by May Sage
“If this isn’t my best account manager,” he said, walking in without so much as a knock, and bearing gifts.
The best kind of gifts: her Starbucks drink of choice, and a pumpkin cupcake.
Pumpkin. Not vanilla, not even chocolate. Pumpkin. Her Achilles’ heel. The man was the devil.
“How was your weekend?”
“Adequate, Mr. Parker.”
Did she sound like a robot? Yes. Perfect.
“Marvelous. Now, tell me about the Perkins and Reynolds deal. Vanessa seems to think it’s in the bag. Is it?”
Tori sighed, and stopped pretending she was typing a fascinating email.
“I’m not managing Vanessa’s account.”
“No, Jana is. I talked to Jana and I have her point of view on it. But we’re a team here. You’re part of that team. One of our biggest assets, in fact.”
See? He was good. Even knowing he was just being Bryant Croft, the Office Wolf, she was pleased. She hid it, though, unwilling to let him see that anything he said affected her.
“Talk to me, Tori.”
“It’s Victoria,” she rectified. Never mind that no one called her that, except her mother. “Although Ms. Brown would do.” But he’d engaged her about work, and for better or worse, he was right: they were a team. “And no, we don’t have Perkins and Reynolds in the bag. They’ve been with Oliver’s for the last decade, even when more reputable companies have come knocking. That suggests a lot of trust, for good reasons. Oliver’s did a great job for them in the past. Vanessa is amazing, but she can’t land them on her own.”
It was because Vanessa was great that Jana had assigned her Perkins and Reynolds, setting her up for her first failure. Women, particularly well- established women, were real sharks when they went after the same bone. Vanessa was confident in her project, and getting a big fat no was going to damage her performance review.
“So, what? You think you could get it?”
Tori chuckled. “No way. If it had been thrown on my desk, I would have put it on my pile of extras after the first glance. Vanessa has a brilliant proposal, but she doesn’t stand a chance.”
They were given five projects at any time, three of which they were expected to nail to get a decent review score – the two extras gave them bonus points. No one got canned for not getting to their targets, but their personal bonus and their promotions depended on it.
Tori had always nailed four to five projects.
“Why is that?”
She turned the monitor of her computer and walked around her desk, holding her keyboard. Then, she researched the first partner of the tech firm they were bidding for.
“Bruce Perkins, 57, married three times; at each of his divorces, proof of extramarital relations came to light, all of them with employees of his company. There’s a strict anti-fraternization policy in place, by the way.”
“Dumb rule, if you ask me.”
Of course he’d think so. She rolled her eyes.
“Thomas Reynolds, married for forty years to his childhood sweetheart, who has raised a big, happy family. Do you know what they have in common?”
Bryant shrugged.
“A similar understanding of the place women should have in society, in their point of view. They’re old school. The fact that there’s no females in an executive position in their company corroborates that theory. That, and when I met them at a benefit last year, one of them asked when I was going to think about popping out a few babies, and the other tried to cop a feel.”
“Can’t actually blame the guy, luv.”
Impossible. The man was absolutely impossible.
Tori ignored the last remark.
“So,” Bryant summarized, “they’re sexist.”
“Their success depends on their marketing campaign, and neither of them have been raised to believe women could be as successful as men.”
Bryant seemed to think it through.
“Okay, we’ll pull Vanessa from the file. You’ll present it.”
She groaned.
“Did you hear a word I’ve just said to you?”
“Yes, I did. But you can pull it off, and maybe that way your two buddies will learn a thing or two.”
Tori held her head in her hand, counting to ten. Normally, it worked. Today, she just couldn’t do it. She had to push back.
“No.”
Bryant smiled like she’d given him a present wrapped in a big bow.
She’d known he’d just been trying to get a rise out of her, dammit.
“No?”
“No. I’m not poaching a colleague’s account – especially not a minor account we don’t actually need. I have bigger fish to fry, Vanessa needs to go through it to learn a thing or two herself, and, as I said, I don’t even manage her. So, no. Just don’t think it’s her fault when it all comes crashing down. Instead, you could just ask yourself why Jana has always given P&R to young, pretty girls who never stood a chance.”
He was looking at her funny, so she caved, barking, “What? Do I have something on my forehead?”
Bryant’s eyes were annoying as fuck. More often than not, they had that amber-hazel-ish tint that seemed made of layers of caramel, gold, and forest green, but, as though that wasn’t bad enough, sometimes they seemed emerald green, and sometimes, ocean blue. They’d opted for the latter shade today.
He shrugged. “Nothing, luv. Absolutely nothing.” He got up, and headed towards the door. “Thanks for the insight.”
After that day, he basically started to spend so much time in her office he actually had one of his ergonomic chairs brought in.
She had the best office in the building, apart from his. It had belonged to Aiden Warren, one of James’ first employees, and, when he’d retired, she’d inherited it along with his position. Tucked right next to the CEO’s, the corner office was smaller than Jana’s, but it also had an incredible view, as it shared a wall with the CEO’s. The additional bonus was the fact that her walls weren’t made of glass, which meant she could genuinely relax. Or she could have, if Bryant hadn’t seen fit to pop in all the damn time.
“That’s my chair,” he remarked one morning.
She shrugged. “My office.”
Out of curiosity, Tori had tried it, and she hadn’t felt a little bit guilty when she’d exchanged her office chair with his. It supported her back, pushing it up in a way that prevented her from slouching, all the while supporting her lower back. So, yeah, she was stealing it.
The next day, she arrived to find that every chair in her office had been replaced by those amazing, ergonomic ones, and she couldn’t help a smile.
Bryant was a good boss. Not managing accounts on top of running the business, he had the time to be more attentive than James, and it showed. For example, rather than letting Vanessa take the fall with P&R, he suggested she be paired up with Peter Neilson. “Peter could learn a lot from your presentation, Vanessa,” he’d said, rather than explaining that having him standing in the background would make her seem more trustworthy to the two idiots they were going to woo. They got the deal.
He got to know the cases they all worked on, and his questions were pertinent. He came up with suggestions worth considering, and he valued everyone’s opinion, hers especially. Under his thumb, people were more productive, targets were met on time, because everyone wanted to hear him say well done at the weekly team breakfasts.
Tori had almost reconciled herself to working with the guy when the first rumor started. Then, he was back to being the insufferable office wolf.
The Club
Bryant sighed, wishing offices weren’t the same everywhere.
To actually be fair, it took a whole five weeks before people started talking absolute horseshit about him. He’d expected them to begin a little earlier.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Sam told him, handing him a coffee and putting a bunch of files in front of him, “but I heard someone say you banged Donna in the break room.”
Bryant op
ened his mouth and lifted a brow. “In the break room? That’s daring. I mean, there’s always someone in there to use the coffee machine.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Nah, people were talking in the break room this morning. You banged Donna after hours, on your desk.”
Ah, that made more sense. Not that he’d done it, but at least their fantasy had been realistic. Still, he was glad that imaginary Bryant was getting some, at least. That was way more action than the real one.
Bryant was no prude; in fact, he was the diametrical opposite of that, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone a month without getting his dick wet, B.T. - Before Tori. Yet it had been five weeks now since he’d taken a tall, sinfully beautiful brunette to The Tower.
If he’d known that she’d mess with his sex life, he might have thought better of it.
“Who’s Donna? Is she hot, at least?”
Sam shrugged.
“I guess? Not my type. She’s in accounting – short redhead…”
“Not the one who giggles?” he winced.
Imaginary Bryant had peculiar taste.
“Are you going to address it?”
Bryant shook his head. What was the point? No one would believe him. Regardless, fucking whomever he pleased wasn’t against policy at Croft Advertising.
He had bigger problems. Like actually getting laid in real life. He’d recently discovered that blue balls were real, and very fucking painful.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t attempted to have sex. He hadn’t felt like it at first, but three weeks ago, a fortnight after his arrival in NYC, he’d gone to the penthouse of The Tower, fully intending to find someone to spend the night with.
The building where he was currently living wasn’t what one would call an ordinary TriBeCa residential lot. The Tower was one of twelve similar buildings in the world - there was one in Beijing, one in London, one in Los Angeles, one in Sidney, and other convenient locations. Members of The Tower International Club were welcome at any time, for as long as they wished to remain there. He didn’t even need to pay rent; his five-million-dollar yearly membership fee covered that.
Bryant paid the highest level of membership to ensure he got the best apartments wherever he went, as he loved to travel, but it was certainly not the only benefit. It also included access to the penthouse, the roof, the various show rooms downstairs, the bar…
The night he attempted to get laid for the first time since B.T. was a Saturday, which meant that The Tower had been busy. There was a flogging show on the first floor, wax play on the second, a woman masturbating on the third, and another one open to participants from the audience on the fourth. He spent about five minutes on each floor before losing interest. The penthouse and the roof were open, but he wasn’t fond of orgies, so he passed. He also hung out at each of the dance floors. They had separate ones because thirty-year-olds didn’t want to party with octogenarians. As a guy in his early thirties, he had access to every floor – when he hit thirty-five in two years, he’d be blocked out of the floor reserved to those aged between eighteen and twenty-five, unless someone in that age bracket accompanied him. The system worked, keeping The Tower attractive to everyone.
He’d never been able to resist mostly naked – or entirely naked – women open to fucking right there, in front of everyone. Tonight, he watched them closely, even swayed a little with a pretty brunette. He willed himself to feel a pull, to get the smallest spark. After midnight, he had to give up. He just wasn’t in the mood.
The second weekend, still refusing to admit that his dick only wanted Tori Brown, he told himself he knew most of the club members by now. That might have been the issue. He needed novelty, that was all.
He had aimlessly walked around the various rooms of The Tower, with a hard-on, yet unable to do anything about it all night. He jerked off in the shower later, picturing purple lips.
“Dammit!”
What was it with Tori Brown?
This weekend, he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from getting laid. Being so taken by a woman he had met just a few weeks ago wasn’t healthy.
Bryant gave up on The Tower, and caught a cab to the Bronx.
He’d spent some time at the club he was heading to now once or twice in the past, and he freely admitted that it had made his skin crawl. It wasn’t bad, as far as BDSM venues were, but it wasn’t The Tower, either.
Members of The Tower, and every guest they brought with them, were very carefully vetted. There were so many layers of security in place, nothing bad had ever occurred. No women felt threatened, no Dom went too far, safe words were enforced, by bodyguards if necessary.
BDSM was dangerous, now more than ever. Given the mainstream attention it had gotten over the last few years, there were too many young innocents who wanted to try without knowing where to start, and too many predators ready to take advantage of that. The former were welcome at The Tower for a free membership, as long as they passed the very tight screening and were brought in by a paying member. The latter couldn’t even get past the doors.
No such rules existed at the club he was now entering. He just paid a fee, showed his ID, and was allowed in. Someone accompanied him and they checked him for recording devices, the works. Still. He shook his head, feeling that the level of security wasn’t nearly adequate.
But he needed to fuck. He needed to get Tori out of his mind, out of his skin, out of his memory. If there was even a chance someone could get his blood pumping here, he had to try.
The club was one simple, dimply lit room with plenty of booths. It wasn’t unlike the Penthouse at the Tower: everyone was fucking, sucking, spanking, flogging, paddling right there. Some people were just chatting at the bar, or dancing, and soaking in the electric atmosphere around them.
Bryant was hard – he’d been hard all evening, and, basically, most of the month – but still, nothing, no one, made him want to participate.
He thought about Tori, who’d worn a wool sweater dress with a large waist belt the previous day, and his dick twitched.
What. Was. Wrong. With. Him.
He was contemplating that very problematic issue when a woman did finally catch his eye. Unfortunately, not the way he wanted.
Shit.
The pretty, petite blonde with her bright blue eyes was popular, of course; there were three guys around her, and she smiled and chatted, but observing her closely, Bryant saw her skillfully avoid touching anyone. She wasn’t into them. She actually glanced towards the door a few times.
Bryant should just get out of here before she saw him. Leave her alone. The club wasn’t too bad. She’d probably be fine.
Ah, fuck.
He crossed the room, heading towards the admin assistant in her tight leather dress.
“Come with me, Lexi.”
She froze, her eyes bulging and her mouth hanging open, but let him lead her towards an empty booth. When they’d sat down, Bryant chuckled at her expression – still shocked, and definitely a little panicked, too – and held his hands up.
“To nip it in the bud right now, I’m not interested. I just had to come over and see if you were okay. You didn’t seem too taken with any of your suitors.”
She winced, but nodded her head. “Yeah, thanks. I didn’t really know how to say I wasn’t into them. I mean…”
“You’re new to this.”
He waved vaguely, including the whole floor in his gesture. It didn’t surprise him when she nodded again.
“I mean, I’m… curious, I guess? Gosh, this is awkward. I mean, you’re my boss and all, and…”
He shrugged. “Don’t fret. We just met at a club. It’s not the end of the world.”
He was oversimplifying it, of course. If she spoke about meeting him there, it could damage his reputation, which would, in turn, impact the relationship of Croft Advertising with their more traditional clients. He’d had to think about the same sort of issues back in London, hence why he normally stuck to The Tower.
Mos
t of the members were affluent individuals who had a lot at stake. The Tower kept security footage of every room, every dark corner, that could, and would, be used against anyone who divulged anything happening within its doors - they all signed a waiver agreeing to those terms along with their NDA.
Done debating his course of action, he finally told her, “This place isn’t bad, but it’s also not as safe as it could be, Lexi. You can stick to it if you prefer, but I know a better club.”
He stopped himself for a minute, considering what she was probably thinking.
“I’ll repeat it: I’m not interested in you. You’re just a friend of a friend.” Even that was a stretch. He couldn’t exactly qualify Tori as a friend of his. If he asked her, he was pretty certain she’d call him her nemesis or something. “And you’re also an employee of C.A., so I want you safe. Text someone. Tell them I’m taking you to a club – so you know I don’t plan on having my way with you and dumping your body in the river. Then, we can go.”
She took a second, before carefully saying, “Okay.”
The Ice Queen
Don’t freak, but I met Bryant at a club. Like, *that* kind of a club. And it wasn’t a great place, so he’s taking me somewhere else instead. Don’t worry. Still not touching His Sexiness. But I totally wanna see how the rest of the world parties…
Tori wasn’t a morning person. She had to wake up extra early on weekdays, and ingest copious amounts of caffeine to ensure she was completely conscious before stepping a foot at work. However, that text worked like a bucket of cold water; she immediately sat up, fully conscious, blinking to make sure she’d read it right.
It had been sent by Lexi the previous night, close to midnight.
*That* kind of club? What did that even mean? Because when she read it, it sounded like… well, that kind of club. The sexy kind. Strippers dangling down poles, and escorts wearing nothing walking around. Why would Lexi want to be in a place like that? And as for Bryant? Come on, it wasn’t like he had a hard time getting female attention…
