Expert Service (A Pleasure Chest Story)

by Penny Wylder

  Expert Service

  Penny Wylder

  Contents

  Copyright

  Books By Penny Wylder

  1. Scarlett

  2. Chris

  3. Scarlett

  4. Scarlett

  5. Chris

  6. Scarlett

  7. Scarlett

  8. Chris

  9. Scarlett

  10. Scarlett

  11. Chris

  12. Scarlett

  Epilogue

  Lip Service

  Full Service

  Copyright © 2017 by Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Books By Penny Wylder

  Filthy Boss

  Her Dad’s Friend

  Rockstars F#*k Harder

  The Virgin Intern

  Her Dirty Professor

  The Pool Boy

  Get Me Off

  Caught Together

  Selling Out to the Billionaire

  Falling for the Babysitter

  Lip Service

  Full Service

  1

  Scarlett

  I make my way down the cold New York street, coffee tray in hand. It wobbled a bit, and for the life of me, I’ve never understood why they can’t make these little cardboard things sturdier. But it doesn’t matter. Even if the coffee is wobbly and I’m freezing my ass off and I’m terrified of my heel going through a subway grate, today is going to be a good day. Today has to be a good day.

  After years of doing nothing but making copies and getting coffee and being asked to come up with marketing ideas that were completely ignored, I’ve been promoted. Though I should probably use the term promoted loosely—more like a stroke of good luck. The promotion came with a late-night phone call and a red-eye flight from Seattle after the three people ahead of me in line got food poisoning from bad shrimp at the New Year’s party and were too sick to fly. My hatred of seafood has never felt more justified than it does today.

  Anyway, I’ve got the job now. I can finally put marketing associate on my resume, and not just ‘assistant to the marketing director.’ Not to mention that I get to work with Chris Flintlock, which is a dream come true. The man is as brilliant as he is handsome, and he is really fucking hot. He came to Ellison media a couple of years ago when it was basically a sinking ship, and his new ideas, new ways of attracting clients, new methods of thinking about marketing, turned everything around. He saved everyone’s jobs—including mine. Now we have a few huge clients, and are searching for more.

  That’s why I’m in New York fighting icy winds. Ellison has meetings with the sex toy company The Pleasure Chest. A small boutique chain of stores, they have the potential to explode. Chris needs another set of hands in these meetings. That’s why I’m here.

  I’m meeting Chris downtown at an office building. He’s just had a meeting with one of our existing clients to touch base and see how they’re feeling about everything, and they agreed to wait for me there. My small rolling suitcase gets stuck for a moment, and I nearly fall. I manage to keep the coffee from spilling—just barely. Bringing Chris coffee isn’t in my job description, but I figure after a day of meetings with the most important one still to go, he’ll appreciate the caffeine boost. I wasn’t actually supposed to have to walk this far, but I got the address wrong. I think I’m just around the corner from where I’m supposed to be, but even this short amount of time in the wind has me freezing. Being from Seattle, I thought I’d prepared well enough. Guess not. I imagine this would be easier if it weren’t the middle of winter when it gets dark before the work day ends. It’s barely eight o’clock and it feels like midnight.

  The building itself is nondescript, just a tall building surrounded by other tall buildings. The lobby is beautiful, with polished marble floors and a large security desk—though the guard doesn’t look twice as I walk past him to the elevators. I look at the building map and press the up button, heading up to the fifth floor and Colson Foods. The lobby is clean and corporate, and I park my suitcase by one of the chairs, and take off my coat. The receptionist gives me a funny look, but I try to give her my best smile. “I’m Scarlett Brown, my colleague Chris Flintlock is here for a meeting?”

  The receptionist’s face turns into a dazzled smile. “You’re here with Chris? He’s straight back in the main conference room. You can’t miss it—you’ll see him through the glass walls.”

  “Thanks,” I say, retrieving the papers I need to take in to Chris, and the coffee tray. I try not to smirk as I walk past the girl, imagining the kind of flirting she was subjected to. Chris is a notorious flirt, but as far as being a playboy, I’ve heard nothing. I think the flirting gets him what he wants. As far as that receptionist goes, she’ll give him whatever he wants.

  This hallway is longer than I thought, but the girl was right, I do see him. He’s sitting alone in the conference room, papers spread out in front of him. I take the moment to look at him. He never fails to be gorgeous—blond hair just long enough to sweep into his eyes, and a suit that accentuates every inch of his frame. I know from seeing him in the office that he clears six feet easily, and no suit hides the fact that he’s cut like a diamond—though I can’t figure out how he possibly has time to go to the gym when he’s constantly flying across the country. If I had to eat that much airport food I would be the size of Charlie Brown’s magic pumpkin.

  Anyone who works in the Seattle office will tell you that whenever Chris comes in it’s a good day, mostly because getting to look at him would make just about anyone happy. That might be shallow, but what Chris doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  I head towards the door of the conference room, not wanting to just lurk outside until he notices me staring like a stalker. I push the door open, and Chris looks up. I see his reaction almost before I realize what’s happening. There’s a step up into the room that I didn’t notice. My heel has caught the step, and I already know that there’s no saving me from this fall.

  Suddenly I’m on the floor and looking at the ceiling. I feel spots of wetness as drops of coffee sink into my shirt, and I hear fluttering as the last of the papers I was holding settle. Then it’s entirely silent. In the corner of my eye I can see Chris’s reflection in the glass, his mouth hanging open in shock.

  “Wow,” I say.

  My voice seems to spur him into action, suddenly jumping up and making his way around the table to me. “Are you all right?” he asks, concern flowing through his voice. I sit up, fighting the dizziness I feel. It only lasts for a second though, and then I’m face to face with Chris as he leans down to help me up. He puts his arm around my waist and practically lifts me into a chair. Then he’s even closer to my face, looking in my eyes. His eyes are bluer than I thought, crystal clear and gorgeous. I’ve never been this close to him, and the close up is just as good as the wide shot. He leans down, circling my ankle with his hand. “That looked nasty. Does this hurt? I want to make sure you didn’t sprain anything.”

  I don’t know if it’s the fact that I just fell and have adrenaline racing through my body at the speed of a freight train, or the fact that I’ve always had a little bit of a crush on him, but the sight of Christopher Flintlock kneeling in front of me sends fireworks shooting through my brain. I can think of a hundred different ways for this scene to continue, almost all of them ending with us naked and me screaming his name.

  His hands move from one ank
le to the other, gently rotating. “Any pain?”

  I shake my head. If anything, his hands on me makes me feel better than I’ve felt in a long time. Chris looks up at me and gives me a small smile. “I know who you are, you know,” he says.

  My eyebrows shoot into my hair. “You do?”

  “I’ve noticed you in the office. It always seems like you’re running around the office doing something or other. Most of the time I don’t notice assistants. I always noticed you.”

  “Really?” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “Really,” he says, his hand drawing up the back of my leg, “I’m glad you’re the one they sent, it’ll be nice to take this few days to…get to know each other better. What do you think?”

  My heart is beating so fast, he can probably hear it. “I think I’d like that,” I say. “I’d like it even better if we started now.”

  Chris raises an eyebrow, sliding his hand up my leg, inching it up beneath my skirt. His fingers reach my panties, and he leans closer to me, lowering his voice. “Normally, I wouldn’t do this with a colleague. And normally I wouldn’t go this fast. But I just can’t help myself.” He slides his fingers through my folds, feeling how wet his words have made me, and I feel the brush of his lips on mine. He slides a finger into me, and I’m in heaven, tremors of pleasure skating outward along my nerves.

  “Hello?” I open my eyes to Chris’s concerned eyes looking into mine. “You okay? You zoned out for a second there.”

  Blood rushes to my face as I realize I more than just zoned out, I started to fantasize about Chris fingering me right here in the middle of this very visible conference room. Holy shit. “I’m okay,” I say. “Just a little dizzy for a second.”

  “Well,” he says as he stands, holding out his hand to me, “your ankles seem okay. Did you hit your head?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” I twist and stretch, seeing if everything feels fine, and it does. “I’m really sorry about that, Mr. Flintlock, I didn’t realize there was a step up.”

  Chris freezes, his eyes suddenly narrowing. “How do you know my name?”

  Apparently him knowing who I am only extends as far as my fantasies. I straighten my spine, put on my best winning smile, and hold out my hand. “My name is Scarlett Brown. I’m your marketing associate for the trip. I just got in, came straight from the airport.”

  He doesn’t take my hand. Instead, his face falls, his eyes go dark and cold, and I suddenly feel like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. He walks away from me back to the head of the table, picking up his cellphone. He dials it without looking at me, and I can practically see him vibrating with angry energy. I look around at the mess I made in my fall, coffee and paper are strewn everywhere.

  I start picking up the stack of papers, better than waiting for Chris to look at me again.

  “Maureen,” his voice rings through the room, and I freeze. “Chris Flintlock.”

  Maureen is the name of my boss—the woman who just put me on the red-eye here.

  He continues, and my stomach continues to drop. “I need you to send someone else to New York.” A pause, “No, that’s not going to work.”

  I gather up the rest of the papers, setting them on the table. I pick up and throw away the spilled coffee cups, thanking whatever lucky stars I have left that the carpet is black and that this won’t leave a stain. “I don’t care what you do with her. Bring her back to Seattle, fire her, send her to the moon, that’s not my concern. I need someone who can get the job done.”

  Rage burns through me, and I turn around marching towards him. “Now wait just a minute—”

  Chris holds up a hand to me, listening to whatever Maureen is saying on the end of the line. I grit my teeth at the indignity of being cut off like that. Whatever it is he’s hearing, he’s not enjoying it. “Fine,” he says, his voice practically a growl. “But we will have a conversation about this when I get back to Seattle.” He cuts off the phone call, tossing his phone onto the table. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other. Maureen can’t send anyone else in time.”

  I paste on a sickly smile. “Despite that unfortunate spill, I actually am good at my job.”

  His eyes drag up and down my body, catching right at my breasts. I look down to see that my shirt has come unbuttoned in the fall, giving Chris a view of way too much cleavage. I pull my shirt together quickly, covering myself. He finishes his perusal of me, glancing to where I’ve picked up the papers and coffee. “What I see right now is that you’re sloppy. I hate sloppy.”

  The words are like a slap in the face. If he knew any of my work at the office in Seattle, he wouldn’t say I was sloppy. But you know what, it doesn’t matter. Even if Christopher Flintlock is a total bastard wrapped in a delicious package, I’m going to do my best. I’m going to knock his socks off and succeed. By the time we get back to Seattle and he has to have that conversation with Maureen he’ll be singing my praises enough that I’ll get another promotion. “By the time we’re finished here you’ll change your mind about me,” I say, trying to project smooth and utter confidence.

  “I’m not holding my breath,” he says, gathering his things together. “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel.”

  I follow him, but not before making a face at his back as he exits the room.

  2

  Chris

  “What do you mean there is no reservation?” I ask the woman at the front desk, desperately trying to keep my cool. “This reservation should have been made a week ago along with mine.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Flintlock,” she says. “There were two reservations here. But when you weren’t accompanied by any colleagues you were upgraded to a suite and the other room was dropped.”

  The anger feels like ice in my veins. “Why on earth would someone on your staff do that?”

  “I don’t know,” the woman winces. She knows they made a mistake.

  “Can we please get an extra room now? We’re short on time.”

  The look on her face is painful now. “That’s the thing. We don’t have any.”

  “What do you mean you don’t have any?”

  “There’s a conference at the hotel, and we’re entirely booked up.”

  The anger spreads to my gut, churning. I hate it when things don’t go according to plan, and there have already been too many things toady that haven’t gone according to plan. “A conference?”

  “Yes sir.” She taps a sign that’s on the front desk. “We’re hosting the annual ADA conference for dental hygienists here in the hotel. Every room we have is booked for the next three days.”

  I glance at the sign. It features a dancing tooth, saying ‘The American Dental Association welcomes you!’ I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. Of course I’m getting screwed—or should I say drilled—by a bunch of dental hygienists. She’s going to have to stay in my suite. This is the last thing I need right now.

  “Fine,” I say to her, barely managing to keep the word civil. I turn away from her before she can tell me she’s sorry. Scarlett is waiting for me a few feet away, watching calmly. I can’t read what she’s feeling, her face is relaxed hearing the news. Coffee is sprinkled on her shirt and I have a hard time keeping my eyes away—especially now that I’ve seen a peek of what lies beneath. “There was a mistake with the reservation,” I say. “There aren’t any rooms.”

  She tries to cover it up, but I see the momentary panic that comes into her face. That look on her face unsettles me, and I hurry to assure her. “I have a suite. It has an extra bedroom. You can stay there.”

  Her body visibly relaxes, and the fact that she’s not worried makes me feel better than it should. I shouldn’t care at all. She’s a mess, and she should be back on a plane to Seattle right now. Instead she’s going to be sleeping just a few feet away from me. This is so not what I need.

  “Thanks,” she says, as I start walking towards the elevators.

  “No problem.”

  When I saw her walk
in through the door of that conference room, I wasn’t sure what to think. I knew that I hadn’t expected someone like her to walk through the door. I got a picture of blonde curls and curves that would drive any man crazy. My dick jumped straight to attention, and it shocked the hell out of me. Then she fell, and something in my gut pulled, and I had to make sure she was okay. I found myself drawn to her, making her comfortable, making sure nothing hurt. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that kind of immediate attraction to someone. And since I’m not at home, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.

  But I don’t ever mix business with pleasure. Business is business. It needs to run like clockwork, no mistakes, no hesitation. When you mix in personal relationships with your business, things get complicated. Messy. Sloppy. Like I already said once today, I hate sloppy.

  I don’t have any doubt that I can control myself, but I’m still hesitant about having her here. The Pleasure Chest deal is important. We need the kind of partnership they can provide—enough capital to help us with expanding our operation, and getting in on a brand that itself is ripe for expansion. Nothing can go wrong with this, and I can’t have someone falling into the room on these meetings. And I certainly can’t be worried about being distracted by her.

  The elevator opens on the sixteenth floor, and I listen to the sound of her small suitcase rolling on the carpet. I open the door to my room—our room— and let her inside. It’s a suite, but not a big one. A tiny kitchen flows into a small sitting area that’s next to my bed. Through an archway is the second bedroom—her room, and there’s one bathroom. As she passes by me, I get a hint of perfume, something warm and sugary. The scent draws my eyes to her, and I watch as she takes in the room, watch the way her ass fills out the skirt.