Unprofessional Bad Boys - Boxed Set (Contemporary Romance)

by Clarissa Wild

  From: Pantylicious@gmail.com

  To: Pantysniffer3000@gmail.com

  I’m sorry, but what does my profession have to do with you buying my panties?

  Thanks for the money.

  Feisty. I like that …

  From: Pantysniffer3000@gmail.com

  To: Pantylicious@gmail.com

  If I’m going to buy panties from a girl, it’d better be legal. Plus, it helps with the fantasy, you know?

  Besides, if I like what you have to offer, I might be interested in buying more, but that all depends on the fantasy you’re willing to sell.

  PS: I like your fire. Redhead?

  Her reply is almost instant.

  From: Pantylicious@gmail.com

  To: Pantysniffer3000@gmail.com

  No. Medium length, dark blond hair. I’m a Caucasian in her twenties, college grad. Just a regular girl trying to make a buck.

  Any other private information you wish to be privy to?

  I’ll send your package out today; I’ll let you know when I have a tracking code.

  PS: If we’re going to go back and forth like this, we might as well talk in a chat. That is if you’re interested in buying more of the goods. You can reach me on Twitter: @Pantylicious

  Well, fuck me. First base already.

  I smirk. She’s bold. I like that. Not afraid to go after what she wants, which is obviously money, and that’s okay. I have plenty.

  I start my Twitter and create a new account using the same email I have for buying panties, and I go to her profile to send a DM.

  Pantysniffer3000: Well, this is much easier. But I am curious why you chose to give me your Twitter. Things like that could be dangerous for you.

  Pantylicious: Should I be scared now?

  Pantysniffer3000: No, of course not. You can trust me.

  Pantylicious: Great. Because you know what happens if that turns out to be a lie.

  I narrow my eyes. What happens? Is this a threat? It only makes me more interested in her. Probably not the reaction she was hoping for.

  Pantysniffer3000: Amuse me.

  Pantylicious: I have your email. If you do anything against the law, I can show it to the cops.

  Pantysniffer3000: You’re selling me your panties … I think this is a two-way street.

  Pantylicious: Fine. I’ll trust you if you trust me.

  Pantysniffer3000: I have no other choice, now do I? You already have my payment, so you have all the information you need from me.

  Pantylicious: Don’t think I care enough to find out who you are.

  Pantysniffer3000: Aww, you hurt my feelings.

  Pantylicious: You can get in line with the other million dudes.

  Pantysniffer3000: So angry. Do you want to chase me away? You’ll be missing out on all that $$ you definitely want

  Pantylicious: What do you want? I’m already sending you my panties.

  Pantysniffer3000: Relax, I don’t wanna marry you. I just want to get to know the story behind the panties.

  Pantylicious: There’s not a lot to know. They’re cotton. Probably made in China. What else can I say?

  She’s so damn bold. I love it.

  I don’t know why, but she’s the first girl in ages that I really wanna talk to. Like, for some reason … her starting this business on her own and working her ass off makes me feel connected to her. Much more than I do with the other girls. They feel anonymous on that website. Not real. But she … she’s different. Tangible. Like she’s only a few blocks away, lying on her bed in a tank top and chatting away on her laptop while eating candy bars.

  I probably just have an overactive imagination.

  Pantysniffer3000: I get it. You don’t like talking about yourself. Totally not to any random stranger. I totally get it. I’m just … sorry.

  I sigh. Maybe I should’ve thought this through.

  Pantylicious: I understand. It’s okay. We all have this urge to talk to random people sometimes.

  Pantysniffer3000: Yeah, exactly. Except you’re the girl I happen to be buying panties from. Which makes it awkward.

  Pantylicious: Nothing awkward about it. I do it all the time.

  Pantysniffer3000: Get a lot of customers?

  Pantylicious: Sorta. Not bucket loads, but it pays for my college loans, which is nice.

  Pantysniffer3000: I gotta hand it to you, that’s a smart move. Selling these through dubious sites must be challenging but worth the effort. I wish I’d thought up something that smart when I graduated college.

  Pantylicious: What do you do then?

  Pantysniffer3000: Interested in me now, huh?

  Pantylicious: You pried into my life, so now I get to pry into yours. Spill.

  Pantysniffer3000: Fine. I’ve got a standard douchebag haircut, cheesy grin, and I’m a corporate asshole. That’s what others call my job anyway. I also like big butts, and I cannot lie. Satisfied?

  Pantylicious: Funny. I like that.

  Pantysniffer3000: Is this the part where I ask you out on a date?

  Pantylicious: Keep dreaming.

  Pantysniffer3000: It was worth a try.

  Is it wrong that I’m sitting here with a big-ass smile on my face? Maybe. But I don’t care. I wanna know more about this girl. Why she’s venturing out on her own. Why she chose to do this instead of some other regular job, like, I don’t know … being a waitress. She’s different. She has a “take no shit” attitude and gets to the point. Something I admire.

  Pantylicious: A corporate asshole looking to date the girl who sells him panties. Interesting story.

  Pantysniffer3000: You’re not the first to think that.

  Pantylicious: Oh, really? Tell me more.

  Pantysniffer3000: Maybe some other time. The truth is, I’m much more interested in why you decided selling panties was the way to go when it came to making money.

  Pantylicious: I’m not the waitress type. Besides, this is like having a company.

  Pantysniffer3000: So you want your own company someday?

  Pantylicious: Maybe. I like the idea of being my own boss.

  Pantysniffer3000: Have to agree with that. But you gotta be cut out for it. Being the boss might sound like fun, but it’s a lot of responsibility.

  Pantylicious: Hey, if you’re not happy with your job, then I’ll gladly take it.

  I laugh. Maybe I should take her up on the offer. It would take some much-needed work off my shoulders. Then again … she’s inexperienced. But I still can’t help but play along.

  Pantysniffer3000: You think you can handle this job? I’d like to see you try.

  Pantylicious: Don’t underestimate me. You don’t know me.

  Pantysniffer3000: Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to.

  Pantylicious: I’m a marketing major. I know how to handle a business.

  Pantysniffer3000: Oh … interesting. So you’re planning to start working for a bigger company soon? I imagine selling panties isn’t your end goal.

  Pantylicious: Damn right, it isn’t. This is just a step-up. All I need is to get an internship to get the hang of it, and then I’m starting my own legit business.

  Pantysniffer3000: Internship? Nice. Already applied for a spot?

  Pantylicious: I’m trying, but there’s some dude who won’t stop talking to me on Twitter.

  Pantysniffer3000: Ha-ha, good one.

  Pantylicious: Laugh all you want, but one day, everyone will be jealous of my company. You just wait. Who knows, maybe we’ll meet at some corporate party. You’ll never know it was me.

  Pantysniffer3000: Maybe I can smell it’s you.

  Pantylicious: Awkward. Like that would ever happen.

  Pantysniffer3000: Wanna bet?

  Pantylicious: Ha, sure. Good luck. There are billions of people on the planet.

  Pantysniffer3000: But only one of them has your email.

  Pantylicious: This is about smelling lady bits. Not emails.

  Pantysniffer3000: Oh, I know.

  She doesn’t realiz
e it yet, but the moment she accepted my bet, it was game on for me. I like a challenge.

  Pantylicious: You know I can cancel the panty order any time, right?

  Pantysniffer3000: Please don’t. Besides, you need the money, and I need the panties. It’s a win-win situation.

  Pantylicious: Okay … Do you wanna order anything else?

  Pantysniffer3000: No, I’m good. Let me know when you get the tracking code.

  Pantylicious: Sure thing.

  I close Twitter and go about my business, but my conversation with that girl keeps haunting me. When I check in a few hours later, she’s already sent me the tracking code. A package filled with sweet, sexy panties is on the way.

  And I can’t stop myself from immediately using her email to search for her online. Is it sneaky? Yes. But I’m too obsessed to listen to that little voice in my head telling me I’m wrong for doing this. I just wanna find out who she is. Where she’s at. What she looks like. What her favorite movies and books are. What she likes to eat for breakfast.

  It doesn’t take me long to find that information either.

  Somehow, on an obscure website, her old email address still lingers, where she mentions switching over to a new, anonymous one. So I use the old email to find her Facebook profile, and bam … I’ve got a hit in just minutes.

  Not too bad for some half-assed detective work.

  Guess she didn’t think about covering her tracks. Or maybe she just thought no one would be interested enough to find out.

  But oh boy, when I find her pictures … real pictures … I’m smitten.

  A pretty face hides underneath soft, blond hair, the perfect flush on her cheeks. Her smile is so damn bright it could light the room. And her curves … ouch, they’re so hot that I’m on fire from just looking at her.

  Beautiful is an understatement.

  I’m flabbergasted. Just blown away that a girl like her sells panties to online strangers.

  Who’d have thought?

  Damn, I’m seriously impressed. When I look through the pictures of her not only drinking and partying with friends but also hard at work on her laptop, I get the sense she lives out loud and loves life.

  And that seductive look in her eyes makes me choke up.

  Goddamn, TJ, keep it together.

  I click away from her pictures and back to her profile, still not capable of stopping myself from snooping. In her posts, she talks about her classes and the work she’s doing with her ‘secret’ new business. And then she made a post three minutes ago about her job application, and how she just sent it in with Morrows.

  My company.

  My inbox bleeps.

  I click on the notification and stare at the email in complete shock.

  From: LesleyFischer@Gmail.com

  To: TJMorrows@Morrows.com

  Subject: Application – Internship

  It’s her.

  Panty girl, applying for an internship at my company.

  A grin slowly spreads across my face.

  This is going to be interesting.

  Chapter 2

  Lesley

  Three pimples and a red spot.

  Shit, I gotta cover them up.

  No way in hell am I going to let these blemishes ruin my otherwise perfect chance at landing that internship here at Morrows. So I wipe my face off with a towel then dab myself with my stick and air-kiss myself in the mirror before grabbing my cell and texting my mom.

  Me: Another job interview today. Wish me luck!

  Mom: Good luck, honey. Let me know if you get it.

  Me: Of course. xx

  I tuck my phone back in my pocket and make a mental note not to forget to text this time. I strut up the stairs and wink at a passing guy who almost stumbles on the stairs, making me grin. Clutching my red bag, I walk up to the lady sitting behind the desk on the third floor and clear my throat. She puts down her phone, batting her eyelashes at me before saying, “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here for an interview,” I say, leaning against the counter. “I have an appointment with TJ Morrows.”

  She raises her brow at me and gives me a sassy look before checking her computer. Whatever, lady. I know you don’t believe me, but that’s okay. Happens to me every damn day. I try to use people’s prejudice of my looks to my advantage whenever I can. Brains sometimes do come with beauty.

  “What time?” she asks.

  “Five minutes from now,” I answer with a fake, forced smile.

  She keeps looking at me like I’m joking or something. I guess it’s really hard to believe someone like me could score an interview for a job here. Makes you wonder what kind of place this is.

  I didn’t actually do a lot of research into the company, to be honest. Maybe I should have, but my number one priority was just finding an internship. It didn’t matter where. I only had two requirements: it must be a corporation where I can learn how to market and run a business, and it had to pay well.

  This one checked the boxes, so I applied.

  I don’t even know what they sell. Some product for stores or something, whatever. It doesn’t matter; I’m good to sell anything they want me to. Whether it’s toothpaste, ovens, couches, tickets, or even fucking dildos, I will work with it. Nothing’s off-limits to me, and I will promise I will do nothing short of my best to make him—whoever the hell is behind that door in the corner—happy.

  Because that’s just who I am. A hardworking, restless, ruthless bitch who gets the job done while still looking pretty.

  “What’s your name, please?” the woman suddenly asks.

  “Lesley. Fischer.” I check my watch. “Look, can I just walk in? I’m sure he’s waiting for me.”

  “Please hold on, ma’am,” she says with a snooty voice.

  I sigh out loud as she continues typing.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to find any appointment here noted to your name.”

  “Well, that’s a mistake.” I tap the desk with my nails. “I made the appointment with Mr. Morrows himself.”

  “Right …” She narrows her eyes.

  “Look … uh …” I check her nametag and then say, “Gillian, Mr. Morrows is waiting for me. Now you can either let me through or deal with him being pissed off when he realizes I wasn’t given a chance. Which is it?”

  She chuckles. “I doubt it.”

  “Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes. I don’t have time to let some snotty woman decide whether I get this internship, and if I don’t show up now and he’s waiting for me, I can kiss that job goodbye. “I don’t have time for this.”

  I turn and walk straight to the room with his name on it.

  “Wait!” Gillian scoots back her chair and scurries after me. “Excuse me! You’re not allowed to just walk in there.”

  “Watch me,” I say. I don’t have anything to lose.

  “Stop,” the woman says, but I ignore her as I grab the door handle and open the door.

  However, my stride toward victory halts instantly the moment I see a man in a suit doing a funny dance with a cup of coffee in his hand in front of the window with the song “Sexy and I Know It” blaring.

  Both Gillian and I stare in shock as he keeps going, oblivious to our presence.

  I slowly bring my fist up to the door and knock on the wood.

  The guy turns around and freezes, his eyes flickering back and forth between me and Gillian. He almost chokes on his coffee and gulps it down with a painful swallow before turning down the volume and setting his cup on the desk. He clears his throat, pats down his tie, and pretends he wasn’t just dancing as he sits down on his chair.

  “I couldn’t stop her—” Gillian begins.

  He raises a hand at her, and she immediately stops.

  Then his eyes roam across my face … and body. From top to bottom, he leaves nothing unscathed, and I feel like some sexy devil in disguise has just stripped me of my clothes.

  Because damn did that dance look sexy as hell.

  And funny
. That too.

  I’m still not sure whether I should be laughing or swooning, or maybe both.

  This is so damn confusing.

  I clutch my bag close to my body and say, “I’m Lesley Fischer.”

  “I know,” he says.

  The smirk that follows is so damn bold; it feels like he just set my panties on fire.

  Why, Lesley? Why do you have to be so easy?

  No, I will not let that sexy smile and dark eyes distract me. No matter how much I want to stare at them and imagine nothing else exists.

  Luckily, he looks at Gillian. “We have an appointment.” He casually checks his watch. “Right about now.”

  “Oh …” Gillian holds her breath, looking a little flabbergasted as she realizes I spoke the truth, and I take the opportunity to rub it in by narrowing my eyes at her and giving her a fake smile.

  “Thank you, Gillian,” Mr. Morrows says with a nod, dismissing her.

  Yes, please.

  With my head held high, I watch her step back and close the door, leaving me alone with Mr. Morrows. And the air in the room suddenly becomes a lot thicker.

  Much like his body … flexing in that suit.

  I wonder what it looks like underneath.

  Keep it together, you thirsty bitch.

  Don’t forget the mission: Land an internship.

  “Miss Fischer …” He leans up and holds out his hand. “TJ Morrows.”

  I walk up to him, determined not to let his good looks deter me from a professional meeting.

  When I grab his hand, his grip is firm but gentle. Like a warm welcome. “Nice to meet you.”

  I really don’t want him to take his hands off mine even though he does.

  “Likewise,” he says, and he points at the chair next to me. “Sit, sit.”

  I lick my lips and sit down on the chair in front of the desk while placing my bag on the floor. But no matter how many times I try to redo the first look I gave him, it always ends with me turning into a puddle because of his good looks.