Southern Seduction

by Alcorn, N. A.

Yeah, I acted like a fifteen-year-old girl and slept with that picture for a week straight before Cori caught me. The very next day, she was asking her followers their opinion on, and I quote, “A Lonely Young Woman Who Swears She’s Over Her First Love Yet Sleeps With His Picture: Creepy or Cute?” She even admitted that it wasn’t one of her best titles, but it was still effective. According to the poll she posted, it’s borderline creepy AND cute, and most of the comments basically called me an idiot who needed to realize she clearly isn’t over said first love. One even went so far as to call it an unhealthy, desperate cry for help and boldly predicted that I’d end up old, alone, and with at least forty-nine cats. Gotta love the Internet, right?

  I endured a week of torture as Bryan and Cori started placing stuffed kittens all over my room before I snapped and threatened Bryan with spilling his secret if he didn’t stop. Suffice it to say, the picture was placed on my dresser, never to be slept with again. Not that Sawyer ever needed to know that.

  So here I am, two months later, now reeling from being kissed senseless by Sawyer. My boss. My stepbrother. My first love. It’s overwhelming and exciting at the same time. It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to be affected by his touch this way. I thought I’d gone long enough without it, that I should be over it, but apparently I was pretty damn wrong, because on that couch, Sawyer ignited feelings in me that I’d thought were dormant.

  And it wasn’t just from the kiss either. I didn’t mean for him to see my tattoo or to even admit the truth about why I got it, but it just kind of slipped out. The way he was looking at me, like he already knew the answer, was unnerving, and I knew I couldn’t lie to him. But it’s his own admission that I can’t stop thinking about, and I begin to wonder what in the hell I’ve gotten myself into and just how long I’m going to be able to resist him before I forget all the walls I’ve put up around my heart and finally give in.

  “Damn, girl,” Bryan says as he whistles when I walk into the kitchen on Monday morning.

  Okay, so maybe I took a little extra time getting ready this morning, but it’s only because Sawyer and I have a conference with our clients to discuss our project with them and I want to make a good impression. At least that’s what I’m telling Bryan—and myself. He’s checking me out, and he nods in approval.

  I’m wearing a charcoal pencil skirt. I admit that I’ve seen Sawyer checking out my ass whenever I wear one, and I’ve had to add to my collection. Instead of putting my hair up like I usually do, I chose to leave it down, creating gentle curls on the ends. I took longer than normal to put on my makeup, not so that it was completely noticeable, but just enough so that my eyes and cheekbones were highlighted.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Shy, you always look beautiful, but you’re smokin’ today. What gives?” Bryan asks. He and Cori got in late last night, and I chose not to fill them in on my visitor from Friday night.

  “Oh, I just have my first big client meeting today and I want to dress for success,” I tell him, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal.

  “Hopefully your client’s not an old creepy man or else your boss might end up kicking some ass when he catches him looking at your ass.”

  “My boss won’t be kicking anyone’s ass, thank you very much. I told you before, Bryan, there’s nothing going on. There never will be,” I say, and I hate hearing the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.

  “Whatever you say, Cheyenne. Whatever you say,” he responds, simply shaking his head. I hate how well he knows me, and I know that sooner or later he’s going to figure out that I do, indeed, still have feelings for Sawyer. I just hope that before that happens I can figure out what those feelings even are.

  My palms are sweating and my heart races as I walk into Wellsley-Callahan. I’ve been thinking about seeing Sawyer again since the moment he walked out of my apartment, and I’m anxious to see how he’s going to act. I’m sure he’ll be professional since we’ll be at work, but the image of him closing his office door and pressing me up against it as he kisses me senseless passes through my mind and send butterflies deep into my belly. What the hell, Cheyenne? I think to myself, forcing any thoughts of Sawyer’s lips on mine out of my mind.

  After stepping onto the elevator, I smooth my skirt and the doors start close when a briefcase slides between them, forcing the doors back open. My breath catches when I see Sawyer standing there in a black Armani suit complete with a light green tie and handkerchief set that perfectly match his eye color. I try to suppress a grin when I see that he skipped the product in his hair. He nods when he sees me and then at Bryan as well, his eyes narrowing when he sees how close we’re standing to each other in the crowded elevator.

  When Bryan gets off on the third floor, Sawyer finally turns to me. “Have a good weekend, Ms. Hamilton?” he asks, and I’m assuming he’s being formal for the other elevator occupants.

  “Actually, yes, Mr. Callahan. It was a fantastic weekend. I was able to catch up on my reading while still getting some work done,” I tell him, feeling like we’re almost role-playing—boss and dutiful assistant putting on a show for the rest of the employees before we’re locked in his office, where he lifts up my skirt and takes me on his desk. I wish.

  Jesus, I really need to get laid. It’s been almost nine months since I’ve hooked up with anyone, and I blame the sudden rise in my libido on that, not the fact that I can’t stop thinking about Sawyer resting between my legs as he made love to me on the dock.

  I feel his breath on my ear as he leans down. “What I wouldn’t give to be inside your… head, Ms. Hamilton. I do believe you’re blushing at whatever you’re thinking of,” he whispers.

  I know he’s right as I can feel the heat spread across my cheeks, and I don’t respond, to which he just chuckles. When we finally reach his floor, I don’t follow as he heads to his office. Instead, I walk to the breakroom under the guise of getting coffee, but I’m really just trying to collect myself before I have to spend the rest of my day in a confined space with him, where I’ll undoubtedly be thinking about his kiss every time I smell the scent of his cologne or feel the closeness of his presence.

  After making us both coffee, I feel calmed down enough to go into the office. I can’t help the smile as I remember the feel of his lips against my ear, and I wonder what things are going to be like after what happened on Friday night.

  He’s on the phone when I enter his office, and he gestures for me to sit down. I place the coffee in front of him and sit, waiting for him to end the call. Once he does, he motions towards the coffee cup. “What’s this?” he asks, probably wondering why I’m bringing him coffee when I’ve never done it before.

  “It’s coffee, Sawyer. I was getting myself a cup and thought I’d be a good little employee and bring you one as well. No big deal,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders as I take a sip of my own coffee.

  “I appreciate the gesture, Cheyenne, but I don’t drink the stuff.”

  Wrinkling my eyebrows, I lean forward, setting my elbow on his desk. “You don’t drink coffee? But Marnie brings you a cup every morning and another one every day after lunch.” I’m not really sure why it matters if he drinks coffee, but it irritates me that I don’t know something about him when I thought that I was being kind, having noticed that he enjoyed a warm cup of coffee in the morning.

  “No, I don’t drink coffee. I prefer hot tea. That’s what you see when Marnie brings in a mug. She usually steeps it for me so you never see the tea bag, but I assure you, I’m usually drinking either a peppermint tea or a chai one.”

  Sitting back in my seat, I feel like an idiot at the dejection. It’s just coffee, so I shouldn’t care, but for some reason I do. “Oh. I guess I just figured it was coffee, but I’ll make sure to remember that you like tea instead if I’m ever feeling generous again.”

  He grins at me and takes a sip of his coffee before he grimaces. “Seriously, how do you drink this shit?”

  “It’s an acquired taste, I guess. I went thr
ough so many all-nighters at Berkeley that I just got used to it. Now I can’t imagine a single morning without at least two cups of coffee.”

  He shakes his head and pushes the mug towards me. “Well, here’s your second cup.”

  As I continue to sip my coffee, he opens up the file for the Kensington account and we start to discuss everything that we need to go over when we meet the clients this afternoon. Everything’s normal, and he doesn’t get too close to me like he did in the elevator. I hate that part of me is wishing he would.

  The rest of the morning passes as it typically would—with an ease that I’ve come to expect from working with Sawyer. We get all our files together so that we can present the Kensington pitch, and he acts like a perfect gentleman the entire time. When Marnie pops her head in and says that she’s going to lunch, I hang back, waiting to see if he wants to eat together. Thoughts of him foregoing food and deciding to eat me on his desk pass through my mind, and I can feel my cheeks flush. God, I really need to have sex, to get some relief so that I’ll stop thinking about Sawyer naked.

  I feel like an idiot as I stand here watching him click around on his computer. I’m about to turn around and leave the room when he finally looks up and notices me.

  “Oh, Cheyenne, go ahead and go to lunch. If we meet back here at one, we’ll have time to go over the presentation one last time,” he says, absentmindedly dismissing me.

  He’s acting like I’m just another employee and not the woman he had pressed up against the wall just three nights ago. I’m surprised to find that it’s actually pissing me off, even though I was the one who put a stop to that heated kiss. Right now I’m cursing myself for that, because in this moment, I want nothing more than his lips on mine, even though it seems like he wants me as far away as possible.

  Nodding, I grab my purse and head towards the door. “I’ll just go see if Bryan’s free for lunch. I’ll see you in a bit,” I tell him, and I inwardly cheer when I see his jealous glare. I know Sawyer sees Bryan and me arriving at work together almost every morning, and I think he takes pleasure in keeping me late at night so I have to go home by myself. He’s never asked about the nature of our relationship, and I’m not sure if he thinks there’s anything going on there other than us being roommates. In fact, I’m not even sure he knows that much. I’ve never bothered to tell him, because if he wants to know, he’ll ask.

  I’m about to leave the office when I hear him clear his throat. “On second thought, why don’t you meet me back here by 12:30? There are a couple of things in the report that I’d like to discuss further before the Kensington meeting.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” I throw at him and exit the office without another word.

  At the conclusion of the meeting, I excuse myself to use the restroom. It was successful, and I’m pretty sure the client is going to choose our firm, but I’m not sure if it’s because of the pitch or Sawyer’s ass. Turns out that the dirty old man Bryan assumed would be there was instead Ms. Kensington, a young blond bombshell who couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her flirting, while subtle, was obvious to me, and it grated my nerves every time she reached across the table to place her hand on his arm or his own hand. A ridiculous feeling of ownership surged within me, and I was this close to seeing red. I had to get out of there before I jumped across the table hyena style and ripped her extensions out. It didn’t help that Sawyer treated me with the utmost professional respect, going so far as to call me Ms. Hamilton, addressing me only when necessary. If he hadn’t looked so damn good and commanding in that suit, catching the attention of every eye in the room, I’d have been ready to choke him as well.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I shake my head at my reflection. The extra makeup, the sexy hair—this isn’t me. Taking a paper towel and wetting it, I wipe off the red lipstick and sigh with relief when my lips are bare. I’m not sure why I thought I needed to dress myself up any for his benefit. Back then, I wore nothing but a sun-kissed glow from all the days of laying out by the lake. My mother always pushed blushes, powders, and eye shadows at me, and she never left the house without her signature red lipstick. Instead of letting her give me a makeover, I snubbed the stuff and refused to wear it until Cori showed me that less is more. I’ve stuck to a simple mineral powder and mascara and have been fine with that ever since.

  I’m about to exit the bathroom when the stall door behind me opens and Blonde Kensington walks out. Her eyes light up when she sees me, and as she turns the faucet on, I hear her Southern drawl.

  “Honey, I don’t know how you do it,” she tells me, and I look at her, confused.

  “Do what?”

  She scoffs as if I should know exactly what she means. “Work with Sawyer Callahan. I’d say he’s sex on a stick, but that term is way too overused. He’s absolutely gorgeous,” she gushes as she primps her hair and reapplies a shimmery pink lip gloss.

  Sex on a stick is nowhere near how I’d describe Sawyer. Who wants sex on a stick? That phrase makes me think of a pencil dick, and nothing about that turns me on. I’ve had experience with less than well-endowed men, and while the whole “motion of the ocean” phrase might apply, I’ve never quite been fully satisfied when I haven’t, well, been fully filled.

  “Mr. Callahan is a professional. I’m sure many women find him attractive, but it doesn’t affect the work environment,” I tell her, sounding like a human resources robot with a sign that flashes “don’t screw your boss!”

  “You’re better than me. I’d be salivatin’ over that man every single day. I wouldn’t mind working long hours if he was my boss. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure he was responding to my little flirtations. I know this is probably wrong of me to ask. I just can’t help myself. Is he seeing anyone?”

  My breath catches at her question, and thoughts of her and Sawyer together, going on dates, and exchanging soft touches roll through my mind, and unnaturally, my blood boils at the thought of her asking about his relationship status. I tell myself to calm down even though I want to tell her that Sawyer’s in an extremely committed relationship, gay, or celibate. Anything to keep her greedy claws away from him. My conscience takes over. Don’t say a word, Cheyenne. You don’t know his relationship status, Cheyenne. Tell her he loves men, Cheyenne.

  The war in my mind continues to rage until I hear her clear her throat as she turns towards me. I plaster on a fake-as-hell grin. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ms. Kensington. I’m not entirely positive, as he’s a very private man, but I do believe Mr. Callahan is in a relationship, and from what I gather, it’s pretty serious.” I want to hate myself right now, but I can’t. The look of utter disappointment on he face sends a jolt of glee through my body, and I just can’t help myself. “In fact, between us girls, I saw that he had an appointment at Tiffany’s on his calendar. You know what that means!”

  Her eyes fall, and while I know I should feel bad, I don’t. “Oh, well, that’s a bummer. I swear, all the good men in Atlanta are taken. I had to ask though,” she says, playing it off.

  We both exit the bathroom and head back into the conference room, where she acts a little more coolly towards Sawyer. The rest of the afternoon goes off without a hitch, and I have no animalistic jealousy rages flowing through me. When the Kensington Barbie and her lackeys stand up to go, I don’t miss the way she crosses around the room towards Sawyer. She leans in, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek before handing him a card.

  “If you ever find yourself single, give me a call,” she croons, her lips lingering on his skin. When she pulls back, I can see the confused look on his face. I’m trying not to snicker, but he catches me anyway.

  He lifts his brow at me, letting me know he’s caught me at my own game. “Ms. Kensington, I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, but I can assure you, I’m not attached,” he says, grinning down at her, and I can feel the heat rising to my face. “However, company protocol prohibits me from socializing with clients,” he says, backing away from her, his eyes still transfixed on
mine.

  Breathless, she pulls away from him, smoothing down her skirt, and I can’t help but glare. She turns to face me and I’m quick to place a fake smile on my face, shrugging when she narrows her eyes. Oops. I’m definitely caught, and suddenly, I berate myself, pissed that I let my unexamined feelings for Sawyer cause me to act like a jealous fifteen-year-old girl. This is a client and I acted extremely unprofessionally. I knew he wouldn’t go for her, at least not while we’re working together, but my claws came out anyway.

  I sigh with relief once the door closes behind them. Gathering up my things, I start towards the door when I feel my arm being pulled. I find myself pressed up against the conference table with Sawyer’s hands gripping my hips.

  “Bathroom gossip, Ms. Hamilton?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked up, a cocky grin on his face. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

  My heart’s racing as his thumbs begin to rub small circles on my body, and I’m wishing he’d slip his hands underneath my shirt for skin-on-skin contact. Steeling my chin, I meet his eyes. “I was just trying to save her professional dignity. I knew what your response would be due to company policy and I didn’t want her to embarrass herself.”

  I know he doesn’t buy my answer the moment his grin turns wicked. “That’s very noble of you. So it wasn’t jealousy that had you telling Ms. Kensington that I was in a committed relationship?”

  I can feel my cheeks turn pink as I flush with embarrassment. “No, no, not at all,” I say a little too quickly, shaking my head like an idiot.

  That stupid, idiotic, sexy-as-hell grin widens, and I know, once again, that I’m caught. “You are so full of shit, Cheyenne. Admit it. You were jealous. You couldn’t stand the thought of me with another woman. Of her hands on my skin. Her lips on my neck. The thought of me pressing her up against the wall the way I did with you on Friday drove you absolutely fucking crazy, so you made up some bullshit story about my having a woman. So who was your fictional woman for me? Was it you, pretty girl? In your mind, for one split second, was I yours?”