by S. A. Wolfe
In my interview, Carson mentioned that the office is casual unless they visit clients out of the office. Nevertheless, I want to make a good impression on my first day, so I wear a charcoal gray pencil skirt that falls just above my knees; low black pumps; and a fitted, white silk blouse with a relaxed neckline. It’s not casual, but it’s not too conservative, either. I consider wrapping my long hair up into a loose twist, then decide that will look like I am trying too hard. I have seen the shop—guys wearing flannel and covered in sawdust and the receptionist wearing jeans—so I don’t want to look ridiculously out of place. I leave my hair down in loose waves and put on some mascara and lip gloss before heading out the door.
When Carson gave me the tour, I paid strict attention to the details of the process—from weathering the wood in the ovens to the actual craftsmanship that takes place in the studio. I took copious notes like I was in chemistry class, repeating everything he said and writing it down like I expected some big test on all the material. Carson kept glancing at my clipboard and smiling, probably because I was clearly so nervous and overzealous in my all-business attitude.
Once in town, I drive off the main street and around the building where others have parked behind the factory’s extension that houses new equipment. The employees’ vehicles are parked any which way on the dirt area, so I wedge my little car up along the far back wall, parking parallel to the side of the building and close to the side door. I have the smallest car on the lot, so it seems like the best spot for me.
I grab my huge leather satchel, which only holds my wallet and cell phone, hoping it makes me look more professional despite its sparse contents. I take the side entrance inside and walk through a hallway of offices that leads me out to the front desk where Daisy, the receptionist, sits.
“Good morning, Emma!” Daisy says, jumping out of her chair. “It’s so nice to see you again.” She is a very chipper person, the kind you want greeting everyone who comes through the front door.
“Hello, Daisy. It’s nice to see you, too. Where should I put my bag? Carson never showed me where I’d be working.” I step behind the receptionist counter to join her.
“That’s because we had to clean out the back office to make space for you and Dylan. He’s really a sweetheart. You’ll like—”
Daisy is cut off when a tall, broad-shouldered guy comes striding around the front of the receptionist’s counter. “Who took my spot?” he demands. “Someone parked in my bike—”
“Cool it, Rambo!” Daisy snaps and tosses her headset on her desk. “This is Emma Keller. She’s starting today. Emma, this is Dylan Blackard. You two will be working together.” She shoots Dylan a look that says he needs to play nice.
“Huh?” He sounds like Scooby-Doo, and I would laugh except he looks like a trained assassin, though a handsome one, in my humble opinion. Still, he looks tough. Actually, he’s very attractive despite a dark sandy buzz cut that shows off long, thin, white scars on either side of his head. He has aqua-blue eyes that complement his sculpted features, and there’s a fierce, rugged quality to him, like someone who has spent a lot of time outdoors. It doesn’t hurt that he is wearing a gray sleeved Henley that hugs his thick chest and his beefy biceps.
Beefy biceps? Since when do I care about guys’ arms? That’s not like me. I must be a little over-excited about starting work to let a guy like this unnerve me. I have worked with bigger guys than him, frigging goombas; I am not going to be intimidated by this guy. Damn, he is big, and he keeps looking at me with a confused expression like he can’t decide how he is going to kill me. Will that be quick and easy, or slow and torturous?
Obviously, I have spent too many years in my father’s male-dominated business and have seen my fair share of shady characters come and go from his office. Watching my father muttering angry expletives under his breath when one of those creeps would come around to give him problems was another reason why I wanted out of the family business. The smell of burnt coffee, stale cigars and motor oil is even less appealing when it comes at a steep price tag, like a mortgage you can never pay off.
Blackard Designs is hip and new, and it’s bursting into a more glamorous world of home design and eco-friendly development. It is a move up rather than the uninspiring lateral move I would take if I stayed in my father’s outdated business.
“Dylan, Emma is Carson’s new marketing and sales assistant. She’s helping with the clients. Remember, this was all discussed at the last company meeting?” Daisy looks at me with a roll of her eyes and shakes her head.
“Hi,” he says to me in a softer tone.
“Hello.” I wait for him to offer to walk me to our office, yet he just stands there, so I grab my bag and walk around the reception counter to follow him.
As he glances at my legs and my bag, he doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that he’s checking me out.
“He’s recently been replaced by a surly, alien pod person,” Daisy says to me as she waves her hand in Dylan’s direction.
“This way,” he says and turns. I notice he is wearing faded, relaxed jeans as I follow his splendid butt down the hall to our office.
Opening the door, he leans against it so I have to squeeze by him to enter the room. I sense him looking down at me, getting a good view of my cleavage and my own rear end. That’s fine. I am used to working with men, and I work out for a reason. Sure, it’s a healthy activity, however I won’t lie, I like getting noticed, too. Better this guy than some of the middle-aged married men that I used to have to deal with in my father’s business.
The room has two desks with brand new computers, a couple of filing cabinets, and some nice chairs for visitors. One wall has two windows that face the side of the building where I’ve parked my car. Behind it, I see a shiny Harley has blocked me in.
“Oh,” I say, looking at my little Honda.
“So, you’re the one who took my parking spot.” He leans against the desk that has stacks of papers and a personal coffee mug.
“So you’re a Harley guy? A Super Glide?”
“How did you know?” His blue eyes narrow a bit.
“Don’t look so surprised. My dad has some vintage bikes, and he’s restored a few Harleys, so I know something about them.”
He scoffs and looks out the window, which gives me a good view of his profile consisting of a strong jaw and nice cheekbones.
I kept hearing how this guy was all baby doll charm and sweetness with a womanizing past; there is nothing sweet about him, though. He looks like he eats baby goats for breakfast. Lauren has filled me in on the accident he had a few months ago and his treatment for depression, but he is nothing like I’ve imagined. I expected a kind, quiet guy, not this tightly wound bundle of nerves in a hot package.
“If it had been marked as reserved, I wouldn’t have parked there.” I drop my bag on the floor next to the bare desk.
“Huh,” he grunts. “I didn’t know you were coming today. I didn’t even know my brother had hired you yet.”
I shrug. “Then I guess this is a surprise. Surprise!” I splay my hands open against my fake smile, yet his face remains impassive.
“Good, you’re here.” Carson stands in the doorway and gives me a warm smile.
The Blackard men sure got more than their fair share of the handsome gene, and from what I understand, they aren’t even related by blood. You won’t see me complaining about the view, however. These guys make my father’s employees look like trolls.
“Dylan, sit down with Emma and bring her up to date on all the accounts. Jess installed the new software last night so it’s a lot easier than the old system. You’ll see all the account tabs are easy to find, and if you have any trouble, Jess said she’d come in and give a tutorial.”
“I think I can figure it out,” Dylan responds as he drops his large frame into his office chair and leans back so his long legs stretch out under the desk.
Carson looks at Dylan quizzically for a moment and the
n turns to me. “Emma, stop by my office if you have any questions. The door is always open. Literally. There’s no door. Dylan managed to demolish it a while ago and we never replaced it. Why don’t you tell her that story to break the ice?” Carson smirks at Dylan.
“Another time,” Dylan replies, glancing down at his large, callused hands.
I look at his hands, too. Who rips a door off its hinges, and why do I have to share an office with him?
“You have my permission to kick him when he’s being a jerk,” Carson says. “I’m just down the hall if you need me.”
“Thank you.” When I sit down on the end of my new desk chair, Carson smiles and then leaves me alone with the mercenary.
“Okay,” Dylan says, standing back up, and with a finger, he rolls his chair next to mine. “Move over, and I’ll show you the set-up.”
He is terse and doesn’t seem pleased with me taking up space in his office. Fortunately—or not—I am used to this kind of guy. It would be easier to laugh it off if he had a potbelly and doughnut sugar sprinkled across his chin. He doesn’t, though.
I scoot my chair to the right and he slides in next to me. It’s a tight fit with both of us squeezed into the u-shaped desk area.
“Excuse me.” As he leans over my legs to reach the power switch under the desk, his hard chest pushes against my shins and I feel his breath on my bare skin.
“Hey!” I shove him aside so his chair slams into part of the desk.
“What the eff was that for?” he growls in a deep, booming voice.
“For touching me. Hello?” I snap. “You could have asked me to flip the switch.”
“Fine. Go ahead.” He glares at me, and I swear the guy’s lips barely move when he talks, like he’s one of those weird ventriloquists.
I bend down to the floor and scramble on my hands, pulling the chair forward so I can reach the damn switch. I must look like a silly crab with my ass in the air, which I’m sure is what Jackass is looking at.
“There. Got it.” I swing my body back up and whack my head on the bottom of the desk. “Fuck!” I grab the back of my head and cover my mouth at the same time. Out of the corner of my eye I see Jerkoff smirking.
“And all because you couldn’t stand me touching your leg. Was it worth it?” His tone is dripping with sarcasm as his mouth curves into a slight smile of satisfaction.
“Don’t be a smug bastard. We have to work together. Now show me the accounts. And move over. Seriously, you take up so much space that your leg is on my chair.”
As I talk, I rub my head. It gives me a good excuse to avoid seeing his goddamn handsome face. I hate good-looking pricks. I like when an ass looks like an ass. It makes the work environment easier. This guy is buckets full of testosterone along with all those attractive, badass hormones that I don’t need anywhere in my vicinity. Give him a shoulder holster and a pair of black Ray Bans and he could go work for my father as an intimidating bodyguard.
“I need to get to the mouse, so I can either reach in front of you or reach behind your back,” he says. “It depends on which body parts you’re afraid I may accidentally touch.”
“Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Not really. I just want to get this over with.”
“I can handle the mouse. You can direct from there,” I reply and push him back hard in his chair so his arm isn’t touching mine.
He laughs, and the transformation in his face is remarkable. It is a real laugh, not a smirk or scoff. His cheeks turn into rosy, little apples and his eyes sparkle. It’s fleeting, however his smile is quite a thing of beauty, and I can’t stop staring at him. When his laughter subsides, he looks at me for an extra beat, and a blush heats my face.
I turn back to the computer, and for the next couple of hours, we both manage to talk without actually looking at one another. The computer screen and all the charts and spreadsheets make the perfect buffer, so I don’t have to face him even though the warmth from his presence and the mild scent of his soap and deodorant is a little too exhilarating.
Three
Dylan
I really could leave her on her own with the accounts. All of these spreadsheets are familiar to her, and she doesn’t need me to read the vendor files since the sales numbers speak for themselves. I don’t move away, though. I keep myself jammed in behind her desk with my right arm across the back of her chair as she scrolls down the computer monitor, so I can take in her shiny, wavy dark mane of hair against her creamy skin.
Processing these absurd thoughts makes me want to laugh. Then again, I really wouldn’t mind catching another close-up of her big, brown eyes, either. However, she seems pretty determined to keep them averted from me and on the task at hand.
Great, she has me thinking about sex again. If I’ve thought my senses were numb and dull before, they sure as hell aren’t now. From the minute I saw her standing behind the reception counter, a brick of lead surged from my stomach to my throat, leaving me mute. I meet a lot of ambitious, smart, attractive women in this business, but I wasn’t prepared for Emma. I could barely say hello to her when we were introduced. I’m certain that I came off like an oaf.
Daisy was right, we did talk about filling this position at the last company meeting, and while I was in California on business, Carson mentioned that he was interviewing one of Lauren’s friends. It was a brief conversation in which Carson explained the need for this woman to get out from under her father’s business. Fair enough. I knew a bit about the interview, but I didn’t know she’s already been hired, and I didn’t know she looked like… this.
The last woman I was with was from the catering staff at Carson’s holiday party before I went off to my “special” therapy program as Lauren puts it, like I am some kind of wayward boy. Although I agreed to see Dr. Wang and prepare in advance for moving to the treatment center, I had other priorities on my agenda. Getting laid seemed critical at the time, it didn’t matter who the woman was—it felt like it would be my last feast. The woman I was with, well, we were on the same page about that, and I can’t even recall her name.
Unfortunately, the catering server and other women have come back to haunt me. As I went through my various group sessions in the treatment center, I started to conclude that women were a bad vice for me. I listened to the other guys in group talk about their depression and mood swings, and how it coincided with extreme promiscuity, alcohol abuse, or drug use. Some of them had multiple addictions, and it made me wonder if I had the same problem with women and alcohol. My doctors at Willow Haven said I never fit the profile of a sex addict or alcoholic, however I was so unsure at the time that I decided to give everything up; women, booze, and anything that resembled fun. Whatever it would take to show Carson that I could beat the destructive alter ego I have had living inside me for years.
But, fuck. I’ve known this woman for only a few hours, and all I can think about is what her soft, plump lips would feel like if I ran my tongue against them and then down her neck to her spectacular cleavage. Yeah, I’ve got a perfect view of Emma’s tits since I am more than a head taller. She has no idea that I keep glancing down at the top of her loosely buttoned shirt. I can see all the way down her bra and estimate the size and feel of those mounds of flesh. Shit. This isn’t the time for a hard-on—at work with a new employee. It is going to be impossible to share an office with her.
I lift my right leg and cross my steel-toed work boot over my left leg to hide the bulge growing in my crotch. The space is too confining, but I’m not ready to leave her desk. My right leg brushes against her thigh as I try to get more comfortable. Her hands smooth her skirt down to keep it in place while her eyes stay locked on the computer monitor.
She is all business. That’s good because I have managed to stay away from all sexually appealing women for months, yet if she gives me any indication that she would jump into bed with me today or let me screw her on this desk, I don’t think I’d be able to resist h
er. Any part of her. I have to get out of this situation.
I probably should call Dr. Wang for an emergency consultation about this. I’ve thought I had everything under control. Work has always been a safe zone for me. It’s feeling pretty iffy at this moment, though.
“Okay, I think you can handle this on your own.” I stand up abruptly.
I have a lump in my throat, and it worsens when she looks up at me with those sultry, dark eyes and slightly parted lips.
“I’ll fill you in on clients as we go along.” I kick my chair back to my desk. “No need to cram everything into one day.”
“Fine by me. I’ll take the laptop home, too, and catch up on accounts over the next few nights.”
This is good. I can handle this awkward feeling. I just need to get out of the room now.
“I’m going to the studio to talk to Noelle about an issue she’s having with one of the new table designs. If you need me, text me. It’s easier than using the PA system. No one can hear over the machinery. I’ll put my number in your cell phone.” I hold out my hand to her.
“Oh, sure.” When she pulls her phone out of her bag, unlocks it, and hands it over to me, her fingers graze my palm and I flinch. I am nervous as hell. This is a first; I’ve never been anxious over any woman. Pushing those thoughts aside, I tap in my cell number and return it.
As I am about to leave the room and escape the unbearable arousal I get from being around her, Cooper fills the doorway. Carson hired him the day he interviewed when I was out of town last week.
Cooper is very vocal about his single status and the women love him. I’m not sure if I like him, though. He’s got that overdone biker look going on with thick, shoulder-length blond hair, beard stubble, leather vest; the whole Harley package that women fall for. He’s cocky, and sometimes I want to punch him for being the witty office charmer, a character I used to play well.
