Training Her Curves - Boston

by Christa Wick

  About THC-Boston

  For two years, I’ve kept secret the burning crush I have on my super-sexy, totally dominant boss Dylan Kehoe. As far as Dylan is concerned, I’m the office shadow that brings his coffee, answers his calls and books his paid submissives. All of the women are petite things, most of them with little to no substance.

  That’s not me. I’m a big girl with big curves.

  With the company expanding into designer lingerie and kinky clubs for the ultra-rich, this may be my one chance to find out if Dylan could ever desire a girl my size. You see, his brother is head over heels in lust — maybe even love — with the plus-size fetish model contracted to be the face and body of the club and clothes.

  If Dylan can’t see the sexy in that relationship, then it’s time for me to move on.

  I just hope I don’t get my heart broken before I discover the truth.

  ********************

  This is the third installment in the Training Her Curves series (follows THC-Miami) and is the first of two installments focusing on Dylan and Marjolein.

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  Training Her Curves - Boston

  Arriving at work at the butt crack of down, I nodded sleepily at Jake Kehoe, one of my two very demanding bosses, as he held the elevator door open for me.

  "Look who the cat dragged in," he cracked.

  "Oh really? That bad, huh?" I eye-rolled him in an attempt to express the depth of my displeasure. "I wonder whose fault that is?"

  Grinning, he dipped his hand into his pocket. Not saying a word, he captured my wrist and began threading a small charm on the bracelet I wore. When he was done, I lifted my hand to examine his apology. Like the other charms he had gifted me over the years, this one was precious metal and real stones. He also paid scrupulous attention to whichever bracelet I'd been favoring in the days leading up to his need to apologize.

  This week was platinum, so the new charm dangling from my wrist had been fashioned from the same metal and the stones were small diamonds. Together, both of my bosses kept Giorgio, a very talented bespoke jeweler a few blocks over, extremely busy -- Jake with his far too generous apologies to me and Dylan with his far too frequent purchases of sapphires set in silver for the paid "escorts" that warmed his bed.

  "A star for a star," Jake said and gave my cheek a quick kiss. "You really saved my ass getting all that stuff with Alexa done last night."

  I nodded, my cheek tingling lightly from the unexpected kiss. If I wasn't stupidly in love with his big brother, I'm sure my ovaries would have done a back flip or two because Jake Kehoe defined "Hot Stuff."

  "I'm just happy to learn there's a Kehoe who finally fell in love," I teased.

  Color drained from Jake's face and he shook his head. "Don't use the 'L' word, Jo-jo. I'll have to get you another charm -- a paddle after I am forced to warm your sweet bottom."

  Giggling because I knew he would never do such a thing to me, I backed out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened onto the executive suite. Smart as my boss was, he didn't know when he was a goner. Since I figured the experience was completely new to him, I decided to be kind and not smear facts all over his handsome face.

  Or send him into a panic and have him retreat from pursuing Alexa Hunt, the edgy, plus-size fetish model who was now the official face of Century Club and Riona Kehoe's new line of sexy clothing for women.

  Evading Jake's playful attempt to give me a real swat, I spun around -- my good mood evaporating the second I saw a crystal vase filled with freshly cut white gladioli sitting on my desk. Most women would be pleased at the display, especially knowing Dylan Kehoe had placed them there. Those women hadn't spent most of the last two years working as the senior executive assistant for the Kehoe brothers.

  Just like Jake always apologized with a new charm or a bracelet to hold evidence of his future transgressions, Dylan did the flowers, the vase from some expensive house like Baccarat or Waterford and always filled with white gladioli, their genus and color chosen because they were special to the greatest woman who had ever lived -- my mother.

  "What has that man done now?" I whispered as Jake's shoulder brushed against mine.

  "I don't know, baby girl," he answered, all the levity shown in the elevator missing from his voice. "I haven't talked to him since we blew up yesterday morning."

  Dread filled me as I tried to think about what kind of action by Dylan would explain the size of the arrangement, which was twice as large as he had ever given me before. Anger followed dread as I realized the only thing on the horizon was my trip to Miami with the brothers and Alexa to open the new Century Club.

  My head whipped in Jake's direction. "If he says I'm not going--"

  "Don't worry, you're going." Jake wrapped an arm around my shoulders and reassuringly rubbed the flesh. "I know you want to officially run lead on a project with site visits and all that and the only way to get Big Brother to relent is to start with trips like this. I've got your back, Jo-Jo."

  Dropping his arm to his side, Jake started to split off in the direction of his office.

  "Hey, hot stuff," I scolded. "If you've got my back, why are you headed to your office to hide?"

  Grinning, he shook his head. "Don't worry, the second you tell me he's trying to back out of taking you to Miami, I'll be in there kicking his ass."

  "My hero," I joked back. As best I knew, the two men had never physically fought one another. Words -- hell, yes. Sometimes it was like watching two wolverines placed together in a very small cage. But they were fiercely loyal to each other and their baby sister. You didn't mess with one Kehoe sibling without having to face all three of them in force.

  I never, ever, ever wanted to see a real fight between the men, and certainly not on my behalf.

  "Hey," Jake said and tugged me close. "You know I won't let the plane take off without you onboard, right?"

  Trying hard not to lose my composure and bawl like a baby, I nodded. An only child, with parents who were only children, I'd never had anything approaching what Jake had with Dylan and Riona. But I had come to think of him as my unofficial big brother. Even with that big ass vase on my desk filled with yet another masked apology from Dylan, I trusted that Jake would stay true to his word.

  "Yeah, I know." Sniffling, I pushed him away. "Time to see what paid strumpet he needs me to order jewelry for."

  "Big vase," Jake observed, his brows knitting together before he dropped the serious facade and replaced it with an oversized grin. "Must be twins this time -- maybe triplets."

  "Lord save me!" I rolled my eyes and turned toward my desk. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you two. At least Riona knows how to behave!"

  I made it halfway to my desk before the much needed dose of humor from Jake faded. Bypassing my station, I poked my head in Dylan's office. He had the ledger for the Zurich project on his desk and was writing in it.

  When he seemed not to notice my presence -- which was pretty much always -- I cleared my throat. "I sent your bags ahead to the airfield...and mine."

  Way to be obvious, Dekker!

  I held my breath, expecting him to indicate that I should have my bags returned, that I wasn't going. He said nothing, and I only knew he had heard me because his pen had paused a few seconds too long at my announcement.

  "Will there be anything else?" I asked, knowing a question almost always got me an answer with Dylan.

  Putting the pen down, he leaned against the back of his seat and looked at me. Having his gray eyes sharply focused on my body, I wanted to run ba
ck to my desk. With the weather still hot and sweaty in Miami, I had picked an outfit that was lighter weight, looser and shorter than my normal pairing of a long, dark skirt with a French cut blouse in white or pastel.

  Despite convincing myself otherwise that very morning, I wasn't mentally prepared for Dylan to look at me while I was dressed in the pale blue georgette top and skirt, the scalloped hem circling my knees instead of my ankles. Not that there was anything sexual in his gaze, I just wasn't accustomed to him looking directly at me. I was his invisible executive assistant most days, even when I was standing right next to him.

  "Yes." His answer came a second before I would have bolted for the elevator to escape that unnerving stare. "Send my brother in."

  "Right -- I mean, yes sir." I scurried away to my desk, picked up the phone and notified Jake that he had been summoned to see his royal highness. With my relief so great at my successful getaway, I momentarily forgot the vase and fresh gladioli.

  The subtle fragrance of the flowers tickled my nose and jerked me back to reality. Powering up my laptop, I perched at the edge of my seat and waited to check my messages. While I did so, I double checked my phone. Somewhere between voicemail, email and texts, I expected the answer to just what the hell Dylan had done that warranted such a large vase and bouquet.

  I scrolled, I clicked, I looked in spam folders, dialed the direct line for voicemail to make sure my indicator light wasn't broken. But after seven minutes of searching for an answer, I remained clueless.

  Sighing, I opened my desk drawer to grab extra copies of the membership contracts I would need that night in Miami. A white, satin-covered box grabbed my attention. I removed it from the drawer and placed it on my lap where no one but me or someone standing right next to me could see its contents.

  A small card was attached by a white ribbon to the box. Fingers numb, I somehow managed to open the card and read its note.

  Happy Second Anniversary.

  Yours, Dylan

  My stomach tensed, the reaction so sudden and severe I thought I might spill last night's dinner across my desk. I strangled a cry that badly wanted out and blinked to relieve the burn of tears.

  Those last two words -- Yours, Dylan -- where the cause of my undoing. He wasn't mine, and I knew he never would be. Yet I had never seen him sign his name like that, not once on all the cards and letters I'd mailed on his behalf. I would expect the language on something meant for his sister or brother, but he always handled such correspondence on his own.

  My thumbs caressed the gilded seam of the box. My lips rolled with indecision. The box was light, but sizable. Far too big for something like the charms Jake bought. Not heavy enough for anything like a watch, which, if I ever had to guess about what kind of gift Dylan Kehoe might ever buy me, something functional and impersonal would have been my first -- and only -- guess.

  Swallowing the nervous knot that had formed in my throat, I popped the lid and looked inside. This time I couldn't keep the small cry locked down. My gaze lifted, head swiveling like a deer that had just heard a hunter nocking his arrow as I scanned the room to see if anyone had noticed my surprised noise.

  Nothing -- just the low rumbling growls of Jake and Dylan arguing in Dylan's office.

  Satisfied, I was alone so early in the morning beyond my two bosses, I removed the brooch inside the box and brought it to my face for a close look. I knew from the delicate craftsmanship that the jeweler was the same one the brothers regularly used. Holding the brooch near the vase of flowers, I compared mother nature's version of a gladiolus to the jeweler's.

  The artistry was breathtaking. Mother of pearl for the white petals, delicate jade cabochons for the leaves, gold for the stem. I checked the backing, wondering if Dylan had anything inscribed, but found only the maker's mark.

  Fastening the brooch to my blouse, I tried to ignore the ongoing argument between Dylan and Jake. From the words being exchanged, it sounded like Dylan thought their baby sister was turning wild. By wild, he seemed to mean that Riona's tastes ran in the same direction as her brothers, only she preferred to be on the bottom. Jake (loudly) questioned whether Dylan wanted to protect Riona or the investment trust because he was worried that eventually she would find a Dom who had her sign all her interests over to him.

  Then a bunch of yadda, yadda, yadda from Jake about how, if Riona was allowed into the clubs under their supervision, she would learn about a healthy D/s relationship, which was a million miles away from abuse and undue influence. Jake's proposition didn't seem to make a dent in his brother's thick skull.

  Ree is too giving, too vulnerable, too sensitive.

  I buried my face against my hands. Dylan might have a Harvard business degree and be a math genius when it came to all the financial spreadsheets and forecasting that had the company growing exponentially year over year, but he didn't know the first thing about his sister.

  Or any woman for that matter.

  If the woman didn't want money for spreading her legs or opening her mouth, she was a complete mystery to Dylan.

  Jake burst from the office mumbling something about his older brother being an idiot. I opened my file drawer and pretended to search for something. Their office fights only happened when it was just them, or just them with me at my station. Jake always seemed sheepish around me afterwards, like he wasn't supposed to ever lose his cool and was embarrassed that he had. Dylan retreated into a brooding study of whatever file he had on hand. I don't even think he realized the times I had overheard their arguing.

  For him, I was invisible until needed.

  I didn't go near either brother that morning until we were close to heading down to the limo. I swung by Jake's office first to tell him we were T minus ten to leave. We talked a few minutes. He wanted to make sure I kept Riona fully up to date on all the marketing being done for her clothing line and on the work being done on renovating the clubs.

  The last half of the request irked me -- on Riona's behalf. Dylan had absolutely forbade Riona from stepping foot in the clubs. She owned a third of each hotel, a third of each club, a third of the money going into each and most of the interior design concepts were hers. If she disobeyed, Big Brother had threatened to pull the project.

  Reaching Dylan's office, I found the door open and his nose buried in a file. I stepped up to the desk and lightly knocked once on its wooden surface.

  He said nothing. Forcing myself not to sigh, I gave him his five-minute reminder. Any other morning, I probably would have returned to my desk at that point. Instead, I remained standing across from him.

  He glanced up, the gray eyes with their heavy black lashes stabbing at me.

  "Thank you," I said. "For the gift."

  His mouth puckered slightly and then he returned his attention to the file. I didn't know whether I wanted to punch that mouth or kiss it. The shape had been perfect for starting a kiss. Just a little force pushing it forward, the muscles still loose and ready for anything.

  Shaking my head, I turned sharply toward the door and returned to my desk. Opening my laptop case, I viciously shoved my computer, cords and mouse inside. Still fuming, I unpinned the brooch, stuffed it into its box and locked it in my desk drawer before brushing the card that had accompanied it into the trash. I wanted to do the same to the flowers but decided to leave them unmolested. It always pained me to throw the blooms away when they started to fade -- not because Dylan had given them to me, but because they reminded me of my mother.

  Certain anger would overtake my patience and I would junk the gladioli if I lingered, I grabbed my laptop case and phone and walked toward the elevator to wait for both brothers to join me.

  ********************

  Thirty-five minutes later, we were onboard the company jet. To me, it felt like we hadn't left the office because Jake and Dylan had resumed arguing. Sex was still the subject, only this time it was about Jake and Alexa.

  I could understand Dylan trying to protect his baby sister from what most people would
consider an extreme lifestyle. But trying to put a leash on Jake's sexual appetite or dictate the recipient of his particular gifts was like trying to empty the ocean with an eye dropper.

  But damned if Dylan wasn't going to try. With his level of drive, he might even manage to turn the eye dropper into a bucket, but that didn't mean the results would be any different. Jake didn't have it in him to yield -- neither brother possessed that particular quality.

  It hurt listening to Dylan rattle off all the reasons Alexa was a bad fit for the club and Jake. Mostly it hurt because I liked her. I liked her a lot. But it also cut at me because he kept dancing around what I suspected was the real reason he didn't want her representing the club or hanging on Jake's arm -- her weight.

  She was a big girl.

  I was a big girl -- a big idiot, too, nursing a crush that had started a few weeks after I was promoted to the executive suite. In that time, I had watched any number of women cycle through his bed. All of them petite things, most of them with little to no substance.

  Interrupting my unplanned, unwanted trip down memory lane, Dylan's voice dipped low, almost as if he didn't want me to hear.

  "Think about what she's doing to her body..."

  Ugh -- that man! There was no way that Dylan was referring only to Alexa's tattoos or piercings. If that were the case, his voice wouldn't have dropped like it did. He lowered it because he didn't want me hearing him.

  I pushed up from the couch and glanced at my watch. The limo driver picking Alexa up had texted me right before pulling away from her apartment building. She would be arriving in a matter of minutes, and I didn't want her to experience any part of Dylan and Jake's conversation.

  Heading toward the jet's door, I called over my shoulder. "She'll be here any minute now, guys."

  Reaching the door, I realized I was off in my estimation. Alexa had arrived and was out of the limo.

  "Dylan!" I barked as I poked my head into the main cabin area. "You need to shut it now!"

  Not exactly the kind of behavior most secretaries could get away with, especially when their boss was a domineering billionaire, but most secretaries don't have to settle accounts for sex workers or keep women who mistakenly thought they were in a relationship with the boss because he had fucked them on two separate occasions from barging in on board meetings.