See You Monday: An Office Romance (Weekday series Book 1)

by Tiffany Costa

  Fuck. I shifted in my chair to relieve the growing pressure in my pants. I needed to change that door. The glass was becoming a complete nuisance to me. Something two meters thick, bulletproof, and made of steel would be much more suitable. I’ll put in the order to Michael.

  I was a thirty-four-year-old man. I could shut off my imagination, but only at the high price of being a complete asshole to her.

  And I was.

  All the time without warning. And I hated it.

  Whenever my thoughts veered off to the lurid corners of my perverse inner world, I snapped at her. Or gloated about knowing more than she did, like a ten-year-old boy. I cringed thinking about that. How I would tease her for not knowing something, or snap at her to get her work done faster, or pile on more and more reading so that she’d stay in her office… away from me.

  I had to push her away so that I didn’t pull her in. God my whole body ached to just pull her in. Eventually, I’d get over this. I just had to keep my hands to myself long enough to make it till then. I had to. Celeste was the most intelligent, capable person I’d ever worked with. It infuriated me that she never fucked up or didn’t meet my demands. If she did, I could be annoyed with her, I could detest her. I could be turned off by her.

  My phone rang, snapping me back to reality. “Thompson,” I answered after one ring.

  “Isaac?” I recognized Meghan’s voice instantly.

  “Meghan, to what do I owe this surprise?” I turned on my charm. This was the exact distraction I needed. I checked my watch. Mum wouldn’t be in till late afternoon.

  “I think we should meet for lunch. I have something you might like to hear.”

  “It’s hardly past breakfast.”

  “Brunch, then. My place?”

  Celeste was sprawling some of my research across the floor in her office.

  “I’ll be there,” I said before hanging up.

  I pushed open the glass door. Celeste looked up at me, sitting with her legs tucked under her, her shoes dropped neatly in the corner. I hated when she did that. She looked so comfortable and trusting, as if she were home. I looked to her desk which was significantly less chaotic than her floor. She was building a chart of sorts, making connections from one source to another in little color-coded circles. I looked to her, raising my eyebrows.

  Like the smug, self-important bastard I was around her.

  She stood and pointed at the poster board, her arm crossing in front of me, my chest pressed against her shoulder. “It’s a web diagram.” She pointed to a circle and traced the line she’d drawn in red to another circle. “I think it’ll help you write when the time comes. The lines connect all of your sources and once I’m done and put it into the computer, you’ll have the quotes we gathered as references. That’s what I’m doing down there. I have the citations in a document too.”

  “I’ve never thought of mapping sources out like that.”

  “I did some research on dyslexia and this was one of the techniques suggested for organizing research. Helps with ADHD too apparently.”

  “I’m not diagnosed attention deficit.” I snapped.

  “I know you’re not. I’m just saying, that for people who struggle with organization, which I read is a symptom of dyslexia and ADHD, this helps. And actually, it’s helping me too. I can’t believe I never thought of this before. Everything is just right here and then it’ll practically write itself!” Celeste was rambling. I loved watching her lips when she did that… talking faster than usual, excitement brightening her chocolate colored eyes.

  “Are you saying I struggle with organization?” I clutched my pearls.

  Her laugh was breathy and the way her voice rolled over me brought me so much pleasure I had to back away from the pain of it. “Of course not, boss. I would never suggest that.”

  “I am the epitome of organization and color-coding,” I poked fun at her rainbow colored everything with a gesture around the room. Notes, office, computer, writing utensils… everything she owned was colorful.

  “You are the very epitome of neat and tidy.” She pointed to my desk, piles of papers and books thrown everywhere. “In fact, I think I saw a picture of your office when I googled ‘office organization hacks.’”

  Celeste bent over laughing. I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly, chuckling. I tried to be as neat as her, but I couldn’t keep up. Her hand came to rest on my forearm. Her dark eyes glittered, her white smile melting the pieces of me I couldn’t show her. Her lipstick was a dark shade of red today, glossy. I could almost taste it.

  “You really looked up dyslexia?” I didn't know why that made me feel unsteady.

  She nodded. The place where her hand had rested on my arm tingled from the loss of that warmth. She fidgeted with a strand of her hair, tucking it back in the scarf. “Part of the job, right? To, to… uh,” she tripped over her syllables, having to slow down her speech to finish, “Support you and all that,” Celeste’s words were rarely clumsy, and I tried not to read into her brief stutters. She was always so confident and sure of herself. It was always when we touched that she lost her composure. When we inevitably invaded each other’s space. I could see the inner battle between her hand and her head. She was trying to erase the touch from between us by wringing her fingers together and stepping away.

  I hoped my poker face was good enough to hide that I would shag her into the next decade if she let me.

  Because if Celeste wanted to touch me—to fuck me—she wouldn’t have pulled her hand away as if she’d been burned. Or go stiff when our bodies aligned over papers and books. Like me, she was warm when lost in the work, and cold after we touched. Only difference was that I pretended to be cold—forced myself to push her away—while in reality her touch, her gaze, her laughter, swallowed me up in the flames of wanting.

  I stepped away, giving her the space she clearly wanted. “This looks great. We’re almost ready to start writing. Our deadline is getting close.” I had to reiterate how much I did not want to shag her, so I added with the sourness of a controlling boss, “Don’t fall behind.”

  Celeste didn’t respond, just looked back to the floor, littered with my nearly illegible scribblings.

  “I’ll be gone for a while. One of my sources called, I’m going to meet her.” I had to leave before I apologized.

  “Have fun,” she knelt back down to my papers, and to my disappointment, there was no jealousy tinging the melodic lilt of her voice.

  I thought about Celeste the whole walk to Meghan’s apartment. She was invading my thoughts again and it made me pound my heels to the pavement until I was almost ready to break into a run. I didn’t want her to know I imagined bedding her at least once a day. But it was happening more and more frequently, there was no way she didn’t see the lust in my eyes. I needed to stop. Get this under control.

  As I entered the lift to Meghan’s apartment my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to put it on silent but as a matter of habit I swiped up to read the text. Probably Meghan asking what time I’d arrive. I got ready to reply something filthy and debauched.

  Don’t forget you owe me. Double shot. Extra hot. Cinnamon, please.

  Celeste.

  And with a bloody wink face emoji at the end.

  As the lift climbed up, I contemplated turning around and returning to Celeste with her blasted coffee. I could ask for extra foam so that she’d have to lick her lips more often. And then she’d have to reapply her lipstick, which she could do without a mirror and it always had me entranced. Imagining ruining that lipstick with my lips and tongue and teeth was the stuff that made up my fantasies as of late. Torture myself just a little bit more.

  Shit. Fuck me.

  The lift doors opened, and I replied to the text. Pushed Celeste aside to the back of my mind and knocked on the right door without further hesitation.

  When Meghan opened up I shoved my hands into her short blond bob and pushed myself inside the threshold to her tiny apartment, kicking the door shut beh
ind me. Her hands rushed straight to the buttons on my shirt and ripped them open one by one, breathless and panting for me. The way I wanted Celeste’s body to beg for me.

  “Hello to you too,” her sultry voice sent a cold shiver down my spine. I tore off her jumper and licked the crook of her neck, biting and soothing the pain away with my tongue. She moaned my name and I swept my arms under her, hitching her legs around my waist.

  I threw her onto her messy bed. For a split second I imagined a sheet of black silk falling against the pillows and not the sultry blonde locks that laid before me. She pulled her red lacy pants down her thick creamy thighs and smiled wickedly up at me. She watched me strip off my belt and trousers hungrily. The way I wanted Celeste to look at me.

  Bloody hell.

  “Hey,” I lowered myself to her. Forcing Celeste from my thoughts once again. How had she followed me here? I’d come here to getaway. To remind myself that there were tons of women in London willing to shag me. And none of them were my closest co-worker.

  She wrapped a condom around me and I pressed myself inside her. She gasped. “I see you missed me,” she whispered into my ear. It had been weeks since I’d seen her. But, no, I missed her about as much as she missed me. We were nothing more than this. A tangle of bodies pressed against sheets. Something felt off, and I struggled to focus. I waited for her to cry out and then forced myself to finish.

  Spent and giggling Meghan wrapped an arm around me and nestled up into my shoulder. “I needed that,” she kissed my chest. I felt her looking at me, but I stared blankly at the ceiling. I felt dirty and ashamed.

  “Are you okay?” She sat up, looking worried.

  I put and hand on her hip. “Yeah, I just, my mind is all over.” I could shag her again, this time focused and deliberate. But I didn’t want to, I hadn’t really wanted to just now. The realization unsettled my mind even further and I felt an urgency to get out.

  “I hope you’re not falling in love with me,” she hitched a leg over me to straddle my waist. I could feel her wetness against my softening cock. She wanted to go again. I’m sure she was as unsatisfied as I was. “I’m a taken woman.”

  I squeezed her thighs gently and pushed her off of me. I headed to her bathroom to shower. She followed me. This was our ritual for a little over a year now. Easy. Fast. Reliable. Beneficial.

  “Isaac?” her voice trailed behind me, tone accusing. “What the fuck?”

  “Sorry, pet.” I kissed her shoulder when she joined me in the cramped shower.

  “Is it because I mentioned… him?” She was referring to her fiancé. He’d proposed a few weeks ago. Which was the last time we’d seen each other.

  “No, I- I’m stressed with work and I can’t go again, sorry.” What the hell was I saying?

  “I agree. I sort of wanted to talk to you about that,” she frowned slightly. “You’re a great fucking shag, Isaac. Even when it’s quick like this, I get off. But I want to make it work with my fiancé. He doesn’t want to be open for a while. I have to respect that. We should still see each other, but in a professional way.”

  Oh my God, I am being broken up with. “I was going to say the same thing.” That was a half-truth. I had originally come here to screw her brains out and had no intention of ending our arrangement. Yet, as she dumped me, I felt relief when I knew I should be feeling the opposite.

  “That’s what I loved about this,” she ran her hands up my chest and into my hair, “You’re so simple and easy.”

  I cringed. “Let’s not,” I pulled her hands off me and stepped out of the shower.

  “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

  “I’m not. You just ended things. I don’t think we should screw again.”

  “Oh please, Isaac. Don’t act like I wasn’t just a shag to you, too! It’s not like you to be sentimental. You were very clear from the start that this was just sex. If you wanted something more you should have spoken up a year ago when I met Daniel.”

  “I don’t. I just have to get back to the office. That’s all.”

  “You sure?” She sounded a little hopeful.

  I had to keep her as an ally, so I kissed her cheek and lifted her chin to meet my gaze. “Daniel is a very lucky man. I’ll miss you is all.” A tiny little white lie.

  “I’ll miss your cock.” She swatted my arse and disappeared into her bedroom. We dressed while we talked, the intimacy between us dissolving as easily as it had evolved.

  “So, I overheard them talking about Russia and I lingered outside of the door a little.” Meghan was a secretary with one of the politicians that worked on the international defense committee in parliament. She was an invaluable source to me, eager to eavesdrop and report what she heard if she thought it would help me. She did this out of a sense of saving the world. Meghan also helped me make connections in the government, introducing me to politicians and making sure her boss read HRI reports.

  “Did you get a hand on any documents?”

  “Not yet. I’m working on it.” She replied. “But something is brewing in Moscow. They think it’s going to be a revolt or some kind of violence. While I was watering the plants, I heard them talk about some online forum of opposition planning a protest. I don’t know. Some socialite named Sarah Taylor is making waves. But they kept shutting up when I was in there.”

  “So why am I here? You could have told me over the phone.”

  “I wanted to swindle you into one last shag,” she wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tight.

  “Touché.” I looked down. I’d been following Sarah Taylor for years. Turns out she might still be alive, after all. However, the possibility that she was some mastermind fighting the system that afforded her a very cushy lifestyle for years, was not making any sense. Recruiting young girls into the mafia was a more likely business venture for this peculiar enigma that was connected to suspected crime bosses. “The second you hear about Miss Taylor, you know how to reach me.”

  Meghan nodded, “Goodbye, Isaac.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Celeste

  I breathed a sigh of relief when Isaac left the office. My heart was fluttering. I hadn’t meant to tell him I googled his dyslexia!

  G-O-O-G-L-E-D. Like a creep.

  And the way his forearm was so hard and warm. I hadn’t even thought about touching him. I just did. I hoped he didn’t find it awkward or crossing some boundary.

  I grabbed my phone and texted him. I added a wink face to see if he’d respond like it was all okay. My stomach did flips until I saw the three blue dots. I waited and waited. Was the wink face too much? The dots disappeared.

  He didn’t respond.

  The wink face was too much.

  I was mortified.

  When my phone vibrated in my hand I jumped. Isaac’s reply stared up at me. Yes, Boss. Just got here. Text you when I’m out.

  A giddy smile crept up on me and the fluttering only got worse in my stomach. I chalked it up to nerves. Or hunger. I hadn’t eaten yet. The diagram had sucked me in almost compulsively since I started it last week. I looked down at my phone, with nothing witty to reply.

  Isaac said he’d be gone a while, so I took the opportunity to go in and organize his office a little. I did this periodically, to maintain the organization I’d put in place when I'd arrived in London. He was getting better at keeping things filed away, but his desk was his messy place. I bought him a mail sorter that first week, but it became a catchall for articles he didn’t find a use for. And being a paper hoarder, he wouldn’t shred or recycle away anything.

  So, I did it for him when he wasn’t looking.

  “You better not be throwing away my things, Miss McAlaster.” Isaac’s voice caught me red-handed with a pile of paperwork in the bin already.

  “You better not have forgotten my cinnamon, Mister Thompson.” The cup was hot and I could already smell the warm cinnamon sprinkled on top.

  “I got you a croissant with ham and cheese.” Isaac avoided looking me in the eyes
and fidgeted with some of the books in his library. I sat on his now clear desk and crossed my legs.

  I took a bite and moaned my approval. The croissant was heavenly. Isaac gave me a strange look. “Why do you look so guilty? Were you out committing crimes I should know about?” I asked after a short silence.

  § Isaac §

  No. I was out fucking someone to forget about you.

  “I got a lead on Sarah Taylor. Looks like she’s surfacing on the internet to start some kind of women’s uprising. I guess things went south with her ties to the mafia. She’s definitely going to end up dead.”

  “Why would she turn on them, now? Didn’t you say she’s been in cahoots with them for several years?”

  “Who’s to say she wasn’t trafficked herself? Groomed and then moved up the ladder to recruiting girls?” It was more likely than not. And it was a baseless theory that had me following Sarah’s whereabouts over the past few years.

  She first appeared in the Russian tabloids on the arms of Oleg Seminovik. Then moved on to Petrov Seminovik, his elder brother. She had perfectly curated social media accounts. Never spoke to the press and was always seen in the little mob-wives club. Something about Sarah Taylor did not sit right with me.

  “And they put her in the spotlight like that? I don’t know, Isaac. I think that’s a stretch.”

  “Hiding in plain sight. You know the only thing we have on her is media footage and pictures. She’s never done an interview. Ever.”

  “And now she’s fighting for women’s rights? Not very mafia-wife of her.”

  “My source says she’s under a screen name. So, they may not know.”

  Celeste raised an accusing brow and cocked her head slightly. “One of the most powerful men in Russia doesn’t know what his girlfriend is doing on her phone? Isaac, you’re grasping at straws.”

  What made me angry was that she was right, and I had no evidence, nothing but my intuition telling me that Sarah was more than what she seemed.