Tempting the Corporate Spy

by Angela Claire

  “Yes. It has to do with computer programming and some other things.”

  “Computers aren’t my thing, but I type pretty fast if you want me to do up your project notes or anything. Lawyers dictate a lot.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Any filing you need done?”

  “I keep them electronically. Paper is…”

  “Passé?”

  “For the most part.”

  “So just the phones then?”

  She nodded, wondering whether it was too early to issue that “don’t give me any phone messages” instruction.

  He poured her a cup of the newly made coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Just some of the nondairy creamer. Thanks.”

  He added a spoonful and handed it to her. “Well, this is certainly going to make a fascinating case study.”

  “Glad to help, I guess.”

  “You call me if you need anything, and I’ll get started out here.”

  She blew on the steaming surface of her drink, figuring that was her cue to get back to work. “Sure.” She took a sip as she went back into her office. “Delicious,” she called to him as she shut the door. She could think of about a dozen things she might need from Jon Foster and none of them were office tasks.

  She sighed, putting the coffee on her desk, and sat back at her computer.

  As it usually was with her, interesting new consultants notwithstanding, she lost herself in her current project and only came up for air hours later. Hitting save, she got up from her desk, stretched, and went to open her office door.

  “Hi,” Jon said, standing up quickly and then leaning down to put something in his bottom desk drawer and lock it. He straightened and turned to face her. “You weren’t kidding about not needing much attention, were you?”

  “I guess not.” She automatically continued her usual stretch to work out the stiffness from sitting at a computer screen all day, then froze when she realized he was watching. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  He came up behind her, jolting her by placing his hands on her shoulders.

  What the—?

  Before she could jump out of reach, her first instinct, he dug his strong fingers into the tight muscles at the base of her neck, massaging the tension out of them. “I can at least do this for you,” he said in a soft voice.

  She practically melted at the soothing effect. He was hitting all the right spots. Some of the more hip companies that recruited at MIT had boasted an on-location masseuse, and now she knew why. She wasn’t sure how this stacked up in Jen’s book of proper HR policies and procedures, but she was almost about to purr here.

  “Come on. It’s better leverage if you sit down. You’re pretty tall.” He urged her into his chair and bent over her to work.

  “Five foot ten,” she automatically murmured, feeling her eyelids droop under the steady pleasure of his neck massage. “But you’re a lot taller.” He didn’t answer her unspoken question and she asked, maybe to stop herself from moaning at how good his hands felt on her, “How tall are you?”

  “I don’t know. Six two, six three.”

  “You’d be surprised how many guys I tower over.” She should really stop talking. It wasn’t helping, since it came out in the nearest approximation of a bedroom voice she had, way huskier than it usually was. It was so damn good, that steady pressure, his thumbs digging into her muscles as his fingers kneaded.

  “You’re just the right height for somebody like me.” His voice was at her ear, and his breath brushed against her cheek as he leaned over her to speak.

  At his words, the pleasure wandered lower in her body. Like right between her legs. How hard up was a girl that getting a massage from the neck up was coming dangerously close to giving her the first orgasm she’d had in months, even counting the self-induced ones?

  She sensed him straighten and his hands drifted into her disheveled hair to treat her scalp to the same attentions. She should stop this. Lincoln, in the Fortune Fifty since the inception of the statistics, wasn’t a hip company and if anybody walked in, his hands in her hair might be misinterpreted.

  “Hi!” The kid who delivered the mail tossed it on Jon’s desk.

  Liv pulled away and stood up, surprised she was a little unsteady on her feet.

  The kid left with a nod, not thinking anything of the massage, apparently.

  “Wow.” She put a tentative hand to her neck. “That felt really great, but you don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s my specialty,” he said, though his hands fell down to dig in his pockets. “Any time. There’s quite a lot of research out there about the benefits of massage in a work environment. Sitting at a computer all day makes you tense, which can lead to lack of productivity.”

  “No argument there.” Going without sex and then having a hottie hanging around made you tense too. But she supposed she shouldn’t point that one out.

  He looked at her and his eyes skated down. She probably looked like a mess compared to all those lawyers at his previous consulting job, in their suits and makeup. Compared to most women at this point, she bet. But he moved a little closer and her pulse went crazy.

  Chapter Two

  Jonathon Crestwell—aka Jon Foster—should have expected this complication after seeing Liv on the hidden camera that first time. She was hot, and just his type. The smart, gorgeous type with green eyes and long honey blonde hair to top it off. It made him want to see if she needed another outlet for all that restless energy. After all, he was a full-service consultant. Anything she needed.

  The idea he had come up with to infiltrate Lincoln Computers, and specifically Altman’s office suite, had worked smoothly. Jennifer Sealy swallowed his pitch as he had suspected she would—corporate types like her were always eager to be up on the latest group-think, especially if the words “pro bono” were attached as an initial incentive—and with a little creative hacking he’d ensured Liv’s previous secretary would be on her way out the door. He didn’t want an assistant around looking over his shoulder, wondering what he was doing. All that he needed then was to frame his pitch in terms of a bright young executive who he could interact with in the absence of an admin, and the HR director made the obvious connection, gushing that she had just the right prospect for him to start with. Add an attorney at Pitz and Lunder who owed him a favor lying for him and saying he’d consulted there, a fake Facebook page and resume, and Sealy was sold. Now that he knew Sealy was Liv’s friend, not just her HR rep, he thought there might have been a little more to it, like she was trying to fix her up or something. Which was actually fine with him.

  A full-service consultant, right?

  But he was pretty sure hooking up with Ms. Altman probably would get him booted out, if for no other reason than that she wouldn’t want to see him again. It was like sleeping with a woman in the same class in college. It led to a lot of skipping after the fact by both parties. And he needed to be on the job here.

  So he had no idea why he sidled a little closer to Liv, as he would with any woman he was making the moves on. She had a smooth complexion and a cute little chin with a dimple in it.

  He tried to get back on track. “It really is important that you interface with me the way you do with your admin so I can get an accurate picture of the scope of your needs. Are you sure there isn’t something I could do for you?”

  Whoa. That last part had come out pretty wrong. He’d said it staring straight into her eyes and with the same hoarse tone he used when he asked a woman if he was rubbing her clit right or if she wanted him to thrust harder.

  She laughed and broke the eye contact.

  “I apologize,” he said quickly. “I know that it’s easy for sense cues between the opposite sexes in the workplace to, ah, misfire.”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t flirting with you.”

  “Oh.”

  “But given male/female dynamics”—he was really winging it here—“sometimes dialogue is easier when it follows st
ereotypical channels, which are generally flirtatious in character. Though not in this given context.”

  “Even though I’m not sure what you just said right now, I am surprised the women lawyers you worked with on your last gig let you get away with that kind of thing.”

  He stepped closer still. “As a matter of fact, crossing interpersonal barriers is required to reinvigorate the workplace. I’m in favor of it really.”

  Okay, now he wasn’t even sure what he just said, but he did realize he was probably looking at her in a way that said there were some boundaries he wouldn’t mind crossing.

  She looked confused, but hey, she could join the club.

  “I don’t mean this how it sounds, but has coming on to your consulting clients been part of your approach, wherever the hell it was that you worked?”

  “Only with the gay guys.”

  She reddened. “Oh, God, I’m an idiot. I didn’t realize—”

  “I’m kidding,” he said, annoyed she had believed he was gay so readily. “I’m not gay.”

  “Oh,” she responded, avoiding eye contact still.

  “But I wasn’t coming on to you.” He abandoned the pseudo-consulting speak, not sure whether he was lying though.

  “No, I mean normally you wouldn’t. I’m just wondering if you think you have to or something.” She shifted from one foot to another, batting her long hair out of her eyes. It was incredibly cute. And hot.

  He had a sudden vision of being made to “service” her, pulling her jeans down and pressing his lips to the cotton of her panties, his palms grasping the plump cheeks of her ass, moving lower still…

  “Of course not,” he got out in a rasp.

  “Good, because I think that being pressured into doing that, in a business context, would be just as wrong when it’s a man and a woman”—she gestured between them—“as it is when it’s a woman and a man.”

  Maybe it was the fantasy of being her consultant/love slave, but he was having trouble following her train of thought. Like, she wasn’t actually suggesting he’d object to pulling her underwear aside and tasting her warm, wet…

  “Jon?”

  She was watching him tentatively.

  “Mmm?”

  “You looked lost in thought.”

  Lost in something all right.

  “Have I touched a nerve here? Did something like that happen at your last job?”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it, but sobered immediately at her wounded expression. “Ah, no. Not at all. It’s nice of you to, ah…”

  Come up with that incredibly kooky idea instead of seeing that I’m turned on by you?

  “…be concerned and everything, but I just gave you a neck rub. I didn’t offer to go down on you or anything.”

  Okay, she was beet red now.

  “I’m sorry. That was too blunt. I’m out of line.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Yeah. Really. If she only knew why he was there for real, she would be so agreeing with him. Not to mention trying to throw his ass in jail.

  “I went for the neck rub because I was trying to get on a more relaxed footing and, as I said, massage is becoming a well-accepted workplace benefit. You seem kind of tense, so I thought you could benefit from it. And, though they never tried to jump my bones, the women lawyers I worked with would never turn down a neck rub.” That was certainly a safe claim since every woman he’d ever met was a sucker for neck rubs.

  She dug her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I’ve been working too hard, I guess, and I’m used to having a sweet little old lady as my only company. Having a guy—you, I guess—is kind of odd. So I think neck rubs are a little more than I’m comfortable with.” She smiled. “Even though it was wonderful.”

  “Sure. No problem. I’ll just sit out here and, ah, observe and work on my numbers. Answer the phone.”

  “Great.”

  “Which by the way didn’t ring at all so far today.”

  “Well, if it does, take a message. And then hold onto the messages until you have a bunch of them before you give them to me.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Just put them in that desk drawer there when you leave so I don’t see them. What were you locking in the drawer by the way?”

  Her guileless question caught him off guard. He was surprised she had noticed. What he was locking up was a sophisticated router he’d designed himself. For when he was able to find the program he was looking for.

  But he was generally pretty good at lying on his feet. “My Kindle. I thought I’d leave it here for the time being. So I’d have it every day.”

  “Why were you locking it up?”

  “I was going down to the restroom. You never know.”

  “Oh, you don’t really have to be so careful. I’ve never had anything stolen. I mean, we do lock up at night. But you’re not going to leave it here then, are you? You probably read at night.”

  “No, I have other things to do.” He glanced down at her very delectable chest without intending to and looked quickly away, his attention landing on the clock on the wall. “Two o’clock already. I guess it’s a little late for lunch, but we could order some if you want.”

  “No thanks. I don’t eat lunch.”

  No lunch. No neck rubs. He supposed asking about sex was out of the question.

  “I’ll get back to my work then.” And she disappeared behind her closed office door again, sort of pissing him off in the process.

  It was irritating as hell. This was working out even better than he had planned in terms of getting time alone with her computer programs. But it turned out he was more interested in getting some one-on-one with her.

  Shit. He’d better remember what he was here to do.

  Resolute, he went back to work.

  Since she had a bathroom adjoining her office, she really didn’t come out for hours on end. At least if she had to emerge to pee, it would force her to walk by him once or twice in the afternoon. He wondered if he should email her the article he’d read recently about blood clots forming if a person got too sedentary at their desk.

  But finally the door opened to the sight of her stretching as usual. She looked at him in surprise. “Are you still here?”

  He stood up to block the screen, tapping on a key to blank it. “I thought I should wait until you go. Get a feel for your hours.”

  “Not unless you’re getting paid a lot more than I think you are.”

  “I’m pro bono on this first evaluation, remember?”

  “Right, then you probably won’t want to work around the clock, which I often end up doing.”

  She went over to the sink and dumped the scorched coffee.

  “I was going to do that.” He took the empty pot and rinsed it while she leaned back against the sink.

  “You don’t have to wait on me.”

  He put the pot in the drainer. “Emptying the coffee was your admin’s job, right?”

  Her green eyes held his, and he wondered if she really didn’t know that extended eye contact with a guy often gave him ideas. Ones that involved wet tongues and hard cocks. He was pretty sure in Liv’s case she really was that clueless. She studied him, her pale, serious face intent, as she must look when she was figuring out a computer problem.

  He was suddenly very aware of what else he had easily learned about Liv as he researched how to get access to her office. She rarely dated. And since he was familiar with the type of man—boy really—she had gone out with in college, he doubted she had much experience in bed.

  He thought of his mother, the same sort of smart, beautiful woman who was totally unprepared for a man like his father, who knew his way around women and could use them as he pleased. He thought of his sister, who was learning that lesson from the other end of the spectrum.

  The cell in his shirt pocket rang and he glanced at the number.

  Speak of the devil.

  “Go ahead and get that, Jon. I’ll
see you tomorrow.”

  “No, that’s okay. It’s just my father.”

  She smiled. “Well, then you should for sure get it.”

  The high-pitched ring continued since he’d never set up voice mail on his phone. It would probably be another dozen rings before his dad would give up.

  “No, I always screen my father’s first few calls. Sort of like preliminary offers. I know by the third or fourth time he tries me, he’ll have calmed down about whatever it is that’s got him mad.”

  “That’s not nice,” she admonished.

  Liv’s mom was dead, he knew, but he had gotten the feeling that might not be such a bad thing. From the DUIs on her driving record and the number of times the cops had been called to the home for disturbances of the peace, Marcy Altman sounded like a drunken nightmare. And one who, unlike her own daughter, wasn’t always discriminate about who she took into her bed. There was no documentation of Liv’s dad. Maybe he was just some punk who had been drinking a few bar stools down from Marcy one night and gotten lucky. With an ache, he thought of his sister. Once he got her out of the present danger of having her escapades exposed, he needed to figure out how to get to the root of the issue. And that wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to having with his little sister.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  “What about you?” he asked, keeping to the pretense of not knowing anything about her family. “Are you close with your parents? Answer their calls on the first ring?”

  “No.”

  “They must be proud of you,” he persisted, not sure why.

  Her laugh made him ashamed of the impulse though. It was low, ironic, and, well, kind of sad. “I doubt that. But they’re dead now anyway.”

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “And is it just you and your dad?”

  He answered honestly, or as honestly as he could, anyway. “My mom died a long time ago. I still miss her. I have a younger sister, who is…finding her way. And my dad…” He slipped the now silent phone out of his pocket and waved it. “…is always bugging me to find a real job.”