Spy Games

by Cassandra Dee

  It was only after the flight was over that I came out, straightening my uniform with a smile on my face.

  I’d survived.

  Barely. But I’d survived.

  And as the passengers disembarked, Mr. Evans fixed me with a stare.

  “Nine a.m.,” he barked. “Tomorrow morning. Corporate offices.”

  What could I do but agree?

  So my head nodded slowly, a frozen smile in place.

  Because what did he want from me?

  Oh god, was I going to be fired?

  I’d hidden in the closet after all, shirking my duties. I deserved to be let go for sure.

  But somehow, I knew it wasn’t that. There’d been something in that magnetic azure gaze. Something powerful. Something compelling. Something calling, Little girl, come out and play.

  Oh god, oh god.

  Thorn Evans was so godawful handsome.

  Much better than the high school jocks whom I used to moon over. Those guys were small, by comparison, with overly-loud laughs and acne scars, big men on campus who’d amount to nothing.

  This guy, by contrast, was the real thing.

  A hardened alpha.

  A man of forty-five, at the top of the business world. A billionaire probably.

  And slowly, I sank into the tub, bubbles coming up to my chin.

  “Mr. Evans,” I whispered into the small space.

  Hearing the name aloud sounded too real, sending a fresh wave of embarrassment through me. But it was different and exciting. I began to knead my breast with one hand, pinching the nipple, while dreaming of the handsome male.

  Because what would it be like with Mr. Evans?

  Would he be tender and gentle?

  Or we he devour me like an animal, raw and real?

  Oh god. My other hand slid below the waterline, finding its way to my sopping slit. An engorged clit greeted me, already hard and aroused.

  Ah!

  “Holly, you’re mine,” Mr. Evans would growl. “All fucking mine.”

  The possessiveness shocked and titillated me.

  Was I ready to belong to a man like that?

  For one night, yes, definitely.

  I’d take whatever Mr. Evans offered.

  I’d kneel at his feet, a student ready for her training.

  And shamefully, my body burst then. It wasn’t the warm water lapping at my curves, or even the frantic movements of my hands.

  It was the thought of the powerful alpha.

  Thorn Evans.

  My boss.

  My savior.

  And even … my lover?

  Oh god, it was too good to be true, my curves shaking and undulating with pleasure. Because I wanted to belong to him. I wanted to be his, our bodies wrapped around one another as he owned my sweetest spots.

  Yes, Thorn!

  Yes, Mr. Evans!

  Take me!

  I’m yours.

  But everything comes to an end, even the best fantasies. As if on cue, my stomach growled. Oh no. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, skipping lunch altogether. And now, it was time to eat.

  Standing up, my skin gleamed with a mixture of soap and bath oils. Oooh, it felt sensational for sure, plump assets out in the open.

  But I’ve never been one to miss a meal, so resolutely, I wrapped my body with the damp towel and stepped out of the bathroom. And pulling on my floral print pajamas, I dialed room service.

  “Can I help you?” the bored voice on the other end answered.

  “Hello,” came my hesitant voice. “I’d like to order dinner please?”

  “Yes, what can I get you?” it droned.

  I bit my lip. With a hefty paycheck, I could now afford the nicer things. No more free burgers at work. No more stolen fries or milkshakes sipped quietly in the back room. So taking a deep breath, I ordered their most expensive prime rib.

  “Medium rare,” was my quick refrain. “Plus some Pepsi please.”

  I know, I know. Pepsi and steak aren’t exactly the healthiest things on Earth. But you know what? I get tired of eating salad with no dressing, tofu and wheat bread all the time. People sometimes stare at my figure, hinting that I should cut down. But food has always been my thing, and tonight I was going crazy.

  Steak and cola it was.

  Pulling out my phone, I texted Katrina. Unfortunately, my friend didn’t reply immediately. Oh Katrina. She was probably out with one of her “older gentleman friends” as she liked to refer to them. I called them “dirty old dudes,” since they were about sixty years old most times. Ick, right? Katrina’s eighteen like me, so there was literally a forty-year age gap.

  Plus, Katrina was always trying to hook me up with one of her geezer boyfriends’ friends. Gross. I couldn’t imagine the idea of dating a man so much older than me. I mean, balding with tufts of white hair poking from his ears, and a giant paunch? No thank you, even if he was King Midas himself.

  But Thorn Evans had to be older. He was clearly in his forties. He just wasn’t ancient, like Katrina’s guys. How old was Mr. Evans exactly? Forty-two? Forty-five?

  It didn’t matter. The guy kept himself in tip-top shape, that muscular form powerful beneath a perfectly cut black suit. Everything about the man screamed virility, masculinity, as well as kindness. Because he’d been nice to me, allowing me to slink off with my drink cart instead of facing additional harassment.

  Suddenly, I stopped myself.

  I’m being ridiculous, mooning about my boss. He probably thinks I’m just a kid. I bet he has a beautiful wife or girlfriend. Or even worse, both. I bet they both looked like super models for sure, sleek and trim.

  Meanwhile, I was a plump teen girl, with no worldly experience, who acted like a bump on a log.

  Who was I kidding?

  This guy was way out of my league. He was in outerspace territory frankly.

  A knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. Then I remembered the food and jumped up off the bed.

  “Just a second,” came my holler, grabbing some money from my wallet.

  A waiter entered, wheeling in a huge silver dome on a metal cart. With flair, he set up a little table for me in my room, complete with a rose in a bud vase. And then voila! The steak was revealed, juicy and bubbling.

  “Do you need anything else?” he exclaimed with a bow.

  I shook my head.

  “No, this is great. Thank you.” He handed me the receipt to sign. I scribbled my signature and handed it back with some cash for tip.

  “Perfect, madam. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he nodded graciously.

  And I dove in once the door closed. Don’t keep a girl from her food, she might rip off your head. Especially this girl, who was as hungry as a mountain man.

  But the steak was lackluster, frankly, like it’d been cooked on a home stove instead of an industrial grill. Disappointed, I broke open the little ketchup packets to add more flavor.

  Blegh. Not good.

  But at least I was full.

  Where was Katrina? I glanced at my phone idly again. Probably out with one of her geezer boyfriends, someone who looked like Santa Claus but without the merry smile.

  I’d rather die than date someone triple my age. Her last boyfriend had to be seventy if a day, wrinkly with a bald pate. I’d asked Katrina his age, but she’d been vague, waving her hand.

  “Old guys are just as good as young ones,” Katrina sang. “Plus, they have so much more moolah,” she smirked, rubbing her fingertips together in the age-old gesture for cash.

  Sighing, I finished my meal. Kat would always be Kat. But hey, who was I to judge? Age is just a number, right? Besides, I was currently fantasizing about Thorn Evans, who had to be double my age, so it was the pot calling the kettle black.

  Finishing my meal, I pushed the cart out into the hall for the workers to clean up and set the deadbolt. Throwing myself onto the soft mattress, I checked my phone once more. No new messages.

  Maybe that was a good thing. People are too plugged in
these days, myself being no exception.

  And sighing once deeply, my mind drifted off into the gray haze, lying comfortably on the plush mattress. It was gonna be a long day tomorrow … with Mr. Evans as my hero, tormentor, and fantasy man all rolled into one.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Holly

  Breakfast had been dreary. I’d loaded up on pancakes with golden syrup, hoping for the best. But blech. The pancakes had been pure cardboard, the syrup a dose of sugary glue.

  So here I was, hungry again, standing on the subway platform.

  Which way to Midtown? Which way to Elite Air headquarters?

  People in fancy suits brushed past me, minding their own business. My eyes darted nervously over the pencil skirts and pantsuits worn by other women.

  Unfortunately, I looked like a drab mouse compared to the business professionals. I had on my one clean skirt with a button down shirt tucked-in. Penny loafers finished the outfit.

  Basically, I looked like a naïve student at her first interview. And an impoverished student at that with the faded floral print and scuffed shoes.

  But it was too late. It was time to meet the boss.

  So I crammed myself into a subway car, holding myself still in the crowded space. It was uncomfortable for sure, strangers standing just inches away but avoiding eye contact.

  How do people do this every day? It’s uncomfortable being packed in like a tin of sardines. But I was grateful for the subway ride because usually I walk, given that metro cards are so expensive.

  Not any more, given my six figure salary. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars!

  But how much longer would I have it? Burger Barista had responded to my message about quitting. The supervisor was pissed, leaving a nasty voicemail on my phone. After all, I was taking off during their busiest season with no notice.

  I didn’t blame them.

  But if I got fired today, then that’d be both Burger Barista and Elite Air down the drain in one fell swoop. What then?

  The train swayed as it roared down the track. The movement was oddly soothing, allowing my thoughts to slow down. Still no new messages from Katrina.

  Be positive, the voice inside whispered. You have no idea what Mr. Evans wants. Maybe you have it backwards. Maybe the airline is scared that you’ll quit. They might even be worried that you’ll sue for harassment. Who knows?

  But I shook my head. That couldn’t be it, given yesterday’s disastrous flight. So I put it out of my mind and soon, the subway stopped, dropping me off in front of a looming corporate office tower. It was intimidating for sure. Once again, I stuck out like a sore thumb, the impoverished mouse among sleek corporate drones milling around an imposing office building. My anxiety came back full force as I pushed through the revolving door, feeling like an imposter.

  And the receptionists were catty, eyeing my outfit before schooling their faces into calm.

  “Hello, how can we help you today?”

  I tried to keep my gaze level, though I was tempted to look at my feet and fidget.

  “I-I’m here to see Mr. Evans. Thorn Evans of Elite Air,” was my mumble. “He said I was to meet today? I know I’m early but—”

  The receptionist tapped away at a computer, then looked down at me again. “Holly?”

  “Yes, Holly Nelson, that’s me,” was my rushed voice. “If you could let him know I’m here.”

  The woman was all business.

  “I’ll need your driver’s license, please.”

  What? Why did they need an ID just to get into the building? But I guess fancy places are like that.

  Awkwardly, I dug around in my purse and finally located the small card. Uck, my picture was terrible but it’d have to do. I handed it over to the receptionist, who typed more while staring into her screen. And finally, the printer whirred, ejecting a small piece of paper.

  “This is a guest pass,” she said officiously. Pointing to a row of turnstiles, she directed me. “Swipe it on one of those metal posts and walk through the turnstile. Your meeting is on the eightieth floor. Mr. Evans is expecting you.”

  The eightieth floor?

  How far up did this skyscraper go?

  But nodding meekly, I accepted the slip of paper.

  “Thank you.”

  And soon, I was whisked up into the sky. It was unbelievable. The steel doors closed and I braced myself against the wall, prepared to for some head-spinning nausea.

  But this building was so fancy that it had high-speed elevators that moved like a cloud. In fact, I didn’t even sense that we were going upwards. Instead, the numbers changed before my eyes, and boom! We were there.

  I took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall.

  Soft lighting illuminated the clean black stone floors and the pale grey walls. The end of the hall led to a solid glass wall with a door in its center, and a sensor pad for badges. I dug around for the little piece of paper in my purse.

  The[MJBB9] pad beeped, allowing me to open the door. It was so quiet that my footsteps sounded like an elephant tromping around. I tried to be more quiet peering around. There were rows of offices, all with the lights off and the doors closed.

  “Hello?” came my inquisitive word.

  This was weird. Why wasn’t anyone here? My heart raced as I continued walking down the hall. This was the right floor, for sure. Plus my badge had worked. So why wasn’t anyone around?

  Creepy for sure.

  My throat went dry.

  Suddenly, a low voice jolted my nerves.

  “I’m sorry there’s no one here to properly greet you.”

  And suddenly, he was here. That massive form, dark and imposing, almost blocking out the light from one window. Piercing blue eyes, topped with coal-black hair.

  Shivers ran down my spine.

  “I’m sorry there was no one to greet you,” Mr. Evans repeated smoothly. “Helena’s out today, and Elite only has a skeleton staff in New York City. So it’s just me and you.”

  Somehow, the words sounded intimate, although I knew they weren’t. Me and you. That was nice.

  Please, the voice in my head went. Get real Holly. Mr. Evans isn’t into you. In fact, there’s no me and you. That’s all your imagination, the stuff of that fantasy bath last night.

  My cheeks went red. And like he could read my mind, those blue eyes gleamed.

  “Come in?” he asked. “Make yourself comfortable in this conference room. Water?”

  I stammered, so embarrassed. But there was no ifs and buts about it. So taking a deep breath, I smiled with my best professional demeanor.

  “Thank you. Water would be great.”

  The billionaire nodded before disappearing around a corner.

  And it was then that I looked around the conference room. Because this wasn’t your average set-up. There was a giant oak table with at least fifty plush chairs on two sides. It looked like the movies where all the bigwigs sat around and talked about important million-dollar deals. But today, no one was here. It was just me and him.

  Was that good or bad? Gulping, I took a seat. Ooh, this chair was so comfortable.

  And then Mr. Evans returned, bearing a glass of water. It looked a little ridiculous. His hand was tan and firm, making the small glass look positively miniscule.

  Besides, I was the flight attendant and he was the CEO.

  So why was he serving me?

  But the alpha was completely at ease, lowering that massive frame into a chair opposite me, leaning back casually.

  The view of the city was breathtaking, but he was equally incredible to see. Dark and imposing, backlit a bit by sun rising behind him.

  I fidgeted in my seat.

  The memories of the flight welled up again. Oh god. It’d been so embarrassing. I was probably getting fired. And before he could say anything, my mouth began to move.

  “I’m so sorry about the flight yesterday,” came my humiliated blurt. “I should have handled it better. I had been informed that all were very importa
nt passengers, especially—”

  Mr. Evans held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Those guys are jackasses. There’s nothing you could have done differently.”

  My cheeks flamed, eyes grateful. Thank god Mr. Evans saw it my way. But why were those guys on the plane with them if he disliked them so much?

  Unfortunately, those questions were above my pay grade. So I squeezed my hands in my lap, trying not to fidget as my thighs trembled.

  Of course, Mr. Evans was completely unperturbed. He leaned backwards once more, blue eyes gleaming.

  “So, you’re the new hire Helena sent. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

  What?

  Why would he want to know about me?

  I was a nobody, someone whose last job was at Burger Barista. Even that was embarrassing to admit.

  But I had to make the best of it. So taking a deep breath, I met that deep blue gaze square on.

  “I’m a graduate of a six-week flight training school,” was my slow reply. “Just finished last month. And I saw an ad in the paper for Elite Air, and got hired right away. Thank you for taking a chance on me,” was my quick refrain. “I really appreciate it.”

  The billionaire nodded.

  “No prob,” he drawled. “But what else? Tell me where you’re from.”

  That blue gaze locked on mine and a blush rose to my cheeks. My nipples hardened, embarrassing me all over again.

  Oh god, could he see?

  Think of something else, anything else, spoke the voice in my mind. Come on Holly. Get with it. This is a job, one that you can’t afford to lose.

  “Um, I’m from around here,” was my low mutter. The truth is I was from way out in Queens, some projects that had once seen better days. Could I make it seem nicer than it actually was?

  But no. There was no sense in masking reality. After all, it’s not like I’d committed a crime. You’re just born into certain circumstances, and it’s fate, nothing else.

  So lifting my chin, I answered in a clear voice.

  “I’m from the LeBar Projects out in Queens,” the words came. “If you take the Midtown Tunnel, they’re right there once you exit on the other side. Can’t miss it, it’s a giant concrete jungle.”

  And to my surprise, respect entered those blue eyes.