“Neither did I, but at least I can think with my brain instead of my dick.”
“Why didn’t you get any sleep?”
“The usual reasons. This isn’t about me—this is about you thinking like the CFO of this company and not like some adolescent prick.”
He finally takes a breath and half-smiles. “It’s not an either-or situation.”
There he is. “You good now?”
He nods and rubs his face. I’ve never seen him this stressed-out and worked-up before. He must have had a really bad time with Quinn on the weekend. Either that, or he really has a thing for Aimee.
“How about this … You don’t even have to work with her directly. You don’t need to be in the meetings. She can deal with me and Greg when she has to talk to the executive team, she can write up reports for you and send them to me. I will then forward to you. We won’t let anyone else know about this arrangement. We’ll tell Tyler that as VP of Sales he is point on this project, but this is what it will take for you to stay on the right path with Quinn. And you know the smart thing to do is stay on the right path with Quinn. Right?”
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m being a selfish, manipulative dick. But Keaton wants Quinn because his parents will approve—not just approve—they’ll actually have some respect for him for a change.
He looks relieved. I, however, am unsure of who will actually benefit from this solution. I just know that I do not want Keaton and Aimee alone in a room together. For business reasons.
“That’s a good idea. Thanks, man. Sorry, I know I’m being a shithead. I hope Aimee understands.”
“I’ll make sure that she does.”
I think he’ll be okay, if he just stays focused on his job and Quinn. Keaton usually has great instincts when it comes to investments, when it comes to tracking cash flow, analyzing financial strengths and weaknesses, courting investors and clients, sweet-talking our board members. But when it comes to making choices in his personal life, Keaton is—how shall I put this? He’s a fucking idiot.
Honestly, the smartest thing he’s ever done, when it comes to love interests, was to pursue Aimee. And I don’t know yet if not telling him about what happened between me and Aimee last night is the dumbest thing I’ll ever do, but I know I can’t tell him now and I know that if I ever see him lay a hand on her, I will eviscerate him.
“Just go easy on her,” he says. “I know she’s not your favorite person.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re always such a dick whenever I bring her up.”
“That’s because you never shut up about her. I am not a dick to the people I work with.”
Keaton looks down at the Breitling that his mom gave him for his birthday last year and sighs. “I’ve got a conference call in a few minutes. See you later.”
“Close the door behind you, will ya?”
He straightens up, tugs on his shirt sleeves, and steels himself before walking out of my office, shutting the door.
As soon as he’s gone, I slouch down in my chair, cover my face and do a silent scream. The agony I’ll be experiencing from now on is all on me, I know that. Would I have done things differently last night if Aimee had come clean as soon as she got to the bar?
Probably not.
Am I still pissed that she never mentioned it?
Very.
Does it change the way I feel about her?
Not even a little bit.
Did I honestly think it would be easy dealing with the Keaton of it all?
No.
But there is no way she and I can be together the way I want to be with her while she’s working here. I’m looking at another month of torture on a whole new level.
I sit up to have a peek at what’s going on outside my office. I’m really wishing we’d leased one of those old-school office spaces with a bunch of private rooms and hallways instead of this beautiful open design shit where everyone can see everything. Nora is leading Aimee over to the empty desk nearby. It’s better than having her close to Keaton, and I do need to have her around in case I need her to get on my calls with existing clients about the transition, but … this is gonna hurt. On so many levels.
When Nora hustles off to get Keaton on his conference call, I step out of my office. Aimee is getting comfortable at her new desk, setting up her laptop. She must be completely aware that I’m standing here, three feet away from her, but she’s refusing to look over at me. Now she’s pulling out her phone, a notebook and pens, and placing them, very precisely and loudly, on the desktop. Finally, she becomes very still and sighs.
“Got everything you need here?”
“Getting what I deserve, apparently,” she mutters. “Should I even bother getting settled in?” She gives me a hesitant sidelong glance that tears me apart inside.
“Your job is safe,” I say. “We’ll talk more in a bit.” I tap my fingers on the desktop and drop a folded-up note there, then walk out to the stairwell without making eye contact with anyone.
I used to come up here alone to the roof deck for a cigarette once a day. This is the first time I’ve been up here in a month. There’s no patio furniture, but there’s a great view. Since we’re the tallest building in the area, there’s the illusion of privacy.
I feel like a fucking schoolboy under the bleachers waiting for Aimee to show up. In the note, I told her to meet me here in five minutes so we can talk. It has now been seven minutes and I’m ready to jump. I hate not having my phone. And now I’m finally realizing that it’s a quarter to ten and I haven’t even started responding to emails or voice messages yet. This had been such a boring, drama-free workplace until today.
The heavy metal door opens a crack, and my new favorite face pokes out from behind it. I can tell she has no idea what to expect from me. I can tell that I can trust her to be professional. For the first time ever, I just don’t know if I can trust myself.
She stands by the closed door, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Sorry I’m late.”
I stay where I am, about five feet from her. My crossed arms mirror hers. She keeps her stare fixed on them, instead of my eyes.
“I’ve discussed this with Keaton, and I think the best way to go about this is for you to limit your interactions with him as much as possible. Aside from the tech department and me, you’ll primarily be dealing with Tyler, the VP of Sales on this. Anything regarding this project that’s finance-related can be written up in a report and sent to me, and I’ll forward it to Keaton. Don’t include him in your Slack messages when you set up your channels. If you have any questions for him, I also want you to tell me and I will relay them to him.”
Instead of commenting on how extreme that sounds, she merely nods her head. “Is he going to be okay with this?”
“He’ll be fine. Just don’t flirt with him.”
“I’ve never flirted with him!” she snaps.
“Great, then keep it up. Don’t make it obvious that you’re trying to avoid him or anything.”
She huffs. “Believe it or not, Keaton isn’t the first person that I’ve worked with who’s asked me out. I have become rather adept at handling myself around men in office situations.”
“He isn’t the first ‘person’ you’ve worked with to ask you out?” I can’t help myself. “You’re saying that women have asked you out too?”
“Does that surprise you?”
And that’s just one more thing to add to the list of things that I can’t allow myself to think about for a month.
“I don’t know if you’ve figured it out for yourself or not yet, but Keaton’s assistant Nora knows a lot about his personal business, so …”
“Yeah. I know. She had flowers sent to my old office. I don’t think she’ll be an issue.”
I cringe at the memory of Keaton trying to date her. In a way, it feels like it was so long ago.
“Just don’t mention anything to her about us, because she gets bored easily and she’ll tell Keaton just for shits and g
iggles.”
She frowns at me. “Us? What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Last night, I mean. Obviously, we can’t see each other outside of work while you’re here, and there can be no hint of intimate behavior at the office.”
“Yeah. I get it. I am not an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. But you must think I am.”
Suddenly, her deep blue eyes look wet. She takes a step toward me and jabs at the air. “I tried to get ahold of you all day yesterday and I went to Bitters last night because I wanted to tell you about my job and ask you how to handle it!” Her sudden rage is all it takes to unhinge me.
I take a step forward too. “And then you got there and all of a sudden—what—you forgot?!”
“No, I made a decision! I decided to tell you first thing in the morning instead, but you just left me there in the hotel room like a prostitute!”
“I am truly sorry if that made you feel like a prostitute, but I was under the impression that you were unemployed, and I wanted to let you sleep. How was I supposed to know you had a meeting with me in my office?”
“I would have told you if it weren’t so much more important to you to run off to talk to Keaton instead of saying ‘good morning’ to me after a night of fucking!” She lunges towards me and shoves me.
I grab her wrists and hold them in front of me. “That’s not all last night was to me and you know it!”
“How? How would I know it? From your little note?!”
“Do not confuse me being rational about this with me not caring about you.”
“Hah! Don’t confuse my anger with me needing you to care about me, Chase. It was just one night.” Her voice is strained, and I can feel her shaking. Not even trying to pull away from me, she just stands there, inches from me, glaring at me.
Goddammit. Those wild, deep blue eyes are driving me insane.
Letting go of her wrists, I grab her face and kiss her hard, running my fingers through her crazy hair. She responds with moans and hands all over me, sighing and saying my name over and over in that way that makes me feel completely powerful and totally at her mercy. If she weren’t in that tight fucking skirt that shows every hot curve, I’d have her legs wrapped around my waist by now, but I back her up until she’s against the door. She has all of the urgency that she had last night after the roller coaster plus the added energy of an enraged cat, alternately swiping and clutching at me while I kiss her neck.
“Don’t ever leave me like that again,” she says, her voice hoarse.
“I won’t.”
She tugs on my earlobe with her teeth. “You better not.”
The sound of a helicopter flying overhead suddenly wakes me up and reminds me where we are and what time it is and who we are and who we can’t be to each other right now.
I untangle myself from her and step away.
She gasps and swears under her breath, looking at me with a mix of resentment, lust, apology, forgiveness and confusion.
We both straighten ourselves up and clear our throats.
“That can’t happen again,” I say, finding my CEO voice.
“It won’t.”
She finishes tucking in her blouse. I readjust my throbbing angry dick, and then we both wipe our mouths with the backs of our hands.
“Thanks for not wearing lipstick,” I say.
After a beat, we both laugh.
“This is going to suck. I was so ready to tell Keaton about us, because I want to be with you, anytime we want, but we just can’t while you’re working here.”
She looks down at her shoes. “I know. Personally, I find it helps to remember that one day we’re all going to be dead. And that will be so much better than this.” She twists her lips to one side.
God, she’s adorable.
“I really did love our night together.”
She nods while combing her fingers through her hair and says, voice barely above a whisper: “I can still feel you inside of me.”
I brush her hair out of her eyes. It’s a mistake. The second I touch her I just want more again. Taking her face in my hands, I lower my lips to hers.
Instead of kissing me back, she says, “I have to go call my mom back and then talk with your employees.” Then, in an inexplicably sexy move, she reaches inside her blouse, further down inside her bra, and pulls out a small card, which she presses into the palm of my hand.
Then she sidesteps away from me, opens the door and disappears, leaving me alone again with the fresh air and a boner and a feeling of confusion and dread.
I look down at the card, which I had assumed is her new business card, but it’s the fortune card she got from the Zoltar machine at Luna Park last night, which reads:
“You may be riding the winds of change. Things may at times seem to be out of touch. Soon they will come down to a better order.”
She is so fucking sweet and I am so fucking mad about this mess.
I picked a bad time to quit smoking.
13
Aimee
I’ve learned a lot in the past week.
I’ve learned that Chase McKay is a beautiful, sexy and skilled lover. I’ve learned that he’s an excellent CEO who’s engaged in the whole process of being a founder at SnapLegal-NYC, even down to managing their Twitter account. He understands the needs of his customers, he’s a walking encyclopedia of entrepreneurship and corporate law, as well as Brooklyn history. He is an excellent leader, an upstanding member of the community, genuinely passionate about helping local brick and mortar businesses to thrive.
I’ve learned that he is a stubborn ass, and it’s driving me crazy. He is a wise, thoughtful yet quick decision-maker, and one of the decisions he’s made is to remain professional and emotionally distant from me while I’m working at his offices, despite my undeniable sexy awesomeness. It’s a good business decision, but I still hate it. He listens to me and compliments and thanks me for my work when we’re in the presence of other people, and I appreciate that. I respect and admire his loyalty to Keaton, dedication to his company, and ability to compartmentalize.
His resistance is so frustrating. I resent that he is so totally capable of not grabbing and kissing me again even just once dammit. I’ve learned how to work alongside him without having Wet Panty Face, despite secretly enjoying multiple micro-orgasms while staring at his hands and remembering all of the devastating things they did to me.
To sum up: Chase McKay seems to be handling our current situation with a certain kind of masculine grace, flair and ease, while I am a big, horny, functional mess.
I’ve been in a near-constant state of arousal since meeting that man over a month ago. But no matter how completely, blissfully satisfied I was for one night, I am far more frustrated now than I was for the month that led up to that night.
After a weekend spent cleaning and reorganizing every single thing in this apartment and nearly wearing-out my vibrator, I have been calmly observing how interesting it is that Chase has opted to refrain from contacting me at all. This is why Roxy is currently advising me to: “Get your tits out, baby, this is war.”
She’s laying out “a fuck you outfit” on my bed—an outfit that I would never even wear on a date, much less to work on a Monday morning. She thinks my only option is to “give Chase blue balls until his dick falls off from lack of oxygen.” Which is probably not how it would work, physiologically-speaking, but I get her point. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to Chase’s dick or to his balls. As much as I hate how stubborn he’s being, I still like all of his body parts, and his face, and hair. I even like his brain, I just don’t understand it.
In lieu of the bustier, blazer and spandex mini-skirt that Roxy has selected, I’ve decided to wear my Halloween costume from two years ago, when I went as Joan Cusack from Working Girl. Minus the hairspray, eye make-up and shoulder pads. I rocked that office Halloween party, but I don’t want to get laughed out of SnapLegal.
Roxy crosses her arms as she stands back to take
me in, in all of my brown and burnt orange, shapeless glory. “Right. So, your plan is to be so unattractive that his dick shrivels up? That’s original.”
“No, my plan is to be one hundred percent professional, if that’s what Chase wants. If he doesn’t want to acknowledge that we had sex multiple times, then I’m not going to acknowledge that I am a sexual being.”
Roxy does an admirable job of not laughing at me. “Uh huh. Well, as long as you’re owning it. You go, girl! You have a head for business and a bod for eating your lunch in a toilet stall while crying.”
“I’m feeling really good about my decision, so don’t try to stop me from walking out the door looking like this.”
“Oh, I’m not going to. I can’t wait to read your freelance story about this on Bustle!”
I can’t believe she let me leave the house looking like this. I can’t believe I didn’t bring an alternative outfit for when I realize what a dumb idea this was. However, I can now say for certain that Sigourney Weaver’s advice to Melanie Griffith in Working Girl was brilliant: “Dress shabbily and they notice the dress. Dress impeccably and they notice the woman.” I manage to hold my head up high as I greet everyone during my walk of wardrobe shame, from the entrance to SnapLegal, all the way to my desk. But when I see Chase through the open door to his office, I want to die.
Instead of his usual T-shirt and jeans look, which is still somehow impossibly sexy and appropriate in all situations, he is wearing a white button-down shirt under a dark suit. He must have a lunch or dinner appointment somewhere fancy. His shirt is casually unbuttoned to a point where I can see the top of the tattoo below his clavicle, and he looks so sexy I want to stab myself in the eyes with the pen I’m gripping so I don’t have to look at him.
Whose idea was it to wear dowdy clothes on the day he decides to suit up?
He’s talking on his office phone while leaning against the back of his desk, and when he sees me, he signals to me to join him. He continues talking on the phone, while looking me up and down. If his dick is shriveling up, I can’t tell, because he’s so good at talking to people on the phone in a way that makes them feel like he’s actually giving them his full attention.
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