by Ava Harrison
Sitting back, I try to anticipate what he’ll ask for next. I recollect my endless hours of school work and imagine that after he has the figures and budgets for the competition’s marketing campaigns, he’s going to want to beat them. He’s going to want me to come up with better ideas, something more cutting edge to make The L shine. So that’s what I’m going to do.
I fire up my computer and start my research. The L could have a stellar release, but whatever is going on internally is causing the hype to falter, and we aren’t getting the press we need. With the opening looming we need to act and act now. It’s not too late to make The L kickoff successfully, and the next time he hollers at me, I’m going to wow him. I’m going to make myself indispensable to the team, and then he can’t get rid of me. I might not have wanted to work here at first, but now that I’m here, I refuse to fail. I don’t care how big an asshole he is. This job could be just what I need to make a name for myself for the future. That’s exactly what I’m going to do, make myself indispensable. I’ll finally be able to let out my breath and stop walking on eggshells.
Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do if I’m not fired. Make myself irreplaceable to him. How hard can that be?
It’s been two hours since she was last in my office. Two long hours. I can’t stand another minute of wondering what she’s doing out there. Wondering what would happen if I beckoned her into the office and succumbed to the endless desire coursing through me. Why can’t I get this girl out of my freaking head? She’s a drug. A dangerous poison to me. She’s young and fresh, not yet tainted by the nasty things life has to offer. I want to bask in her warmth. Lose myself in her naivety. What would it be like to not see the world the way I do? To live an illusion, if only for a moment. I need to get out of here. Leave the office.
These thoughts are dangerous. I can’t think like this. There’s no way out of the situation I’m in. Especially not now. Not with the hotel’s grand opening looming in the distance. Everything rides on this. All my money hangs in the balance. Chelsea’s greedy stupidity has fucked me. By bidding on properties, I’m leveraged to the max. If The L isn’t successful, I could lose everything. But in the end, none of that matters. The part that matters is Isabella. If I lose everything, I could lose her, too. And without her, I’m nothing. I just have to work hard, keep my dick in my pants, and stop daydreaming about Bridget Miller.
Shit.
Even thinking her name has me angry. Picking up the phone, I call HR.
“Mr. Lancaster,” the head of my human resources department answers.
“Paige. Any luck finding me another assistant?” I bark.
“Um, but you said there wasn’t a prob—”
“I don’t care what I said. There has got to be someone in this damn hotel who wants to work for me.” I know full well I’m being an ass. It’s not her fault I’m having a hard time not imagining fucking my assistant and that it’s driving me insane. It’s not her fault no one wants to work for me.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lancaster. Th-There are currently no candidates,” she stutters.
Word has spread fast that I’m a ticking time bomb in the office. No one wants to transfer departments. Finding a suitable replacement is seeming impossible. Before Bridget, I had three girls quit on me. That doesn’t include the completely incompetent people I fired in the last month. Ever since I figured out what Chelsea did, how she continued to go after my brother’s company even when I asked her—no, ordered her to stop, it’s been war in the office. Lucky for me, Chelsea works three floors beneath me, so I can stay away from her. But that doesn’t mean the tension isn’t insane.
And everyone from the mailroom to the VP of Marketing is feeling it.
Hanging up, I dial Bridget.
“Connect me to Chelsea,” I order.
I sit on hold. The music playing in the background grates on my last nerve. Tension courses through me.
“I’m sorry, she’s not in the office. Would you like me to transfer you to her cell?”
“Yes.”
The phone rings and rings. Where the fuck is she? Probably fucking lover boy, that’s where.
“Sir, she’s working from home today.”
“Connect me to my house.”
“Hold one minute, sir.” Her voice is firm and unwavering, completely professional.
I’m asking her to connect me to my wife, and she acts like I don’t know what she tastes like. As if I’ve never had my hand inside her. As if I haven’t almost fucked her in an alley. The strength of this girl impresses me more by the minute. Bridget is an anomaly to me.
The phone keeps ringing and ringing. No one answers in my house, which is strange as Isabella’s nanny should at least be answering. I bash the phone on my desk, put my coat back on, and rush out the door.
“Have all calls sent to my voicemail.” I jet out the door and into the garage, pulling out at a speed that can’t be safe for New York City streets. Thankfully, there’s no traffic at this time of day in Tribeca, but I have to slow down or I’ll never get there in one piece.
Forty-five minutes later, I pull up to my house in Connecticut. Living this far out is not conducive to opening a hotel, but when I married Chelsea, she insisted. She insisted on a lot of things, all of which were a bad idea now that the curtain has been lifted from my eyes.
The car is barely in park before I’m barreling out and heading inside. I’m only a few steps within the house when I start to search each room. Not only can I not find my wife, but where the hell is Margret? Heading up the stairs, I see my four-year-old playing in the playroom by herself.
“Where’s your mother?” I snap.
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s Margret?”
“I don’t know, Daddy,” she whispers.
“Why are you all by yourself?”
Her lip quivers and I realize my voice must be scaring her. I’m so used to reacting a certain way, sometimes I can’t stop the anger that pours out of my body. I’m snapping, but it’s not her fault the adults in her life are irresponsible. That they are too busy for her, including myself. I’m no better. I’ve been so wrapped up in opening the hotel that my own time with her has been few and far between.
A small tear falls from her face.
“How long have you been alone, baby?”
“I don’t know.” Her nose scrunches, and I kneel on the floor next to her. Now at eye level, I can see her eyes are welled with tears.
“Come here, baby.” I pull her into my arms. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. Daddy is so sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I hold her tighter. “Do you remember when you last saw Margret?”
“She put Bubble Guppies on.”
Fuck. I don’t pay this woman to put a TV show on for my kid and then leave. “Okay, baby. Do you want to come with me to find her?”
“No, Daddy, I want to watch.”
“Okay.” I place a kiss on her forehead and move to find her nanny. I’m not even halfway down the stairs when I spot Margret entering the house through the back door.
“Where were you?”
“I-I . . .”
“Yes,” I say as I tap my foot rhythmically.
“I had to take a phone call.”
I eye her suspiciously. “And you couldn’t take this call in the house?”
“It . . . I . . .” she stammers, obviously trying to come up with an excuse why she’s been caught.
“Yes,” I spit out.
Her face goes pale. “I just wanted air.”
“You wanted air, so you left my kid alone in the house?”
“I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again,” she says and rushes past. Something isn’t right. When she moves past me, a smell lingers in the air. I’m about to ask her if she was getting high when the front door swings open and Chelsea saunters into the place as if she not only owns this house but also owns the world. Margret scurries up the stairs, and I hear the door to her roo
m shut.
I turn my attention back to my wife. “Where have you been?” I fire off.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I had an appointment.”
“You were supposed to be working from home.”
She rolls her eyes. “Since when do you micromanage me?”
“Since you proved to me that I needed to. The L is mine and moving behind my back to acquire properties in the name of my company proves you need to be watched at all times.”
She steps up to me, reaches out, and then her nails press against my shirt, digging in through the material against my skin. “Oh, dear husband, that’s where you’re wrong. The L belongs to us. Or did you forget? As your wife, I’m entitled to fifty percent of everything.” Her words slither out like poison from a snake.
“No, Chelsea. I didn’t forget.” There it is, my life’s work hanging over me. If I make trouble, she’ll take half. I really am a fucking idiot. How I didn’t see her for the money hungry bitch she is, is beyond me. But the wool was pulled real fast once I signed the papers binding her to me for life. We weren’t even married a year before her true colors began to show. When my father threw me out of Lancaster Holdings, every last semblance of her façade came crashing down.
Chelsea and I met at Lancaster Holdings, where she was a secretary who’d worked her way up over the years. She was cutthroat, dedicated, and one of the smartest women I’d ever met. On top of being gorgeous, she was exotic. Sinfully beautiful. I had to have her and have her I did. We kept our relationship secret at first, but then she made it clear she wouldn’t stay with me if I didn’t take it to the next level. And that was when everything went to shit. Dad knew. He saw what I was too blind to notice.
But I was too goddamn blind to see past anything back then. Now I’m not. Now I see everything, and I hate how right he was.
I turn to watch Chelsea walking toward her room. She moved out of my room years ago. As the door closes, anger swirls within me. Never once did she even bother to check on Isabella. Isabella is just a means to an end for her. She isn’t a mother. She only uses our daughter as leverage to get everything she wants from me, and I don’t object. I can’t. I can’t risk losing her, and Chelsea is enough of a bitch to take her from me.
My life is spinning out of control around me, and I can’t do a fucking thing to stop it.
Ever since Mr. Lancaster left early the other day, he’s been broodier than usual. I don’t let it bother me, though. I continue to act like business as normal. It’s become a fairly easy routine. I hate Mr. Lancaster, and he hates me back. He barks orders, and I grin and bear it. Personally, I think it pisses him off when I smile at his rudeness. Maybe I shouldn’t tease the beast, but it’s too much fun. Eventually, he’ll give up or fire me.
Sitting in my office in front of my own computer, I look down at my ever-growing to-do list. Today’s email from Mr. Lancaster is even snippier than the last. Normally, he barks at me to come into his office to hear the list. When he’s like that, I keep to myself. I welcome the emails, though. It’s easier and makes the day go faster.
I wonder what is up his ass today.
I know I shouldn’t care, but I can’t help but wonder since it directly affects my day. What makes him so bitter to the world? Even after working together these past few weeks, there’s little I know of him. I tried to get more information, but everything before these last few months is a mystery. There are years after his estrangement from his dad and when he was ousted from Lancaster Holdings that are a complete mystery.
As I’m just about to pack up for the day, I hear a cough from my door. Looking up, I see him standing there.
“You need to work late tonight,” he snaps. It isn’t a question. “We have so much to do before the opening of the new hotel, and I need you to finish these papers.”
“For sure. I don’t mind at all.” I smile at him. Kill him with kindness. Kill him with kindness.
“Really?” He genuinely looks shocked.
Laying it on thick, I say, “Of course. Hey, that’s what I’m here for, remember? The more I learn, the better.”
“Thank you.” He softens. “You’re good at this. You have an eye for things that most people don’t. I need you.”
My mouth drops open at his bipolar personality. One minute he’s yelling, now this? My cheeks warm and I hope he doesn’t notice. “Um, thank you.”
“Besides, you’re very honest, and I need that right now.”
“To a fault, at times,” I agree.
“I prefer honesty. Trust me, it’s always better in the long run.”
I can’t help but see the ironies of that statement. If only he had been honest in the beginning, all of this hostility could have been avoided. I think he’s going to say more, say anything, but instead, he hands me a sheet of paper. He’s all business again. But I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from him. I look up, and he waves his hand.
“Carry on.”
Dickhead Lancaster is back.
I’m sitting on my couch, replaying every minute of my day. The strange encounter with my boss and his split personality.
With a lift of my hand, I bring the glass of wine to my mouth. With each sip I take, my body loosens. Why does he have to be so handsome? Maybe if he wasn’t it wouldn’t be so hard to be near him. Instead, I constantly have to remind myself I can’t think of him like that. But with my inhibitions lowered, I can’t help but remember the first night I met him and how it felt. What would it be like if I had another moment alone with him? Would he kiss me again? Would he taste me? Would I taste him?
My breasts feel heavy. As if they need to be touched. The thought of Grant’s caress has my core clenching with anticipation. But he’s not here. It’s just me, and I’m desperate for relief. How long has it been since I’ve come? Since I’ve had someone fuck me.
Too long.
Closing my eyes, I imagine what it’d be like if I weren’t alone right now. If my hands weren’t mine, but his instead.
“Take off your clothes,” he’d order, and I’d have no choice but to obey.
My nipples pebble and peak under my shirt. With a lift of my hand, I grasp and knead my breast through the thin material, pulling and pinching each nipple as if they were his hands.
His teeth.
Every nerve ending inside me is on full alert, my core tightening desperately in need of being filled. So I do, I give myself what I want.
With a slow, steady breath, my hand trails down to where I’m hot and ready.
I don’t allow myself to stop, thrusting two fingers deep within, plunging them inside me, thrusting in and out.
Gasps of air.
I’m so close.
It’s not enough. I need more.
My thumb begins to circle as I push deeper inside me, hooking my fingers up until they find the perfect spot, mimicking the ministration of a skilled lover. With my head thrown back, my vision blurs, and I crash over the edge.
It takes a minute for my breath to regulate, but when it does, I can’t believe what I just did. It’s not that I touched myself; it’s the fact I thought of him when I did it that has me mortified.
My face feels flush, much warmer than just a moment ago.
How will I be able to look at him tomorrow?
Shit.
Ever since my dirty fantasy of Mr. Lancaster last night, I’m embarrassed to see him. It’s not like he knows he’s the star of my own personal porno, but I still try to keep busy all morning, not to accidentally make an ass of myself by turning beet red in front of him. So instead, I bury myself in work. When I look up from my computer, it’s a little after eleven. I can’t believe how fast the day has flown by. The good thing, however, is things with Grant are not as tense as they were before. Progressively they’ve gotten better as if our silent war is now at a truce. We’ve established a fairly consistent routine, which helps ease the tension. He arrives before me, getting the day set up, and when I arrive, I can usually get through a hand
ful of emails before he calls me into his office.
With the exception of today.
I thrive on routines, and with his habitual mood swings in the past, I’m wondering if I’ve done something to set him off on the warpath again. I stand up from my chair, a pile of folders in hand, and head toward his office. When I walk in, he’s on the phone. I don’t want to disturb him, so I walk to his desk and place the pile down. Just as I lift my hand his rises and we touch. It’s a whisper of a touch, but it lingers, sending my pulse to beat erratically. How can such a small touch be so inflaming? I pull my hand away quickly, my cheeks flushing.
“I’m sorry about that,” I mutter. My eyes rise and lock on his. I expect to see the typical indifference, but instead, I’m met with the same heated gaze I’ve seen before. He’s affected, just like me. He says something into the phone, but I don’t hear his words. I’m too fixated on him.
I turn to walk away, needing to get out of this situation. It isn’t good for either of us to want something we can’t have. I’m almost at the door when I hear my name called out.
“Bridget.”
I turn my head over my shoulder and meet his gaze. “Yes?” My heart pounds in my chest, crashing into my breastbone and making my breath accelerate.
“Have you had lunch yet?”
Disappointment washes over me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but that was not it. “No, not yet. Did you need me to get you something?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Sure.” I move back toward his desk. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Your choice, since you’re grabbing it,” he says, and I see his lip lift. Is he smiling? A small dimple forms on his right cheek. He is smiling. Wow, I’d forgotten how handsome he is when he smiles. But now he reminds me of the night at the bar.
My own lips start to spread. “I bet you think I’m going to say salad.”
He nods, and I laugh.
“I’m not.”
“You’re not?” His eyebrow lifts.
“Nope.”
