by Vivien Vale
Still, yeah, I’m nervous.
I also feel a little uncomfortable in my shoes. They are brand new–I’d gone shopping to celebrate the moment I’d gotten the job–and I should have broken them in first.
When I walk through the lobby to the stairs, Kevin Meyers comes out of the men’s room and reaches the foot of the stairs the same time I do.
“Morning, Carly,” he says.
I smile nervously at him. I hadn’t expected to see him out here already.
“Morning, Mr. Meyers,” I say.
“Kevin,” he says. “Please. We’re going to be working closely together. Let’s not stay too formal.”
I nod. “Kevin,” I say.
He pulls one corner of his mouth up in a lopsided grin. We turn and ascend the steps together. Kevin seems distracted and serious. The grin had faded almost immediately, and he seems to be lost in a world of his own. It is quite the opposite from what it had been when I’d done the final interview. He’d been charming and suave, then, almost arrogant. He had stared at my body with his icy blue eyes without shame, and I had to admit that I’d liked it.
Now, he barely looks at me. I had gotten dressed this morning with the intention of looking good. I’m in appropriate office attire, of course, but I’m wearing a peplum dress suit that accentuates my curves, and kitten heels that make my calves look better than when I wear flats.
We climb the two flights of stairs, and I follow him to a door with his name on the glass in golden lettering. The office is modern executive, with black furniture and splashes of color that are artful enough that I assume he’d gotten a decorator. Black blinds hang in front of all the glass walls, ready to give Kevin privacy from prying eyes when he needs it.
I stand just inside the door, clutching my handbag like it is a lifeline, waiting for Kevin to tell me what he wants me to do.
He is still distracted, opening his laptop and typing feverishly. It gives me time to study him.
He has dirty blond hair that is raked out of his face like he’d done it with just his fingers after showering. His blue eyes are the color of a winter sky, and his suit hugs his muscled arms. He works out, no doubt. The top button of his shirt is undone, the tie is loose around his neck, and a few golden chest hairs and a triangle of tanned skin peek out of the shirt.
God, he is hot. He is the kind of man that, in any other situation, I would go home with. Pity he is my boss.
Kevin looks up at me, and I feel like an idiot for staring.
“Okay, so you’re going to work out there,” he says, walking back to the door and pointing at a desk just outside. With his blinds open, I will be able to see him through the glass office wall, and he will be able to see me.
“I’m going to need you on standby a lot, though, so you’re not going to sit down much until I ask you specifically or if I’m out.”
I nod. “I’m quick on my feet.”
He grins. “I see what you did there.”
It’s a silly comment, but it makes me feel warm.
He walks to the desk I’m supposed to use. “Here is a file with all the numbers you might need, extensions, names, all of it. I got the last lady to prepare this for you. You’ll have to talk to Dana over there to help you with the filing system.” He waves at a woman with an auburn bob, and she waves back.
I nod.
“You have an hour for lunch and two fifteen-minute breaks at eleven and three. Do you smoke?”
I shake my head.
“Good,” he says. “So, smoke breaks won’t be necessary. I expect you to be on top of your game. We’re trying to rise on the corporate ladder so I need you to be as serious about this as I am. And you have potential,” he adds, and I can’t help but wonder about that.
I nod. “Thank you, Mr. Meyers.” I shake my head. “Kevin.”
He smiles at me and it is a dazzling smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes me melt a little. I have to stop being affected by him like this. He is my boss, for crying out loud.
“After your lunch hour, I need you to go to Hannah Weber in accounting–Dana will tell you how to get there–so we can get you onto our payroll.”
He puts his hands on his hips and looks over my shoulder, thinking. I am aware of how tall he is and how broad his shoulders are. His shirt is tight around his chest, gracing his pectorals, and I wonder if he has six-pack abs below the shirt where it hangs of his body a little.
I shake off the thoughts. Focus, I have to focus.
Kevin clears his throat, and he looks distracted again.
“I’m going into a meeting in a couple of minutes,” he says with a solemn face. If he’d seen me staring, he doesn’t show it. “I’ll need you to wait here, though. It’s a private matter. I might need you to come into the board room, though. It depends on how it goes. So be on standby so I can call you.”
I nod. “I’ll be right here,” I say.
“Good girl,” Kevin says and walks away.
I am thrilled by the ownership that comes with a compliment that should have felt more condescending than it does.
With Kevin gone, I turn to my desk and sit down behind it. I glance at his office. This is where I am going to sit every day for the foreseeable future. When I look toward his office, I know I will be able to see him perfectly and that makes me excited. He’s my boss, I tell myself, but that doesn’t change the fact that I think he is hot as hell.
I lean back in my chair. Kevin Meyers is a man that looks like he knows exactly what he wants and he gets it, too. The way that he speaks to me makes me feel like he is in control. And why wouldn’t he be? He is my boss. But it is more than that.
Kevin looks like he is the type of man that would dominate a woman in the bedroom. Just enough to be hot as hell. There is something deliciously sexy about a man grabbing a woman’s hair or putting his hand on her throat. I like the idea of a man making demands. I like the idea of Kevin making demands.
God, the things I would do for him if he but asks. I can just picture myself on his desk in lingerie, my legs open for him so that he can explore my body. Or kneeling in front of him with his dick in my mouth. If he puts his hand at the back of my head when I suck him off, it would be so much hotter still, with him pushing me to my limit and me letting him because I am his for the taking.
Dana comes toward me and that rips me out of the dirty day dreams I am having about someone I shouldn’t be fantasizing about. I feel my cheeks flame, knowing full well that Dana wouldn’t know that I am dreaming about Kevin, and feeling silly, anyway.
“I’m Dana,” she says and smiles at me. Her shoulder length bob is more red than brown up close, and she has a smattering of freckles across her nose that move when she smiles. “You’re the new girl.”
I nod, even though it isn’t a question.
“Let me show you the filing cabinet while you have some time to breathe. You won’t have that once Mr. Meyers comes out of the meeting.” I notice she doesn’t call him Kevin the way he asked me to. I wonder if it is a privilege to do so and what it means, if it is.
“He had the last girl running around like a headless chicken,” Dana says, turning toward the filing cabinets and expecting me to follow her. “But if I must be honest with you, I don’t think he liked her very much.”
“Why?” I ask.
Dana shrugs and flips her hair. “I don’t know. I guess you just don’t click with some people.”
I nod, wondering if that was all it was. I guess I will find out in due time. I look down the corridor where Kevin had disappeared to. Dana prattles on, and I wonder if I will be stuck with her for a long time, still.
Time passes slowly in an office I don’t know with nothing to work on. After learning how to do the filing from Dana and finding Hannah in accounting much earlier than I need to, I have nothing to do until Kevin finally comes back to his office. He looks tired when he arrives.
“Carly,” he calls, beckoning to me as he walks into his office. I jump up and follow him in.
“Close the door, please,” he says.
I turn around and do as he asks, aware that the blinds are open and only what we say will be private. Not that it matters. What else would happen?
Kevin sits down on the edge of his desk. He gestures to the chair facing him, and I sit down, perching on the edge, ankles together and hands folded in my lap. I’m not comfortable yet, and being around Kevin in an enclosed space is disconcerting. I can smell his cologne, and it is manly and attractive, designed to make women fawn over him.
It works.
“I need to talk to you about what’s going on,” he says, and he sounds so dejected I get rid of all my naughty thoughts and focus on him. “It’s not a big deal, not really, but you ought to know. I have new investors. They signed on with Raven Publishers about two weeks ago. Mr. Franklin Hull is a particularly difficult man.”
Kevin takes a deep breath. I listen intently.
“We were caught in a tussle on Friday–my HR manager and I–and it was portrayed a lot worse than was necessary in the tabloids. You can imagine what a nuisance they are.”
He tales another deep breath. He seems stressed. I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything at all.
“The problem with this is the fact that any little thing will cost me the investment. They were already threatening to pull out after this unfortunate situation. It was nothing, but they’re serious about image, and they don’t like it when anything goes wrong.”
He looks at me, and his eyes are bright. He looks at me for long enough that I think he might want me to say something.
“I understand,” I say.
“I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I need your help keeping an eye on things.”
“Me?” I ask. It seems like a very sudden, very big responsibility.
Kevin nods and smiles. It is a warm, encouraging smile.
“You’re my assistant. You’re an extension of my image now, essentially an extension of me.”
I blink at him. He shakes his head and chuckles. His voice is deep and velvety when he does.
“I just need some help keeping a handle on things.”
I smile and nod. I am wanted. I am needed. This is exactly what I am here for.
“Absolutely,” I say. “You can count on me.”
He gives me another of his brilliant smiles, and I melt into my shoes.
Kevin
By Wednesday afternoon, I am more than impressed with Carly. I made the right choice in hiring her, and it isn’t just because she is the hottest thing I’ve seen on two legs. She is efficient, quick on the uptake, and she makes my job so much easier.
She understands what I want and when I want it, without me needing to tell her. We are on the right level so far, and that is exactly what I need in a personal assistant.
More than that, I had her go through a lot of paperwork the board had me swamped with. She went through fast – almost as fast as I would have done it. This bet looks like a sure deal. Sorry, Scott.
Of course, it helps a lot that she is so easy on the eyes. She is graceful and elegant when she walks, carrying herself like she is proud of who she is. Her long dark hair frames her delicate face, and she has these deep, liquid eyes that I can get lost in if I allow myself to stare into them for too long.
Every day, she wears something different, something equally flattering as she did the day before. Whether it is a skirt or a pair of pants, she always looks well put together and neat as a pin.
Of course, I prefer it when she wears skirts. Her legs are to die for, and her skin tone is so light it is like marble.
After she comes back from lunch, I call her in.
“Close the door, will you?” I ask.
She does and walks to my desk.
“Sit down,” I say when she doesn’t. She never sits down unless I ask. Such manners.
“How are you enjoying your work here?” I ask.
She smiles at me, and it lights up her face. It is a good start. God, she is beautiful.
“Very much,” she says. “I think I’m fitting in well. Very well. I’m getting along with everyone in the office and I think I’m managing with the work.”
She is soft spoken, her voice feminine and a little husky. It is the kind of voice I would love to get off to on the phone. I can listen to her talk all night long. I can just imagine what she would sound like during sex. Fuck me.
I really want her. I want to get to know more of her, to spend more time with her, to see who she is outside of the office.
“Do you want to go out for a drink with me tonight?” I ask.
The question surprises me as much as it surprises her. She frowns slightly, her perfectly manicured brows knitting together.
“I mean…” I start, but there is no way I can make that sound different than it does.
“I’d like that,” she says, and I blink at her. Did she just accept?
“I want to go to Marvel Bar. Do you know where it is?”
She nods.
“Meet me there. Seven”
She smiles at me and nods. My phone rings and I pick it up, not bothering to let her deal with the call. I watch her as I speak on the phone, watching her get up and leave. Her ass is perfect–round, lifted cheeks and beautiful thighs, hugged by the pants she wears today.
She leaves the door open, and I see her through the window, walking to her desk.
She said yes.
I arrive at Marvel early and get a table in the back. I want her all to myself. I want to talk to her, to give her all my attention. I’d gotten dressed in Levi jeans and a collared shirt with Italian loafers. My hair is geled up a little so that I don’t look as stiff as I had in the office. I order a whiskey while I wait for her.
The bar is a nice place, decorated with a bit of a retro feel in shades of brown and a bit of sea green here and there. It is full enough for a week night. Music plays in the background and the lower lighting makes it feel warm and intimate.
She arrives five minutes late, and I see her the moment she walks into the door. I couldn’t miss her. Apparently, neither could any of the other men. They stare at her as she stops just inside the door, her eyes scanning the crowd, looking for me.
When she spots me, she smiles. Her face lights up, and I watch her weave her way through the tables toward me. She wears a sheath dress that accentuates her curves, even though it doesn’t cling to her body. Her heels are higher, and her hair is pulled back from her face so that her dark eyes look even bigger. She comes toward me all rolling hips and luscious lips.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” she says when she sits down. “You look so different out of your suit.”
“Well, you look fantastic,” I say. She blushes–blushes–and her smile is even more beautiful than I’d seen before.
I order her a cocktail–women like cocktails–and we start talking. She tells me about her sister and her parents and her studies. I only partially hear what she says. Her mouth mesmerizes me when she speaks and I want to kiss her. The more I drink, the more I want to pull into her, push my tongue into her mouth, pull her body against mine. I am playing with fire but I don’t care. That is because of the alcohol, too.
I am buzzing, and she looks like she is getting drunk, too. She laughs more and speaks more freely, her shyness disappearing. I like the woman that sits before me.
When the night comes to an end, I am more than tipsy. I feel like I’m walking on air and I am painfully aware of my cock and how it is throbbing in my pants. When I stand up and hold out my hand, Carly takes it. Her hand is soft. I help her up and she ends up almost against me, our bodies so close that a sigh would push us together. Her breath hitches in her throat and in her eyes, I see the potential, the possibilities of the night
Oh, yes.
I let her walk through the crowd first, instead of leading her through, holding her hand. I have to keep that damn business image in mind that Hull is so anal about.
“Did you drive?” I ask.
>
Carly stands next to me, hugging herself against the chill in the air. I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her to me a little. She shakes her head.
“Taxi,” she says.
“Good.”
A moment later, my driver pulls up with my car. It is a black Mercedes–not quite a limo but longer than the average car–and I like it that no one can see through the tinted windows.
I open the door for her, and she slides into the leather seats first.
“This is classy,” Carly says when the car purrs to life beneath us. I move closer to her. She glances up at me but she doesn’t move away.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say.
She turns her face to me and she is so close to mine that I can almost taste her lips. Her eyes are on mine for a moment before her gaze slides to my lips. She wants me to kiss her.
Who am I to turn away a woman who needs me like that? I close the distance, pressing my lips against hers.
Maybe it is the alcohol, but the kiss is electric. Her lips are soft and she tastes like alcohol and desire. I ache for her, which is probably the alcohol talking, too. I’m not going to deny myself if she is willing.
Somewhere at the back of my mind, a little voice screams at me, reminding me of Hull and his demands, but I push it away and reach up to her face, putting my palm on her cheek.
I push my tongue into her mouth, and almost immediately, the kiss becomes urgent. She kisses me like she’ll never kiss again, her tongue swirling around mine, her hand on my chest tugging at my shirt.
I let my hand trail down her neck and touch her soft skin before I move my hand onto her chest. The material of her dress is thin and I can feel the edge of her bra before my hand slides onto her breast. I cup her breast and knead and massage her. She breathes hard into my mouth.
She slides her hand into my lap and rubs my cock through my jeans without going on a detour touching my body in the process. A woman that knows what she wants: I like it.
I pull her closer against me. Her skin is hot through her dress. I tug at her collar once or twice before I realize the material won’t budge, and I won’t be able to get to her nipples from here. I have to just wait until later.
