Duncan - The Deal (The Cocky Smiling O Series #1)

by Jade Sinner

  Duncan - The Deal

  The Cocky Smiling O Series - 1

  Jade Sinner

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Duncan - The Deal

  1. Kimbra

  2. Kimbra

  3. Duncan

  4. Kimbra

  5. Kimbra

  6. Duncan

  7. Kimbra

  8. Duncan

  9. Kimbra

  10. Kimbra

  11. Kimbra

  12. Duncan

  Jade Sinner

  Excerpt: Cherry Popper

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Jade Sinner

  Excerpt: Ashton - The Agreement

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Also by Jade Sinner

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016

  2016 Edition

  Cover art: Jade Sinner

  Editing: Printed Matter Editing

  Formatting: Indie Formatting Services

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  2016 Edition License

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the appropriate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting this author's hard work.

  Duncan Willis should be on GQ, not the co-owner of the company where I work. He's my boss, and he's also arrogant and cocky, knowing how to melt panties with just a smirk. That's why I've avoided him.

  I might fantasize about him, but I don't need that in my life.

  Until...

  Until I catch him—OK, hear him—in a compromising position.

  Yes, it was hot, but that's not the point.

  I need a date for one weekend. He needs me to keep quiet about what I witnessed.

  It's the perfect blackmail...the perfect deal.

  Until...

  Until one weekend of fantasy leaves me wanting more.

  Read this sexy, predictable, short, hot, dirty, and steamy book and learn how fantasy can become reality! Duncan: The Deal, is a standalone with a guaranteed HEA. Don't miss your next bookgasm.

  "What time do you get in?"

  I press my blue-tooth closer to my ear, drowning out conversations and traffic, as I emerge from the subway tunnel onto the Manhattan street. The morning sunlight causes me to squint or maybe it's my way to concentrate on what my mother just asked. Damn, if she'd only called a few seconds earlier I'd have been underground and missed her call.

  Ugh.

  "Get in?" I ask, trying not to let on that I have no fucking idea what she's talking about.

  "Thursday, dear. Your dad has an appointment and we want to be sure we can pick you up."

  I want to ask again, but if I do, surely she'll figure out that I'm still lost in this conversation. Instead I take it another way. "Dad has an appointment?"

  "With his urologist, dear, you know he has that—"

  OK. That didn't work. "Mom, sorry to interrupt, but I need to get to work. You were saying?"

  "Yes, what time does your flight arrive? You know it's race weekend. I told you not to book a hotel, and if you listened, there's not one available for miles. Besides, we have plenty of room and we want you here with us. I've talked with your father. It's fine for Timothy to stay here, too. I even think...well, if it'll get that man to propose, he can stay in your room."

  Like sleeping with someone in my parents' house is erotic?

  I shake my head. "Timothy? Mom, we're not going to the race."

  We're also not dating anymore, but that's a whole other story.

  "Of course not," she replies. "Kurt wants Timothy at the bachelor party. You know I'm not a big fan of parties the night before the wedding. Remember that incident with cousin Bob..."

  Fuck! The wedding!

  My cousin Scarlet's wedding. My perfect damn cousin.

  How did I forget?

  I know. I blocked it out.

  I don't want to go. I don't want to go back to Indiana and field all the questions about why I'm still not married, why I'm living all the way in New York, why I have a fucking life instead of being pregnant with baby number five at twenty-six years old.

  "Mom," I try to interrupt as I push my way through a crowd of obviously lost tourists. "Mom, um, Timothy..."

  "Kimberly, you're breaking up. What did you say?"

  "We're not..."

  "Kimberly Ann, I RSVPe'd for you plus-one. That was six months ago. Oh my lord! Tell me you're not single again! Why didn't you tell me? You know your aunt and uncle paid for a sit-down dinner. The reception is at the Hyatt. It's very formal, place setting and everything. Oh dear lord in heaven, don't tell me that I have to tell them you don't have a plus one."

  I take a deep breath and tap the microphone of my blue-tooth. "I-I'm...said...see...going...Thursday...rental car..." I say as I disconnect the call.

  Yes, it's a cheap trick. No, we don't have a bad connection. I just don't want to talk anymore. My thoughts are full of dresses and babies, and disapproving looks from my grandmother and mother as I sit at my assigned seat at the reception next to an empty chair.

  Maybe if I call my aunt now, she can move me to the kid table. That will be fun.

  I grimace at the thought as I make my way along the street to the building where I work at a real job. When I enter the building that houses the offices of Buchanan and Willis, a pharmaceutical distributor, my mind is hundreds of miles away. Out of habit, I squeeze my way into the coffee shop.

  "Caffe vanilla light frappuccino. Venti," I say while making mental notes: it's Tuesday. I need to be in Indiana on Thursday. I haven't asked for time off. I don't have an airline ticket or a dress or a date. My mind's a blur as the barista hands me my coffee and I turn, bumping right into him.

  "Shit!" I say louder than I intend.

  "Miss Jones."

  I look from the steaming coffee that managed to mostly stay within the confines of the cup—thank God for lids—and stare as some trickles down my hand and a small drop lands on my white blouse. My gaze goes to the floor. In front of me are his dark leather shoes. My eyes move upward: his grey slacks that narrow at his waist. I suck in a breath at the way his suit coat hangs from his broad shoulders. Finally, our eyes meet.

  Gritting my teeth, I force a smile. "Mr. Willis." I search his suit for evidence of our collision. "Did I..." I motion with a tip of my head.

  Mr. Willis grins as his deep voice drowns out the crowd. "Near miss, I believe. No harm, no foul." And then he steps around me.

  Shit. Can this day get any worse?

  Mr. Willis is half of Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals. He and Michael Buchanan started what has become a multibillion dollar company. It's not that he's smart and rich—even if he is. It's that he's sex on a stick. The man should be on the cover of GQ, not gracing the halls of our office. The way he wears his tailored suits on his over six-foot frame should be illegal. With jet-black hair and
stunning green eyes, he can melt panties with just a smirk. No doubt, mine are currently nothing but hot wax.

  Not that any of that matters. He hardly knows I'm alive, other than when he wants me to do some menial task: book a hotel or check on an invoice. His requests never involve anything in my actual job description. That doesn't mean I tell him no. From what I've heard, no one ever tells him no.

  I admit that there have been more than a few times I've imagined him asking me to do other things. Things that go against company policy. Things that include his large hands and cock.

  I don't actually know how big his cock is, but in my imagination it's huge.

  Shaking my head, I make my way to the elevator. Minutes later I go from the elevator to my cubicle. Leaving my cup of coffee on my desk, I decide to attempt to save my blouse. Maybe if I can wash the coffee stain away, my day will start to improve.

  Not wanting to strip to my lacy bra in front of half my female coworkers, I go on to one of the smaller employee bathrooms, one hidden down a hallway with only two stalls.

  Any other day I'd be irate about the coffee. After all, this is one of my favorite outfits, a white silk blouse, navy pencil skirt, big red chunky necklace and red high-heeled fuck-me pumps. It would seem like the shoes would be uncomfortable, but surprisingly they aren't. Besides, I love the way they accent the red.

  My white lace bra barely contains my DD breasts as I carefully lower my blouse under a cool stream of water.

  "Yes, in here..." A woman's voice coos near the bathroom door.

  Shit. "Of course," I mumble, clenching my blouse to my bare stomach and moving into a stall. As I shut the door, the outside door crashes open.

  "O-oh," the female voice pants. "Y-yes. Let me show you."

  I shake my head. Really? It isn't bad enough that I have the whole mother-wedding thing, now I get to listen to two people fucking in a bathroom.

  "A-ah, God..."

  I sit on the toilet with my wet blouse on my lap. I might as well get comfortable and try to ignore what's happening beyond the stall.

  "Oh. Oh!"

  Holy fuck! Whoever they are, they're going at it. OMG. It's like eight in the morning. I'm not against morning sex, just not in the company bathroom!

  The breathing gets heavier.

  I should stop this. I work in HR and this is definitely against company policy, but damn, it's hot. Besides, I don't have a blouse on. I can't exactly run out in my bra and yell stop! And it's a great diversion from my sucky life. It'll give me something to fantasize about during my upcoming shitty weekend.

  I haven't heard the man's voice yet, just his breathing.

  Oh fuck!

  I see female legs, blue pumps and a skirt as she falls to her knees.

  A zipper. I hear a fucking zipper. "Don't do it," I plead mentally. "Don't do it."

  My mind may be disapproving, but the hotter it gets, the more my body agrees. Moisture builds between my legs as I let my imagination take over. Without thinking, my fingers move under my skirt and push the crotch of my panties aside. Damn, they're wet.

  A growl echoes through the bathroom. A growl...

  The growl is deep and primitive. Oh sweet Jesus. That's erotic.

  I stifle a moan as I brush my clit, lightly at first and then find my folds. Damn, my skirt is too tight to reach...I move it up my thighs, as my red pumps scrape against the tile floor.

  "Shit," the man's voice resonates through the small bathroom and my eyes open wide.

  "I-is someone in here?" No longer seductive, the woman's voice holds an edge of panic.

  Commotion—zippers moving and fabric straightening as well as the woman's heels and man's shoes against the floor. Without another word, they're gone.

  It was only one word, but I know that voice.

  Another moan escapes my lips as I finish what I started. One finger and then two. A pinch of my clit and the image of the man who was just on the other side of the stall. Behind my closed eyes, I see his wide shoulders, his trim waist, the way his pleated trousers hang over his big cock and surround his round ass.

  Cum covers my fingers as I imagine Duncan Willis.

  The dryer in the bathroom fades the damp spot on my blouse. I don't bother with the one on my panties. At least the coffee stain is gone.

  Nevertheless, with each step toward my desk, my fury builds. I'm not against a good orgasm as a great way to start the day, but fuck. Do it in bed. Have it brought on by long, thick masculine fingers or better yet, a hard, large cock.

  That's the way to start the day.

  Not listening to your boss get off with some office slut after dealing with a telephone conversation with your mother.

  I'm HR. Sex in bathrooms is frowned upon. Shit! It's wrong. It's an offense that can result in termination. Not that I can fire one of the owners. But damn, the man needs to keep it in his pants.

  I've heard the rumors. Everyone has. That doesn't mean I want to hear his moans or growls.

  Fuck!

  That growl was so hot.

  But seriously. Who was she? That woman could sue his ass, this company—my job is on the line.

  I sit at my desk and finally take a drink of my coffee.

  "Miss Jones."

  My breathing stops as I look up from the cup in my hand toward the entrance to my cubicle. Standing there, all sexy and perhaps slightly perturbed is Duncan Willis.

  His shimmering green eyes move unashamedly down my body leaving a trail of smoldering flames. Each inch that his gaze lowers disperses the fire that his growl ignited in the bathroom. As seconds tick, I'm ready to combust.

  It's not until his eyes reach my shoes that his grin broadens. "Nice shoes, Miss Jones. I thought I noticed them this morning in the coffee shop."

  My shoes. He noticed them? Why did I wear red? Nude or blue...so many options. How many women have on red pumps? Undoubtedly, he not only saw them in the coffee shop, but in the bathroom.

  "Mr. Willis, it's nice of you to notice my attire."

  "You're very noticeable."

  As he turns to walk away, I remember to take a breath. One more second and I would have passed out and probably spilled my coffee again. Why not? After the way my morning has begun, anything is possible.

  I turn back to my desk and indignation builds.

  He knows I know.

  He wants me to know that he knows.

  Well, Duncan Willis may be my boss, but he hired me for a job.

  Any other employee and I would say something. I am bound to say something.

  Steeling my shoulders, I begin to move my desk chair, when out of the corner of my eye, I see the screen of my phone light up. In the corner is a little red number—six.

  Letting out an exaggerated breath, I swipe the screen.

  Six text messages.

  MOTHER: What Happened?

  I hung up on you!

  MOTHER: I can't reach you.

  No shit. That's the point.

  MOTHER: Are you there?

  My head moves back and forth. She's not great at taking a hint.

  MOTHER: Call me back.

  Not until I figure this out.

  MOTHER: What size tux does Timothy wear? Kurt's friend from California is sick. I said your boyfriend would be happy to fill in. You know how excited everyone is that you're dating.

  What the actual fuck?

  MOTHER: Call me.

  "Fuck!" The word slips out as I bang my head on the top of my desk.

  Someone make this all go away!

  My chest expands, my breasts pushing against my blouse as I stand. The idea I just got is ludicrous, asinine, and possibly the worst one I've ever had. But other than the possibility of losing my job—oh, and my dignity—it just might work.

  It's now or never.

  With more determination than I thought possible, I walk toward Duncan Willis's office. The journey takes longer than ever before. In reality, it's only on the other side of the large room housing mine and seven other cubicles and
down one hallway.

  Duncan's office is separated from his assistant's by a large wall of glass. I know from experience that a switch can be thrown that changes the glass from clear to opaque. In the past when we've discussed hires and fires, he's hit the magical button to keep his office private. Currently the wall is clear, and through the glass I see my boss, sitting at his desk, his green eyes squinting as he concentrates on whatever is on his computer's screen.

  I walk toward his assistant's desk and half-smile. Since it was a woman I heard in that bathroom, I know the person with Mr. Willis earlier today wasn't his assistant, Peter. Besides, if he and his assistant wanted to go at it, they wouldn't need to use the company bathroom. They could just do it back here behind the opaque window. It's been the location of more than a few of my fantasies. Besides, I'm relatively sure that Peter isn't Duncan Willis's type, though Duncan may be Peter's.

  "Peter, I need to speak to Mr. Willis."

  He looks up from his computer. "Hi, Kimbra. Don't tell me you're firing people again."

  My eyes widen. "The day is young."

  "Oh, for such a pretty, young thing, you sure can be scary."

  I push my shoulders back, hoping he's right. "Mr. Willis?"

  Peter tilts his head toward the glass. "Go on in. He just got here. I doubt he's busy. But I warn you, something has him a little ticked this morning."

  Just got here? Ticked? Thirty minutes ago he was on the first floor. Maybe banging some office slut in the bathroom threw off his schedule. Or maybe he's upset that it was interrupted.

  Opening the door, I clear my throat. "Mr. Willis."

  Fuck! This day just got better, not that I am going to let Miss Jones know that, not yet.

  My cheeks rise and lips thin as I scan her sumptuous body from head to toe.

  Kimbra Jones is a vision, one I never expected to walk into my office. Not after this morning. Her auburn hair is piled on her head exposing her long neck and the red necklace moves with each of her breaths. It matches her fucking red shoes perfectly. My cock twitches as I imagine fucking her while she wears those shoes, maybe those and nothing else.