STEP BY STEP

by Black, Clarissa

  Mirabelle was the luckiest intern in all of Manhattan. I’d never done anything like that for any other intern before, but there was something different about her. It wasn’t because she used to be my stepsister. I hated nepotism. That wasn’t my thing. She showed promise. Hunger. Dedication. She wasn’t like most of the other college kids who walked in here like they owned the joint and went crying home the moment I put them in their place. If I had a dollar for every intern resignation that landed on my desk after just two weeks on the job…

  Mirabelle was a different story, though, and with the right guidance, she could take over the world if she wanted to. Underneath my cold façade, buried underneath my iron heart and caged emotion, was a man who just wanted to be needed. Mirabelle needed me. She didn’t know it yet. But she needed me.

  “Preston,” she said with slight embarrassment, startling me out of my moment. Her sweet, southern drawl nearly knocked me off my feet. “How long have you been standing there?”

  I cleared my throat. “Not long. How about that view?”

  She parted her full lips as if to answer, but I slammed my office doors before she had the chance. Our interactions needed to be limited and impersonal or else she’d never become the shining star she was destined to be. I needed her to fear me. I needed her to walk on eggshells around me. I needed her to want to please the hell out of me. It was for her own good.

  ***

  “Ruthie,” I said in a low voice into my receiver. It had been hours since I’d last reconvened with her. “Send Mirabelle in here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Woodfield,” she said.

  I sat back in my chair, awaiting the knock that would announce Mirabelle’s presence.

  One. Two. Three. What was taking her so long? Four. Five. Six…

  I glanced down at my watch and concentrated on the ticking second hand. I didn’t have all afternoon.

  The door flung open without so much as a knock as Mirabelle made her way towards my desk.

  “Ever hear of knocking?” I asked. I kept my eyes locked into hers, knowing that if I slipped from her gaze they’d fall upon her narrow waist and curvaceous hips. The thought of what was under that pencil skirt and blouse made me slightly hard, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “And what took you so long?”

  “I was finishing up an email,” she said, not even fazed by my intentional rudeness. This girl was going to be hard to crack. Most interns would be shaking in a corner by now.

  I sighed. “Next time Ruthie tells you to get in here, I need you to drop everything. I come first. Always. Remember that.”

  “Yes,” she said. Her eyes staring into mine. She helped herself to the seat opposite of me and whipped out her notebook. At least three pages were scribbled with front to back notes. She was clearly not a slacker.

  “What’s that there?” I asked, peeking down at her notebook.

  “I’ve been brainstorming all afternoon,” she said as she flipped the pages. As her big, doe eyes scanned the pages she delicately placed the cap of her pen into her luscious mouth. She didn’t even realize she was doing it.

  “Stop that,” I said, thankful she couldn’t see the growing bulge under my desk. I couldn’t take my eyes off her lips.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said as she gently sat the pen down in her lap. “Bad habit of mine.”

  “Anyway.” I cleared my throat. “What do you have so far?”

  “Nothing tangible yet,” she said. “Just a bunch of thoughts I need to organize. I like to put my initial thoughts down on paper and then sleep on it a bit. My best ideas usually come to me when I’m in the shower the next morning.”

  The thought of Mirabelle naked in the shower, with water trickling down her smooth, baby soft skin sent a jolt of hotness through my body. I shook my head and tried to get that thought out of my head before I did something rash.

  “I was hoping I could stay a little late tonight,” she said. “I’ve got some more ideas I want to put on paper.”

  No one ever stayed late around here except for me. My employees, however seasoned and “professional” they liked to think they were, were the laziest things I’d ever seen. I inherited them when I bought out the company five years back. Halston, my partner, was set to retire in six more months. Once Halston goes, so does the vast majority of the company. I needed new, fresh blood. Young blood. Young ideas to appeal to the younger generation. I had a vision for my agency, and I was going to need a whole lot of people just like Mirabelle to pull it off.

  If I remembered anything about Mirabelle from ten years ago, it was her obsession with me and her relentless need for my approval. I rebuffed her back then. She was annoying and clingy and always acted like she had a crush on me. It weirded me out. But we weren’t related anymore. She was a woman now. Things had changed.

  “You want to stay late?” I asked with an incredulous chuckle. “You know interns don’t get overtime.”

  “I’m aware,” she said in an isn’t-it-obvious tone, eyebrows raised. “I really want to do well with this account. I have so many ideas swirling around in my head and - ”

  “Fine,” I said as I stood up and pushed my chair out. I pointed to the door. “You can stay late.”

  “I-is that all you wanted from me or was there something else?” She stammered a bit, and I laughed internally at the notion that she probably didn’t quite know what to think of me yet.

  “Yes, that’s all, Mirabelle,” I said. The truth was I’d forgotten why I wanted to talk to her again. I supposed I just wanted to look at her again. The fact that she was off limits as an intern, sexy as hell, confident as all get out, and smart as a whip, meant that it was only a matter of time before I had to have her. And that could be dangerous for both of us.

  FIVE

  MIRABELLE

  “Okay, Mr. Woodfield, I’m leaving,” I heard Ruthie say as she stood in his doorway.

  “Very well,” he replied in a monotone. “See you in the morning.”

  Our offices were right next to one another’s, and judging by the sheer size of mine and the higher end furnishings that filled it, someone very important once worked in here. I’d heard him refer to it as Sapphire Hart’s old office earlier, and I made a mental note to ask Monica about her next time I had a chance.

  The clock on the wall read five past five. I rolled my chair back to my window and watched as people exited the building in droves. Men and women in suits with briefcases and purses pounded the pavement one by one and soon shoulder to shoulder.

  I’d accompanied my mother on many business trips to the city when I was in high school. She was an interior designer back in Stone Mountain, Georgia, and she’d often go to the city to shop the latest in high-end fabrics and art. The lights of the city were enough to enrapture me the very first time I set foot on the island, and the air was ripe with ambitious and dreams. It always felt like home, whether or not my southern drawl fit in around there.

  I scooted my chair back up and peeked out my door to see Preston standing up in his office, peering out the window below. It was funny that we were doing the same thing at the same time, although I suspected he was likely keeping track of which of his employees bolted the moment the clock struck five and which ones stayed a little extra.

  He had become an interesting man who acted far older than he was. He wasn’t older than thirty, but he acted like a curmudgeonly middle-aged man who took life entirely too seriously. A workaholic. A bit of a jerk too. If I could just put up with him for another sixteen weeks, I’d have my degree and a guaranteed job at any agency I wanted. I’d practically let him spit on me as long as he let me pass my internship. No matter what, I vowed to myself not to let him shake my spirit. And underneath it all, if I walked away with his approval, I’d get that validation I always wanted from him. That feeling of wanting him to like me had never really gone away.

  My stomach rumbled a bit as I realized I’d forgotten to each lunch that day. I’d been so immersed in the Johnston account that the afternoon
flew by without warning. I picked up my phone to search for some local food delivery places and settled on some Italian deli up the street.

  Before my fingers had a chance to dial the number, I sat my phone down on my desk and marched into Mr. Woodfield’s office.

  “I’m about to order myself some dinner,” I said as I rapped lightly on his door. His back was towards me until he spun around at the sound of my voice. “Would you like something?”

  He eyes studied me up and down, instantly making me uncomfortable, but I was sure he didn’t realize he was doing it. I’d only been around him for a day, but sometimes it felt like he was undressing me with his eyes. He probably thought I didn’t notice, but I noticed it all. I just pretended not to.

  I flashed a sweet smile to try to make up for the nasty thoughts that were floating around in my head about him and prayed he couldn’t sense how crazy attracted I still was to him. I couldn’t deny the fact that he was smoking hot. His dark hair was so perfectly combed, thick, and lush. His peaches and cream complexion was flawless. His square jaw, the way it flexed when he was deep in thought, was the epitome of manly. His frozen blue eyes burned into mine anytime we were in the same room together, and those full, flushed lips of his were begging to be kissed.

  Stop it, Mirabelle. He’s basically your stepbrother! And now he’s your boss!

  “Are you hungry?” I asked him after he’d ignored my question. He was still staring at me. “I thought I’d get something from the Italian deli up the street. I’m going to order here in a minute, so…”

  “Um, sure,” he said after he’d thought about it a little too long. He grabbed a piece of paper and began scribbling something down before hanging his hand out for me to retrieve it.

  “I’ll let you know when it’s here,” I said as I took his order and went back to my office. His handwriting was impeccable, a little too neat, which totally went with his Type A personality, and judging by his very specific order, capicola ham and prosciutto with buffalo mozzarella and sundried tomatoes on ancient grains wheat bread, he was a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

  SIX

  PRESTON

  “Dinner’s here,” Mirabelle said as she barged into my office with two brown bags in her delicate, manicured hands.

  I opened my mouth to chide her for not knocking and then stopped myself. “Thank you.”

  She sat my bag on my desk and then took a seat across from me. “I hope you don’t mind if I eat with you? It gets kind of lonely in that great big office all by myself.”

  “You get used to it,” I said, watching as she unwrapped the plastic from her sandwich.

  We sat, eating in silence, as the sun set over the city and my office grew dim. The light from my table lamp illuminated the space around us until Mirabelle’s soft features were cast in a romantic glow.

  “I better get back to work,” she said as she wrapped up her trash and put it in her brown bag. She stuck out her hand to take mine too. “You usually stay here pretty late?”

  I nodded as I caught myself staring at her big, doe eyes once again, trying to avoid looking at anything below her neck.

  “Don’t stay too late,” I said as she strutted out. Her hips swayed just enough to make me bite my lip and want to rip off all of her clothes. I had to get out of there soon. A cold shower was in order.

  The last time I got caught up in a gorgeous woman, things had gone south quickly. Sweet, sexy, succulent Sapphire Hart. She had curves for days, smooth, fair skin and a short, platinum pixie cut which drove me completely and utterly insane. She was a real spitfire, which originally drew me to her, but in the end things weren’t what they seemed. Not at all.

  I sat at my desk for hours; unable to concentrate knowing that Mirabelle was sitting twenty feet from me in her office. If she wasn’t my intern and I wasn’t trying to mold her into tomorrow’s leader, I’d have thought about asking her out for a drink.

  Feeling completely useless, I locked up my desk and office doors and walked past hers. The big leather chair swallowed her up, and although she was young, she looked so dedicated and professional sitting in that spot.

  “Here you go,” I said as I walked in and slapped a fifty-dollar bill on her desk. “For dinner.”

  “Oh,” she said as she grabbed it. “This is too much.”

  I waved her off. “It’s fine. I’m sure there will be others. Just keep it.”

  I turned to walk out of her office and stopped in the doorway. Just a few short months ago, I’d stood in that very spot while I watched Sapphire pack her things.

  I recalled spinning around to face her. Normally spunky and fiery and quick witted, she looked defeated. Bags under her gorgeous blue eyes and lips quivering, she said, “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

  “Yeah. Right,” I said to her as I turned my back towards her. I didn’t want to hear her out. I’d seen all I needed to see the night before at dinner. She was a fucking liar and manipulator. Not someone I intended on spending another second around. “You can see yourself out. Collect your things and turn your keys into Ruthie.”

  “Preston,” Sapphire called out to me. “Wait…”

  I didn’t wait, though. I kept walking until I got to my office where I slammed the door and locked it behind me.

  “Did you need something?” Mirabelle called out softly, jarring me back to reality.

  “No,” I said. I hung my head for a split second, stuck my hands in my pockets and took a step forward. “Have a good night, Mirabelle.”

  SEVEN

  MIRABELLE

  Tuesday morning marked my second full day on the job, and I was flooded with even more excitement than before. I jingled the keys to my fancy office as I hopped onto the elevator with a bunch of other interns.

  “So I hear you’re working for Mr. Woodfield,” one of them, a petite blonde girl with a sleek bob said. “How’d that happen?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want them to resent me. I hadn’t asked to work for him – he just chose me. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

  “Lucky you,” a snarky Asian guy in a too-tight shirt huffed.

  The elevator dinged and the doors parted, letting the interns off on floor four. I headed up to floor six and couldn’t wait to tell Preston about all of my ideas for the Johnston account. I’d woken up with a head full of crazy new things we could try to get their products launched, and I knew he was going to be impressed.

  My mama always told me I thrived too much on other people’s approval, but I couldn’t help it. There was no better feeling than putting a smile on someone’s face because they thought I was simply amazing. I lived for that moment, especially when that person was super hard to please…like Preston.

  I unlocked my office and threw my purse in a desk drawer before heading to the employee lounge to get a cup of coffee. The Keurig brewer sat freshly filled with water, likely thanks to Ruthie, and a myriad of different teas and coffees sat neatly displayed for my picking.

  I selected a Seattle dark roast and popped the cup into the brewer. A minute later, my mug was filled with steamy dark coffee and the aroma filled the area around me. I held it up to my nose and breathed in the heady scent before spinning around to walk out…and bumping right into Preston.

  “SHIT!” he yelled out as my steaming coffee dripped down the front of his white shirt and lavender silk tie.

  “Oh, my God,” I said as I sat the mug down and grabbed a handful of napkins. I began dabbing his shirt and tie, but it was no use. They were ruined. “I am so, so sorry.”

  I was afraid to make eye contact with him, so I kept my eyes averted as I attempted to clean him up.

  “Stop,” he said. He placed his hand on my wrist and gently pushed it away. “Go to my office. There’s a closet in the back full of pressed and dry cleaned shirts and a tie rack. Pick something out and bring it back to me. Go. Now.”

  I scrambled out of the employee lounge and ran into his office as instructed. Just as he’d said
, there was a closet full of clean, pressed dress shirts and probably a hundred ties. I grabbed a shirt and picked out an icy, blue tie, one to match his eyes, and ran it back to him.

  “Shut the door,” he said as I returned with his things. He gently tugged off his jacket and began unbuttoning his dress shirt, his eyes never leaving mine, and I couldn’t help but blush.

  He loosened his tie before tugging it off and throwing his coffee-soaked shirt on the back of a chair. Preston had a rocking body that was for sure. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help but notice his smooth chest and rippled abs. I remembered him being a runner back in the day, and apparently he never stopped running.