renovation shop.
“You need to leave.”
“You need to relax.” Jane stood, spun the chair back around, and resumed massaging her shoulders.
“Why are you doing this?” Simone groaned when Jane dug her thumbs in, kneading a knot between Simone’s shoulder blades.
“Because I like you.”
“We’re practically strangers,” Simone said, ignoring the ache between her legs.
The chair spun again, and she was met by a gaze so intense, her breath hitched. After a brief standoff, Simone started to squirm.
The tilt of Jane’s mouth drew Simone’s gaze to her luscious, red lips. “I’m not that strange.”
“Maybe not, but you’re terrifying.” The only thing she was afraid of was being reckless, because the tiny grasp she had on control was slipping between her fingers.
“Live a little. You’re stuck at work, I’m stuck at work. Let’s have some fun.”
God, would it really hurt to do what she said? Live a little. No one ever came back at night, the front doors were locked. The only security cameras on-site were downstairs and over the carpark.
Two cars were there, and they were supposed to be; hers and the cleaners. So, what was the issue?
“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave you be.” Jane held her ground, staring her down. Damn her.
Transfixed, Simone stood. The woman was captivating, pulling her in like an invisible force she was powerless against.
Jane cupped her face and kissed her, long and slow. Her lips tasted like cherry, and her fingertips were soft. Softer than any cleaner’s hands had the right to be.
Her tongue probed at the seam of Simone’s mouth. Without thought, she parted her lips, letting her in. The kiss deepened, and Simone moaned, leaning into the beautiful woman short-circuiting her brain.
When Jane broke the kiss, Simone froze. She wasn’t brazen enough to ask for more, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Jane walking away. Not now, not when she was throbbing with need.
Unsure where to put herself, Simone leaned against the desk. A pile of papers toppled over and hit the floor. “Dammit.” She dropped to her hands and knees, gathering them up.
When she glanced over her shoulder, Jane was sizing her up. Mortified, Simone tugged on the hem of her skirt.
“Nice,” Jane said, drawing out the word. “I’d love to introduce you to Nelly.”
Was she talking to Simone or her arse? This was all so…strange. Surreal.
“Who’s Nelly?” she asked against her better judgement.
“One of my toys.” Jane gave Simone’s backside a gentle slap, and Simone let out a squeal of surprise.
“Oh, please. That didn’t hurt.”
She was right. It felt fucking great, actually. When she turned, Jane was in her chair, legs slightly parted. The air between them crackled with sexual tension.
Jane had wanted the upper hand, and Simone had willingly given it to her. There was no point denying what was going on.
“Good girl.” Jane leaned back in the chair as if she belonged there.
With her legs slightly parted, Simone caught a glimpse of creamy thigh peeking over the top of Jane’s lace-top stockings. Her mouth watered. What would she taste like?
Oh, how she longed to please. It’d been a long time, but some things you never forgot, like the taste of a woman.
The bang of a door made her heart leap into her throat.
“Fuck,” Simone cursed at the same time as Jane.
She pushed up off the floor as Jane jumped out of the chair.
Shit, shit, shit.
What had she been thinking, and who the hell was downstairs? “Back in a minute.” Simone straightened her spine and walk-hobbled to the door. Goddamn it, where was her other shoe, and when had it come off?
Jane, who had regained her composure much quicker than Simone, pointed. “Over there.”
Glaring, Simone grabbed her shoe, slipped it on, and fled.
As she descended the stairs, a horrifying thought almost knocked her off her feet. She grabbed the handrail to steady herself. Had one of her work colleagues planted the so-called cleaner-substitute? If this was someone’s idea of a joke, heads were going to roll.
She never should’ve given in to temptation.
At the bottom of the stairs, a dim light in the kitchen department flickered in her peripheral vision.
Was the store being robbed? She doubted it. After everyone left, she’d locked up, and the cleaning company drilled into their staff not to leave premises unlocked. But Jane was new. Crap, did she remember to lock the door behind her?
Simone’s heart was pounding so hard her ribs hurt. She kicked her shoes off and crept forward, clutching one high heel in her hand like a deadly weapon.
“Who’s there?” she called out, pleased her voice didn’t crack.
When Hamish popped his head up, she wanted to cry with relief and curse him at the same time. But she couldn’t do that. She never lost her cool at work. “Hey, boss. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
Suspicion bubbled to the surface. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Um, your car’s in the carpark.”
He scrunched up his face. “You feeling okay? You look a little flushed.”
The urge to bury her face in her hands threatened to overwhelm Simone.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, willing her heart rate to slow down. She hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t been caught doing anything. And, she hoped, she hadn’t been set up to take some kind of fall.
She’d never butted heads with Hamish, and she didn’t intend to start now.
“Ah-ha! You little beauty.” He held up his cell phone. “I was supposed to call a client tonight, finalise what carpentry he wants in his kitchen.” He pocketed his phone. “But I couldn’t do it without this.”
“What are you doing working at night?” Simone stepped up to the counter, the floor cool beneath her stockinged feet.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Hamish pulled at the tuft of hair on his chin.
Yeah, let’s not go there.
The click of heels followed by the wheels of a squeaky vacuum cleaner drew both of their attention.
Jane waved. “See you next week.” With that, she was gone, taking her cleaning gear and a little piece of Simone with her.
When she turned back to Hamish, his eyes were wide. “Wow, if I knew the cleaner was that hot, I would’ve stayed late too.”
“She doesn’t play for your team.” Why had she said that? Because her brain had followed Jane out the door.
“And you know this how?” Hamish asked.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
He saluted. “I do, and I was joking. The missus would kill me if I started staying late.” He patted the pocket he’d just dropped his phone in. “At least with this, if I have to do overtime I can do it from home.”
“Keep up the good work.” She turned to head back upstairs.
“Simone.”
She pivoted on her heels. “Yes?”
“We’re off the clock, right? Just you and me shooting the breeze, not boss-employee.”
Wondering where he was going with this, Simone nodded. She wasn’t very good at giving relationship advice, but she could offer an ear.
