Plus One

by Aleatha Romig

  Letting out an exaggerated breath, I swipe the screen.

  Five text messages.

  MOTHER: What Happened?

  I hung up on you!

  MOTHER: I can’t reach you.

  No shit. That’s the point.

  MOTHER: Are you there?

  My head moves back and forth. She’s not great at taking a hint.

  MOTHER: Call me back.

  Honestly, Mom, my plate is a tad full at this moment.

  MOTHER: I need to know about Timothy. Please tell me I misunderstood. Tell me that I don’t have to tell your aunt that one of the place settings will go unused. You know how hard your uncle has worked for this wedding. Or tell me to call Darrin. You know how much he has always liked you? Did you notice his picture on Facebook? The hair plugs are almost not even noticeable. Call me. Between this and your father’s problem, I’m about to have an episode.

  No. A thousand times no. I will order a blow-up date before agreeing to spend the evening with Darrin McKinney.

  “Fuck!” The word slips out louder than a whisper, as I bang my head on the top of my desk. “Someone, make this all go away!”

  And then it hits me. The answer to all my problems.

  Well, maybe not an answer, but an idea.

  My chest expands and my breasts push against my blouse as I stand. The idea that just occurred to me is ludicrous, asinine, and possibly the worst one I’ve ever had. But other than the possibility of losing my job—oh, and my dignity—it just might work. It might not only show Mr. Duncan Willis that I take my job seriously, but at the same time save me from sitting at the children’s table or with a blow-up date at Scarlett’s wedding.

  I square my shoulders, take another deep breath, and turn toward Mr. Willis’s office.

  No longer inhabited by butterflies of lust, my tummy is now filled with bats, like those that explode out of a cave in some old Indiana Jones adventure film. “Come on, Kimbra,” I tell myself. “It’s now or never.”

  With more determination than I thought possible, I walk toward his office door. My red shoes clip the tile at a fast pace. Despite my quick steps, it’s as if the journey takes longer than ever before. In reality, his office is only on the other side of the large room housing mine and seven other cubicles, and down one hallway.

  I’ve been to his office many times. I know from experience that his office space is separated from his assistant’s by a large glass wall. A switch can be thrown that changes the glass from clear to opaque, giving his space the privacy necessary to discuss employees’ futures. Currently as I approach, the wall is clear. Coming to a stop in the doorway, through the pane I can see Mr. Willis sitting at his desk, his green eyes squinting as he concentrates on whatever is on his computer screen.

  I walk toward his assistant’s desk and half-smile.

  Since it was a woman I heard in that bathroom, I know the person with Mr. Willis earlier today wasn’t his assistant, Jorge. Besides, if Mr. Willis and his assistant wanted to go at it, they wouldn’t need to use the company bathroom. They could just do it behind the opaque window.

  It’s been the location of more than a few of my fantasies.

  And I’m relatively sure that Jorge isn’t Duncan Willis’s type, though Duncan’s gender may be Jorge’s.

  “Jorge, I need to speak to Mr. Willis.”

  He looks up from his computer as his dark eyes shine from below his blond styled hair. He’s wearing a camel cardigan sweater over a tight black shirt. No matter who Jorge would like to get it on with, he’s always the epitome of chic and style. “Hi, Kimbra. Don’t tell me you’re firing people again.”

  My eyes widen. “The day is young.”

  “Oh, for such a pretty young thing, you sure can be scary.”

  I push my shoulders back, hoping he’s right. “Mr. Willis?”

  Jorge tilts his head toward the door within the glass. “Go on in. He just got here so I doubt he’s busy. But I warn you, something has him a little peeved this morning.”

  Just got here? Peeved? Thirty minutes ago Mr. Willis was on the first floor. Maybe banging some office slut in the bathroom threw off his schedule. Or maybe he’s upset that it was interrupted.

  Opening the door, I clear my throat. “Mr. Willis.”

  THIS DAY JUST got better, not that I’m going to let Miss Jones know that, not yet.

  Kimbra Jones is a vision, one I never expected to walk into my office this morning. Not after what happened a few minutes ago.

  My cheeks rise and lips thin as I scan her sumptuous body from head to toe. Her auburn hair is piled on her head exposing her slender neck and the red necklace moves with each of her breaths. It matches her fucking red shoes perfectly. My dick hardens as I imagine what I could do to her while she wears those shoes, maybe those and nothing else.

  In my defense, my dick doesn’t stand to attention for every woman. It wasn’t even at full mast earlier today despite that woman’s best intentions.

  In Kimbra’s defense, she doesn’t wear overly revealing clothes, but hell, that’s what makes her all that more enticing. With a body like Kimbra’s, she could be in a damn paper sack and it would be impossible not to notice her curves. The way her ass sways in that tight skirt and her tits, her gorgeous round big tits. They’re almost too perfect. Since she entered our employment three years ago, I’ve given those tits a lot of thought. My decision is they’re real.

  I came to that conclusion through years of research with strict, independent measures. Okay, it wasn’t that defined. Basically, I’ve known women who’ve paid a fortune for tits like Kimbra’s. I’ve even paid a lot of money for a few women in my past to have tits like those. The thing is, there’s something about fake boobs—something I don’t see in Kimbra’s.

  As her voice echoes through my office, it takes all my willpower to stay seated and not push the button to cloud the glass and pull her close. Earlier, it wasn’t the sound of her shoes that told me someone was in the bathroom—just before that happened, I’d heard a whimper, a perfect little whimper.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get off on someone listening, or someone getting off while they listened. But never in a million years did I imagine it would be Kimbra Jones. I honestly didn’t see the shoes until it was too late.

  I’d much rather have my dick in Kimbra’s mouth than the woman’s from accounting. Actually, that woman never got it in her mouth. She was too busy rubbing herself all over me, trying to turn me on. She’s been throwing herself at me for a while, and I’ve had a small dry spell of late. A few dates here and there, but none I enjoyed as much as sitting with Kimbra after dinner the other evening. Since that night, the beauty in front of me has been on my mind more than usual. And then I saw her this morning in the coffee shop, and she looked so damn sexy—red shoes and all.

  When that other woman offered her services, I decided that a little relief was in order. I could have taken matters into my own hands, but why turn down the gift of a blow job?

  “Mr. Willis,” she repeats, bringing me back to present.

  “Yes, Miss Jones.”

  She reaches for the door and pushes it shut. Taking two more steps toward me, her sweet perfume reaches me before she does. Based on her stick-straight posture and the determination in her blue eyes, I’d venture to guess that fulfilling my fantasies isn’t on her agenda.

  She’s obviously pissed and cute as hell.

  “We need to discuss a company policy infraction that occurred this morning.”

  I lift my brow, unsure if I should be impressed that she is so damn good at her job or that she has the courage to confront me. “I see. Did you witness this infraction or was a report made?”

  She clears her throat. “I-I witnessed it.”

  I stand, hoping my body’s reaction to her and her fortitude keeps itself hidden. Casually I tug and straighten my suit coat, hoping another layer of covering will do its job. Keeping her bright blue eyes locked on mine, I narrow the distance between us. “This in
fraction, can you describe it?”

  What the fuck am I doing?

  My business partner, Michael Buchanan, has been lecturing me about women since we were together in college. I can’t help that he’s married and tied down to one woman. I’m not. Besides, I don’t look for opportunities. They throw themselves at me or walk into my office of their own free will.

  It just so happens that the incredibly beautiful and sexy woman in front of me has never shown that kind of interest. And, if I were to be truthful, it’s bothered me. I’ve given her more attention than half the women who spread their legs and never once has she responded. Even at the bar the other night, she was friendly but respectful. Not once did she seem to notice that I’d like to know her better.

  Having Kimbra walk in my office now is like a birthday present. Even though, technically, my birthday isn’t for another four months, it would be a waste not to accept my gift.

  “I-it was fraternization,” she says.

  “Really?” I ask. “We have a friendly work environment, Miss Jones. We encourage our employees to get along. You yourself told me recently that our company has no policy regarding fraternization outside the office.”

  Her boobs heave as she takes a deep breath. “Sir.”

  My dick painfully thickens at the word. I can’t stop the image of her calling me that on her knees, like she was at Gaston’s… except in my image she’s naked.

  “I’m not referring to friendly conversation near the coffee station,” she explains, interrupting my thoughts.

  Amused, I lean back against my desk and cross my arms over my chest. “What exactly are you discussing?”

  Her cheeks flush. “Sex.”

  “Oh, sex. Well, what happens away from the office—”

  “Not away from the office,” she interrupts. “In the office. In the bathroom.”

  “Sex? Are we discussing unwanted advances? Did someone force him- or herself upon another?” Little does she know, that is what happened. Granted, I wasn’t exactly fighting her off, but it was her advance.

  “I-I don’t think it was unwanted.”

  “And you know this how?”

  Kimbra’s hands go up and just as quickly come down, slapping the sides of her hips before she turns in a small circle, displaying a full view of her curves, her ass to her tits. Once she completes the turn, her blue eyes narrow. “Mr. Willis, you know that I know. You know I was there. You saw my shoes.”

  My grin broadens. “Only after I heard you. Tell me, did you come?”

  All the color drains from her face. It happens so fast that I worry she may faint. And then, it’s back. Red. Flaming red. Brighter than her shoes—cherry red.

  “Mr. Willis, I’m here to say that what happened was inappropriate. What I witnessed was inappropriate. What you just said is—”

  “Inappropriate,” I offer. “Yes, it is. Perhaps HR should fire me.”

  “You know I can’t…”

  “Then what is this about?”

  “I-I like this company. I like my job. I don’t want you or anyone to screw it up.”

  “Screw?” My brows rise.

  Momentarily, she purses her lips. “I’m here as a representative of the human resources department to warn you…”

  My head tilts to the side as my grin grows, a little lopsided. She’s warning me? This little firecracker is warning me, and I fucking love it.

  “…will make you a deal.”

  I’d missed some of what she’d said, but the last part has me intrigued.

  Pushing off the desk, I hit the button on the window, take another step closer, and then one more. “What kind of deal do you propose?”

  As Kimbra inhales, I imagine taking one more step and feeling the brush of her tits against my chest.

  At that moment, her resolve evaporates. “Never mind. It was stupid.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  I reach out and grab her elbow. Just like in the restaurant, there’s energy that courses from her to me. I wonder if she feels it too.

  “Miss Jones, you’re right. What you witnessed was inappropriate. We should have made sure we were alone.”

  She grimaces.

  “We shouldn’t have done it at all,” I correct. “Michael wouldn’t be pleased if this report were made to him. It’s not like he could fire me either, but you’re right. I was wrong.”

  Her eyes widened. “Then I’m glad—”

  “What deal did you have in mind? What deal can be made to keep this just between the two of us?” Hell, I’ll probably tell Michael anyway. I’ll wait until we are three or four beers into a ballgame, but I’ll tell him. Right now, I want to hear what Kimbra is thinking.

  “I need a plus-one for a wedding.”

  My back straightens. What the fuck did I just hear? “Miss Jones, are you asking me on a date?”

  “No,” she answers too quickly. “I’m blackmailing you. Well, it’s not really blackmail… it’s more of a quid pro quo. And it’s not really a date… it’s a plus-one. It’s a weekend. A deal for a weekend from hell.” Her sentences all run together.

  I work diligently to keep my lips from gaping open. “Blackmail? Deal? Plus-one. A weekend wedding from hell?”

  She nods.

  “I’m intrigued.” This is more than a deal. This is the day I’ve been waiting for, and I intend to seize it. “A whole weekend?” I ask. “Will we travel somewhere?”

  “Indiana. It’s where I’m from. It’s my cousin’s wedding. I forgot about it or blocked it out. But now it’s this weekend. My mother RSVP’d for two. I was dating… He… well, now I’m not. I never told my mom that we broke up. I can’t go home without a date. I’m always the one without a date. It’ll just be for this weekend, which, by the way, needs to start Thursday and… well, not end until Monday. So I need time off and so do you. And… oh… there’s this thing about being in the wedding.”

  She shakes her head.

  I stare at the lips, her full red lips that are the same color as her necklace and shoes. Her words continue to spew faster than I can comprehend.

  “But I think I can get you out of that.” She exhales. “That’s it. You do this for me and I’ll never mention what I heard. We can forget it ever happened. Unless… unless,” she adds, “you’re involved, like, with whoever that was.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, you had a date… you said she cancelled. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

  My astonished expression is replaced by amusement. Involved? The date that cancelled was my mother and as for the woman in the bathroom, I don’t even know her name. “Wait. No. I’m not involved. So tell me, Kimbra…” I like using her first name. “…how long have we been dating?”

  “SHIT!” I TAKE a step back, but Mr. Willis reaches toward me again. This time he grabs my hand. His touch is warm—a spark that brings the earlier fire back to life.

  “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  The amusement in his tone reverberates in a straight line from my ears to right between my thighs. My core clenches as I remember the growl I’d heard earlier in the bathroom. No wonder I’m pale. My blood is too busy racing through my system, muting the world. I mean, I’m sure I misunderstood what he’d just said.

  “Y-you agree? You do realize,” I clarify, “that I’m talking a full weekend. Four days. My family.” I pull my hand back as I remember my mother saying we would stay at their house with them. “Shit!”

  This is a disaster.

  Mr. Willis laughs. “Is that your favorite word? I should know—since we’re involved.”

  I shake my head. “No,” I answer too truthfully. “Fuck is my favorite word.”

  He laughs again, this time louder. Each chuckle diffuses a small amount of my horror.

  “No! This was a bad idea. I just remembered, since I kind of forgot about this weekend, I didn’t book a hotel. My mom wants us to stay with her and my dad, and I don’t know, probably my brother and his wife will be there… and maybe even my grandma
. Oh, Mr. Willis, this will never work.”

  “Duncan.”

  His name is a flame setting every nerve in my body ablaze. I’ve touched myself to that name. I’ve fantasized about it. Now Duncan Willis is inches away, his lips hovering near mine, saying his name, his warm, cinnamon breath caressing my cheeks, and his spicy cologne filling my lungs. I swallow. “Duncan… yeah, right,” I say stupidly as I lift my right hand and extend it to him, ready to shake. “I’m Kimbra.”

  Taking my hand, he laughs again, low and deep. He turns my hand in his grasp and lifts my knuckles to his lips. Their touch is tender as he peers up at me from under sinfully long lashes. “Yes, Kimbra, I know your name. Don’t worry, I’ll book a hotel. Where in Indiana are we going?”

  Surely my heart is about to beat out of my chest. I try to form words and put them together in something that resembles a sentence. “Going… going to Indianapolis, and shit, you can’t. It’s race weekend. The hotels are all booked.”

  “Race? The 500?”

  “Yes. My mom wants us there Thursday. Friday night is the bachelor party.” I narrow my eyes. “Mr. Wi—I mean, Duncan. There will be women. That’s the kind of party it is.”

  He nods knowingly.

  “If we’re… together, you can’t… you’ll be with my brother and cousins and you just…”

  He squeezes the hand he’s still holding. “Tell me, Kimbra, will we be together?” He elongates the final word.

  My breathing hitches. “We need rules. We need to make it appear…”

  He releases his grip and leans back against his desk. With his arms again crossed over his broad chest, he says, “Lay the rules on me.”

  The way he’s staring at me looks like he’s waiting for me to give him a report on office morale, not like I’m about to tell him our plans and sleeping arrangements for the weekend… in my parents’ house.

  I clear my throat. “We have to make them all believe we’ve been dating.”

  He nods.

  “I mean dating for a while. They can’t know this is just a one-time plus-one weekend.”