by Amy Faye
Big Bad Boss
Marriage of Convenience Romance
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
“How about something else, then?”
“What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking how much I’d like it if you sucked my cock.”
I can see her expression shift. I don’t know how much she’s really opposed to it, but I know one thing. She’s not exactly super keen on it, either. Well, she’s going to have to get over that at some point, because I’m not going to give up on my money. I worked damn hard to get to where I am, and I’m not going to have it all taken away from me because I didn’t knock some woman up in time.
To my surprise, though, she doesn’t exactly seem to shy away from the notion.
“Is that all you wanted?”
“It’s what I’m willing to accept, at least,” I say. No use in lying to her. Up to this point, the relationship has been transactional. If that’s what it’s going to be then that’s what it’s going to be, there’s no use in beating myself up about it, or lying to her about what I want from her. It’s easier if I just let her know what I expect, and let her try to figure out how to meet those requirements.
“And that’s all?”
“I mean, if you want to fuck, I’m more than willing.”
She wipes her mouth and takes a drink from the open wine bottle in front of her, without bothering to refill her glass first.
“Alright,” she says finally. “But just a blowjob, and only tonight.”
“Is there anything you wanted?”
“More than anything? I just want you to leave it alone.”
“Alright. You can have at least one night to yourself, if that’s it.”
“If that’s the best I can get,” she says.
“I’m not going to stop trying to get my inheritance. Don’t forget, you’re losing out on your money, too.”
Cait’s expression sours even as she starts to drop to her knees in front of my chair. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then why not?”
She looks up at me with a scowl. “Because I’m not going to be your whore, that’s why.”
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One
Jasper
I don’t know what, precisely, was going through anyone’s head when I got the text. I know what was going through mine. I was watching the stocks rise and fall. I had a floor of 10.50, and a high of 12.00 for one long second.
It was like that most days. A dollar here or there, and a controlling two-thirds of the stocks mine. I could have gotten rid of some here or there, and probably made very reasonable money. Today, I was waiting on a call.
There was other work to do, but none of it urgent. Very little of it truly important, either. The only urgent thing was the call, and that was a hurry-up-and-wait situation.
So I hurried up, and I waited. There was a noise from the desk, where I’d left the phone. Time for the call, I supposed. I watched the stocks on my computer screen make a big spike, almost to $11.55. If I could sell at $11.55, and buy back at $10.50, I’d make almost a dollar in profit per sale.
But I can’t afford to take the risk. It’d be just as likely that I would miss the window, and make little or nothing at all. I pull the phone up, my thumb already moving to hit the answer button, but there’s no call. I must have made a mistake, except for the blue light beeping in the corner.
It’s not a red light. Not a missed call. So at least there’s that. I touch my thumb to the button, and the screen immediately flicks on and reads my fingerprint, and unlocks itself. An array of notifications across the top. Several games want me to know that they’re waiting for me, so that they can feed me a steady diet of advertisements while I play.
Luckily, for me at least, I may own this place, and I may run it, but I don’t let that screw me up. So I ignore those. Swipe down, and swipe right. Swipe right. Swipe right. The games are forgotten, at least temporarily. But there’s one thing that I ought to pay some attention to, at least.
Cait was supposed to be here ten minutes ago with a cup of coffee for me, and the notes for my meeting. But apparently, she didn’t have my scruples about not playing games at work, or something, because she’d never shown up. I click the notification and the messenger pops up.
“I know! He’s such an ass.”
I don’t know who she’s talking about, but I’ve got two options in front of me, as far as I can see. I can pretend that I know exactly who she’s talking about and have an interesting if slightly illicit conversation with my secretary, under the guise of being whoever she meant to send that text to, or I can blow my cover and we both walk away without the intention of ever mentioning it again.
Then again, I always loved gossip.
I type back quickly. ‘Yeah, but isn’t he hot?’
If they’re talking about Michael, who I personally know to be an ass, then maybe. I guess it would be a matter of perspective. But then, there are several assholes in this place I wouldn’t call hot. I don’t think that even a woman with low standards would call Dwayne, for example, hot. But hey. To each their own, right?
My phone buzzes. I read the incoming message with a perhaps slightly inappropriate amount of interest. ‘Oh God, that just makes it worse. I’d suck him off for the time of day if he wasn’t always telling me to go get him fucking coffee like I’m some intern!’
My heart thumped hard. Oh. Interesting. I try to think of something more interesting. Something witty. But all I can think is oh.
I start to work my thumbs. ‘That’s nuts. God, what I wouldn’t do to him.’ It’s not totally a lie. I’ve done quite a few things to myself, when there was nobody else around to do them for me.
I set the phone down and try to get the adrenaline to stop surging through me. It’s not every day that you pretend to be someone else in a conversation meant to be about you. It’s not every day that your secretary practically offers to suck your cock, either.
I can already feel the cogs turning in my head. I set the phone down. An instant later it buzzes again, and I unlock it automatically, ready to see what she’s said. What else I can leverage against her. The caller ID that shows that I’m being added to the quarterly conference call isn’t what I wanted. But it’s necessary, and I can’t exactly make it wait. So I answer the call in spite of myself.
“Hello?”
Cait’s entrance is a surprise, but she’s got a cup of coffee, notably not steaming, in one hand, and my meeting notes in the other hand. Better late than never, right?
“Jasper? That you?”
I put on my professional face. It’s a struggle as I watch Cait’s tight ass, which she sways broadly from left to right. I can’t help wondering if it’s intentional, now. Now that I’m aware that she’s attracted to me.
“Hey. Do we have everyone?”
“Wouldn’t call you unless I did.”
“Oh, Sarah, you know me so well.”
Sarah’s greatest asset used to be her looks. That was forty years ago, but as it turns out, her second greatest asset was her sharpness. Which was why she managed to make such a massive amount of money out of a pair of tits that, having seen old photos, were certainly killer. I couldn’t ask for more out of a board chair.
“And we’re all ready?”
I can’t help thinking about the text, and the conversation that followed. That’s the sort of thing that could ruin a woman’s career. Hell, it would be guaranteed to ruin a m
an’s career if the roles were reversed.
“We’re ready.”
“Okay, then, let’s talk about futures.”
I have all of this prepared in my notes. That’s pretty much the only reason that I can keep the conversation going. Because as it stands, my mind is completely on other things. The sound of the voices on the other end of the line do nothing to make me forget what I’d heard, or what it meant. My gut tells me that I ought to know better than to have done what I did. But I can’t help myself, and I didn’t know precisely how off the reservation I was going to be going.
“So we’re all in agreement?”
“Sure,” I say. There’s nothing for me to agree with, though. I have to keep doing what I’m doing, and they have to keep trying to get the stock prices to rise so that their mega-fortunes can grow even larger still.
The phone call starts to peter out as people stop having any more questions. I answer them as best I can, but the truth is that I don’t have anything to add, in part because I’m so preoccupied.
So even though I should probably take a more active role in these calls, I just can’t help myself. Maybe the trustees have noticed, but if so, they don’t mention it. Maybe they figure that I’m feeling a little under the weather. Hell, maybe I am, because I’ve never been so distracted by getting caught up in a woman’s sexual fantasies.
My heart thumps hard in my chest, and I can’t help thinking about what it all means. There’s the surface thoughts, of course. The fact that I can easily get her attention. But there’s even easier ways than slowly drawing her in.
Because I was right. The scandal of it all could end a woman’s career. She wouldn’t be able to work, even if I didn’t try to get rid of her. If word got out, her reputation would be trash, and she wouldn’t be able to go through a conversation without knowing that they were thinking about what she’d said. What kind of a person she was to so openly proposition her boss.
Which meant that there was a very real, very noticeable way that I could get back at her. I could get her to do just about whatever I wanted, and she wouldn’t have anything to say about it. Which was sorely tempting. I hung up the phone and set it aside. The stocks were up. Twelve twenty. That’s a new high for the day. Not a high for the week, I admit, but it’s an impressive spike.
For an instant I consider selling a third of my stocks, enough to leave me with a controlling share. Then the spike drops away to a more reasonable $11.50, and then quickly down to $10.85 as people decide that they want in on the spike and want to sell.
Things settle out, like they usually do, and the moment of interest is gone. Right until my door opens and Cait’s standing in it looking like she’s about to have a heart attack.
Two
Cait
I can’t stop repeating it over and over again in my head, like a broken record. Double-check who you’re sending stuff to. Maybe there’s another lesson to be learned here, too. Maybe I shouldn’t gossip. Maybe I shouldn’t text people behind their backs. Double-check who you’re sending stuff to. Triple check.
I made a mistake, and I’m just hoping that I don’t end up paying for it with my job. But it’s not like it would be totally outside the realm of possibility. Fuck me, how could I have made a mistake this bad? Am I just an idiot? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Double check who you’re sending stuff to! I fucked up so fucking bad! My gut twists and I just about have to force myself to stay sitting upright. Every part of me wants to curl up into a ball and then keep curling until I’m not even there any more. Once I’m invisible and don’t exist any more, then I can finally pretend I didn’t send that text.
But it’s not going to work, and I know because as his meeting has gone on for the past thirty minutes I’ve tried more than once. Double-check who you’re sending stuff to!
I can hear the call ending. Then silence takes over the room, and for an instant I think that maybe he’s decided that maybe he’s going to forget about it. I try to convince myself of that for a long moment, but it doesn’t last long. It can’t. I can feel myself judging, can feel everyone’s eyes on me even though nobody can see. I squeeze my eyes tight. I have to just… make it go away.
Regardless, I can’t think of a good way to do that. Or at least, I can’t think of any other good ways, because the only way that I can think of isn’t good. It would be good if I could somehow tender my resignation and never see him again, and then keep getting a paycheck.
But as it stands I can’t get that far at least as long as I have to worry that I’ve pissed Jasper off so much that he won’t recommend me.
So against my better instincts, I squeeze my stomach tighter and tighter until I feel like I’m going to throw up. Only then, after all that, do I finally start to force myself up. I can almost hear how bad things are going to go. I’m sure of one thing: there’s no way that I’m getting out of here with my job.
I just wanted to complain a little to Julia. That’s not that crazy. But I didn’t read the contacts because of course I only had a conversation going with one person. There was no way that Jasper had texted to check on his damn coffee.
If he didn’t have such a god damn handsome face, then I wouldn’t be in this mess. So it’s really his fault, sort of. At least, it’s not entirely my fault, right?
I run through the whole thing again. It was a mistake. Or even a joke. I was just teasing him. It was a little inappropriate, I know, but jokes are jokes, there’s nothing that wrong with it, right?
I close my eyes and squeeze them shut and force myself to lean down on the desktop. Just do what you have to do, idiot! Just go in there and talk to him, and everything’s going to be fine. Right?
I can’t make myself believe it. I walk over to the door into the bullpen. A dozen men sit there, their jackets stripped off from the overheated radiator in the office. And I could just walk right out. Nobody would stop me. Julia certainly wouldn’t, and none of the other guys give me a second thought.
So there’s nothing to stop me, right?
No. There’s something, that’s for sure. I have to think about the fact that I need to be able to get another job after that one. It’s why I need to address it at all. The more that I get out ahead of it, the less that there’s going to be trouble in the long run, right?
Deep breath. It’s just a stupid text. It was obviously a joke, even if it was an inappropriate one, he’s not going to be offended, right? Once you explain, he’s not going to be offended.
My gut twists up and I force myself to calm down. No reason to freak out. Everything is fine, right? I’m going to get over it.
I can almost hear the words. They repeat in my head two or three times, too. ‘Cait,’ he’ll say. ‘I need to see you in my office.’
There’s a feeling twisting in my gut. The feeling that I want to get the hell out of here. Hey, I say to myself, a nervous giggle slipping out of my mouth. There’s a plan. We’re, what, twelve stories up?
I scrub the thought out of my mind. It’s not funny, even for a joke, and of everything, I shouldn’t be joking about that in particular. It’s completely inappropriate and I should have known better. Do know better.
I just have to be a God damn adult about it and go inside and try to explain the whole thing. I think I’m going to throw up. But finally, I force myself inside. As I touch the handle to his office door I can feel myself trembling. I can hear my blood pumping in my ears, so loud that I can’t think straight.
Get ahold of yourself, Cait. Do what you have to do, go in there, treat him like an adult who can take a little joke, and then you can ask what to do next. You can leave and get yourself a job anywhere in the city. But first, you have to talk to Jasper.
My stomach threatens to do a flip. I can get another job. I can get another job even without his reference, but I need to act like a professional first and foremost, right?
So I swallow my shame and my pride and I press my handle on the door.
“Sir? I’m so sorry, I
made a… terrible mistake.”
The smile that spreads across his face isn’t what I expected. I feel the bottom of my stomach drop out. Maybe I made a bigger mistake than I had realized.
Three
Jasper
“Cait,” I say. I try to keep a straight face, but I have to admit, it’s a challenge. “What’s the problem?”
She seems to deflate a little bit at that. I should be a better person, I’m sure. But it’s always tempting to let the air out of someone’s balloon, even when I ought to know better.
“You mean you didn’t…”
“Oh, you were worried about this text I received?” I pull my phone off the table theatrically and read it back to her. “‘I’d suck him off for the time of day’. You were referring to me there, weren’t you?”
I watch her cheeks darken and darken and darken.
“That was, a…”
“What? That was a joke?”
“Yeah,” she says. “A joke.”
“Oh.” I nod my head softly. “I was worried that you were propositioning me. That would be a terrible shame. I’d have been pretty offended by that, you know?”
She blushes even more. I don’t know if she’s got any blood anywhere else, because her face is scarlet red. I feel a stirring in my slacks, thinking about it. But I have to hold off. I can’t afford to let myself get distracted. Not yet, anyway.
“So you feel like this is an appropriate sort of joke to make to your boss?”
I watch her eyes darken again, as she realizes that she’s not going to get out of this one. And the truth is that she’s not. There’s no way out except to accept that she’s in trouble and walk away. But she won’t do that, not the way that I’m pumping her right now. She’ll freak out, I’m certain of that, and then she’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand.
“I didn’t mean…”
“What didn’t you mean?”
