by King, Kelsey
Branson laughs as he walks into my office and takes a seat across from me. “Did she give you an earful?”
“She hates me,” I ruefully admit. “Let’s just say she’s made that perfectly clear. Everyone on the 30th floor thinks I did something truly heinous to her which resulted in me being kicked out and forced to your floor. And to top it all off…” I’m shocked when I notice the time on my screen. “Oh shit! Is that the time?” It was close to midnight.
Branson nods and indicates I should look behind me. The entire sky is black with only a few stars glittering in the distance. Behind me, the city had come alive with lights. “I thought I’d check on you before I left. I’m always the last to leave. It’s a refreshing change to have to chase someone home.”
I shake my head, still unable to comprehend how quickly the time had passed. “I’ve been working on the Martinez campaign all day and must’ve lost track of time. I’m sorry. You probably want to lock up. Let me just grab my things.”
“I’m in no rush, besides I don’t lock up. Security switches on the alarms after the cleaners leave and they only start at midnight. What ideas do you have for the campaign?”
I sigh and look down at the jumble of quotes on my notepad and turn my gaze toward the different font types on my computer. I haven’t created anything definitive, but I have a concept I could carry through the entire campaign. For a moment I hesitate to tell him, and then I decide there’s no better time like the present.
“Size does matter…I’ve been thinking that should be the slogan. Then we can incorporate other size related quotes like: It’s not about what size you wear, but how you wear your size. Or this one: Beauty comes in all sizes. This is my favorite: Dreams come in different sizes, but Martinez comes in yours.”
Thick black brows rise as an impressed smile spreads over his face. “That’s very clever, Riley. I think you’ve really got something here.”
“I hope so.” I sigh and roll my head on my shoulders hoping to alleviate some of the stiffness. “I feel like I’m working from the principal’s office and he’s ready to expel me,” I admit ruefully. What was going on with my mouth? It’s spewing all my thoughts out without a filter. I must be tired.
Branson laughs and drags a hand through his messy, dark hair. “Don’t worry I’m more into spanking than expelling.”
As soon as he says the words my mind drifts in a thousand directions, none of which are work-related. I can see his eyes darken as he realizes what he said.
The walls of my office seem to box us in, just me and Branson alone in the middle of the night. I feel heat gather between my thighs as he looks at me. I shift uncomfortably in my chair hoping to relieve the need that collects in my belly.
I’ve never felt desire or attraction this strong before, and it scares me. It bothers me that I have no control over my body’s reaction to him. I glance down at my notepad and try to change the subject back to Martinez. “We can use this one as well. If you want one size fits all, wear a smile.”
Branson doesn’t smile or laugh as I expect. Instead, he leans forward on my desk and whispers a few inches from me: “I think your size will fit me perfectly.”
Blood rushes to my brain at his words.
Does he feel it too? I must’ve just imagined his words. He’s my boss for fuck’s sake. This was probably just a hallucination from dehydration or my sugar levels plummeting.
I stand up and grab my purse. “I really need to get home.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Branson stands up as well. His carotid is bouncing in his neck to the beat of my heart drumming in my chest. My hormones do a happy dance at the idea of Branson being attracted to me.
“No need. I know the way, besides you probably have loads you still want to do.”
“Riley, it’s almost midnight. I think I can go home now.” Branson gives me a cocky grin that makes my insides twist.
“You’re the boss,” I stammer as I walk past him out the door of my office. I need to get some fresh air and some food before I hallucinate having sex with my boss.
“Riley.”
The way Branson says my name makes me stop a few feet short of the elevator. I turn around and meet his gaze. His eyes had gone a dark stormy-blue, and his arms are folded across his chest. “Don’t wear that dress tomorrow, it distracts me.”
I nod and finally release the pent-up breath I had been holding when the elevator doors open. As the doors close behind me, I’m shocked by the idea running through my mind.
I’m actually considering having a hot affair with Branson Carter.
5
Branson
I reach for the mug of coffee on my desk and bring it to my lips, my eyes still on the blank screen in front of me. As I take a sip, I cringe. It’s ice cold. I glance at my watch and am surprised to see it’s almost six o’clock. I’ve been staring at a blank screen for nearly two hours.
Fitness Trainers contacted me personally three days ago about a design for their new budget sneakers. They requested I work on the project personally and I think it’s because news of the hot Martinez project is getting around. Normally I would gracefully decline and reassure the client that my designers were the best in the country, but in this case, I couldn’t. Fitness Trainers was founded at the same time I started BPC Advertising. They gave me a chance when no one else wanted to. I did their first designs from my apartment, meeting them in coffee shops because my offices were ‘under renovation'. These people are one of the biggest contributors to this company’s success. I’d probably do anything to keep them happy.
Ever since that first design both our businesses have grown from strength to strength. My designs have always been met by Fitness Trainers with awe and inspiration. But here I am stuck on a design with no idea of what to create.
Right now it looks like tomorrow is going to be the first time I let them down. Unless I can pull a rabbit out of a hat in the next few hours.
Three days have passed since their call, and I still have nothing. Zip, zero, zilch designs to offer them for their new sneakers. I shove away from my desk and walk over to the glass-paned wall, scanning over the Manhattan skyline.
Looking down on all the people walking in the street, all the multi-billion dollar companies surrounding me, and knowing how far I’ve come always inspires me. It makes me realize I’m the best in the business, that’s why people come here.
But right now, I don’t feel like the best. I feel puzzled and annoyed that I can’t come up with one single design. Was this what happens when you start to focus on the business end of things and not the creative side? I’ve been too focused on watching the bottom line.
It was either that or the fact that I have barely slept in three nights. Sleep has eluded me for days. I catch a few winks in the early morning hours, but that’s about it. Every night my head touches my pillow I think of her.
Riley.
Her feisty mouth and emerald green-eyes haunt me. I want to taste her lips, touch her curves, and most of all, I want to see if her eyes change in shade when I drive her to the edge.
A groan escapes my throat as I shake the images of me fucking her out of my head. I can’t seem to get her out of my mind, and now it’s affecting my ability to work.
The corners of my lips tilt up as an idea springs to mind. Since it’s Riley’s fault I can’t focus, she can help solve my problem. She can be the rabbit in my hat. My eyes are drawn to my desk as I imagine what working late with Riley could lead to; I shove the thoughts aside and buzz my receptionist.
A few minutes later Riley steps into my office. “You’re looking for me?” She asks as she brushes a piece of hair out of her face. Today she’s wearing skin tight jeans with a leather jacket and bright red pumps. For a moment the reason I called her vanishes from my mind until Riley cocks a brow in question.
“Yes. I need you to work late tonight.” I say more gruffly than I had intended. I walk over to my desk and collect the brief I had received from Fitness Trainers. I
offer it to her, and our hands briefly touch. A spark fuses in my arm, sending a current of desire up my arm.
Riley gasps softly as she takes the brief and glances at it. “What is this?”
“They’ll be here at nine tomorrow morning to look at the designs for their latest sneaker. I need you to help me.”
A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. Her eyes widen, and she mocks me, “You want me, the arrogant, pompous new designed, BPC Advertising’s latest black sheep, to help you with this campaign that’s of utmost importance?”
“Who said it was important?”
Riley laughs, shaking her head. “Branson, I doubt you would be working on it if it wasn’t.”
I shrug and sigh. “Fine. It’s important. Fitness Trainers gave me my first big contract; they’re one of my oldest clients. Cancel your plans if you had any, you’re working late.”
She doesn’t hesitate and walks over to my desk and takes a seat. “Well, are you going to stand there, or are we going to think up a campaign?”
My eyes briefly narrow, anyone else would’ve argued at the short notice, but not Riley. She’s already scribbling something on a piece of paper as she tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth.
I feel my groin stir at the sight and take a seat behind my desk. “The new product line of sneakers is aimed at a younger market. They are priced lower than your average fitness shoe, that’s the challenge. We need to sell it as quality without saying it’s cheap and affordable.”
“Hmmm,” Riley says still scribbling furiously.
“What are you writing?” I ask irritably. We need to throw around ideas before she can start on a design.
Riley puts down the pencil and holds up a sketch, still holding her lip hostage. I glance at it, and for the first time in three days, I laugh. Until this moment, I didn’t realize how tightly wound Riley has gotten me.
She’s drawn a pair of sneakers with a bunch of dollar signs surrounding it. In the middle, she scribbled in a child’s writing: low price, not nice.
“So this is what we don’t want?” Riley asks me with bright eyes and a serious expression.
I nod, still laughing and shake my head. “How did you know I needed to relax?”
“You’re wound about as tight as wheel nut on a truck. There’s no way your creativity can flow through that.”
I drag my hand through my hair and smile at her ruefully. No one else has read me as accurately as Riley just had. It bothers me to no end that she understands me so well. I walk over to the liquor cabinet concealed in my bookshelf and pour us each two fingers of scotch before taking a seat across from her.
She’s right, I need to relax before I can do anything creative. I know I’d relax faster if I just lay her on my desk and have my wicked way with her, but I know then we’ll get nothing else done for the rest of the night.
“Here you go,” I say offering her a glass.
I expect her to cringe or at least flinch when she takes her first sip. Instead, she sighs contently. “Irish scotch, at least fifteen years.”
My eyes widen with surprise. “I’m impressed. You know your scotch.”
“Few things matter more than scotch… and BPC Advertising,” she adds with a teasing glance.
“You sound like me.” Our eyes meet briefly, and I can feel the oxygen being sucked from my office. My dick hardens in my pants as I watch her.
Her breath briefly hitches before she recovers and glances back at the summary on my desk. “So do you have any ideas?”
Grateful for the distraction I take a seat once again and glance at the blank screen. “A few,” I lie easily.
Riley laughs and takes a small sip of scotch. “You don’t have anything, do you?”
I cringe at being caught out. “I have you.”
The words hang between us. Her cheeks flush, and for a moment I wish the words were true. I have never been inappropriate with an employee other than my brief affair with Lisa, but what was brewing between Riley and me held a lot more emotion than I had ever had with Lisa. This is different. This has substance.
A smug grin spreads across her face as she picks up a pencil and holds it over a blank page. “Then let’s get started.”
6
Riley
I bite into the juicy slice of pizza and mentally sigh. If Branson hadn’t already surprised me with the scotch, he did with the pizza. Extra cheese and pepperoni, is there anything better in life?
We’ve been brainstorming for almost three hours, and although we’ve come up with a few good ideas, none of them are great. According to Branson, he wasn’t presenting anything if it wasn’t to his standard, which I understand.
As the flavors fill my mouth, I wonder what he tastes like. Working with him is an exciting, unexpected challenge. His ideas are fresh, and he forces me to think outside of the box. I must admit, my own creativity is slightly stumped by his presence.
He tugs his tie loose, revealing the sexy spot at the base of his throat. I try my best to focus on my pizza, but I can’t stop watching him.
“It’s going to be great,” Branson says almost to himself as he grabs another slice from the box.
My heart skips a beat only to return to its regular rhythm when I realize he’s talking about the design, not having sex.
The attraction simmering between us is dangerous, and if we give in to this need that has practically brought me to my knees, I know it will be earth-shattering. More than likely, he’ll break me.
“It will be,” I concede wiping a drizzle of cheese from chin with a napkin.
Branson’s eyes follow the movement making me squirm with desire in my chair.
Focus, Riley, focus! I reprimand myself and glance at the variety of slogans, and sketches that lay scattered on his desk.
All of them were good, but like Branson said, none of them were significant. “If this whole line is based on affordability, it won’t be aimed at a high-income group, right?”
Branson nods and takes another bite of pizza. “It’s basically an alternative for people who want to wear Fitness Trainers but can’t afford the heavy price tag.”
My mind switches into gear, and I feel excitement bubbling in my veins. I sit forward on my seat as an idea starts brewing. “So it’s not really aimed at the older age-group. It would be more aimed at college students, teenagers or young athletes still trying to make a name for themselves?”
He puts the half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box and wipes his mouth with a napkin before nodding. “Yes, what are you thinking Riley? I can see the wheels spinning in that pretty head of yours.”
I ignore the compliment and start scribbling on another piece of paper. “I’m thinking we’re going at this the wrong way. We can’t market a budget product to a high-income group. We need to dumb down the campaign to reach the target audience.”
Branson frowns at me confused. “Dumb it down?”
“I mean, with your previous campaigns you’ve focused on the quality and the endurance of the shoe. With this campaign, we need to focus on something that will click with a younger group on a limited budget.”
“I think you’ve got something there.” Branson takes out the summary and looks at the images of the sneakers. The colors are bold and the design rugged, and remind me of a trail running shoe. “It’s different, it’s new, and it’s off the beaten track…”
As Branson trails off a light bulb switches on in my mind. I can literally feel it lightning up and heating my blood with excitement. “Branson, that’s it!”
“What?” Branson asks looking at me with a confused expression.
I move around his desk, and he pushes himself away from his computer, allowing me to demonstrate. I open up the company’s stock images and start searching for what I want.
“You know this will go a lot quicker if you tell me what you’re looking for.” I hear him say behind me. I know I’m probably standing with my ass in his face, but right now I don’t care. I’ve got a great idea.
; I shake my head and keep scrolling. “I need a heavily wood forest, a dirt path…”
Branson puts his hand over mind and directs me to a different folder. Once he opens it the screen is filled with a variety of exactly what I had been looking for.
I start browsing through the images and realize he moved closer. He’s glancing over my shoulder as I scroll through the different pictures. Finally, I find one that I think might work. I double click on it until it fills the entire screen.
I turn to Branson with my fingers crossed. “Get off the beaten track with the new Fitness Trainer sneaker.”
Branson’s eyes narrow as he mulls it over in his mind before he smiles at me. “I like it, but it needs some fine-tuning. We can put a model on the image running in the tree-lined forest wearing a pair of these bright colored shoes.”
“Yes.” I turn to him and rest my ass on the edge of his desk. He’s sitting so close, exhilaration shining in his eyes at the first valid idea in hours. “The tagline needs some work, but I like your idea.”
“Great. I’ll start on the image, I think I’ve got a model somewhere I can Photoshop in with a pair of shoes. You work on the tagline.”
I smile as I cross around his desk back to my seat. After about thirty minutes Branson touches my still scribbling hand. “Here, what do you think?”
I glance at the screen and know precisely why BPC Advertising is the best advertising agency in New York. Branson is a genius designer. He had darkened the tree-line forest with only a few rays of sunshine filtering through. The rays fall on the runner in the center who’s wearing a pair of Fitness Trainers. In the bottom right corner of the image is a front view of the new sneakers. “It’s perfect. Branson, you’re amazing!”
He smiles proudly. “Flattery will get you everywhere this time of night Miss Harper.”
My tummy twists at his words and I imagine a thousand places I’d like to go with him right now. “Then I’ll just have to keep flattering you,” I say with a husky voice as our gazes meet.
