by Stella Rhys
“Okay, phew. Then get your cute butt going,” Lia giggled, nudging me toward the door. “And girl, you better kill it ‘cause I’m pissed at Julian on your behalf and I want you to torture him with how hard you bring it for this meeting.”
“Trust me, I’m well prepared, and I have every intention of making it hurt for him today.”
“Atta girl. Is that what that thing is about?” Lia grinned, nodding toward the garment bag I’d hung in her office.
“Mm-hm,” I smirked as I shed my hairnet and apron.
The one bright side of having worked for a magazine was having had access to clothes I’d never dare to buy, and today’s dress most certainly qualified as one of those “I could never” get-ups that I was finally working up the nerve to wear. With it, I was prepared to rock platform heels a full two inches higher than I’d ever walked in, and matte lipstick so lusciously berry-hued that it was almost audible in the way it screamed sex.
On most days, the prospect of wasting my one tube of MAC lipstick, or maybe falling flat on my face was enough to deter me from dressing like this. But today, I had all the motivation to be fearless. In every way – the way I looked, the way I spoke, and the way I commanded a room. I was meeting with the infamous Turner and Carter Roth, but on top of that, I had a gorgeous prick of a boss who talked dirty to me one second and shunned me the next. Irritating to say the least, but nothing I couldn’t get over by simply hitting it out of the park today and leaving him as stunned as he left me yesterday.
With a kiss on Lia’s cheek, I grabbed my bags and said bye, shaking out my hair and heading breezily for the door.
Julian Hoult, today’s swagger is dedicated to you.
9
JULIAN
She was late.
Or at least my definition of late, which was anything but seated five minutes early. Drumming my fingers on the conference table, I glanced at the lacquered dial on my dad’s old Rolex. Fine. It was a whole quarter till noon. She wasn’t late, I was just anxious to see her get in. The Roths were miraculously early for a change and they were already kicked back, tossing a baseball from my desk to and fro while asking about “the assistant.”
“Sara. She looks like a Sara,” Turner decided after asking for her name.
“What does a Sara look like?” Carter asked.
“Brunette. Long legs. Great tits.”
“Gentlemen.” I flashed a look of apology to my office manager of six years, Tori. She was no-nonsense even before getting pregnant. At eight weeks now, she was incapable of entertaining this kind of bullshit. Her lips were pursed as she set the bottles of water down before us, and she said nothing before she exited the room.
“Jesus Christ. She seems fun,” Turner snorted. Because women exist to be fun for you. “My question is who thought it was a good idea to knock her up?”
“I want to buy that guy a beer,” Carter laughed.
“Fuck a beer. Double Scotch is what he needs,” Turner said. “See, that’s the thing about hiring women. You gotta hire them pretty to make it worth it.”
I rapped once on the desk to get their attention. “Don’t talk about my employees like that.”
“Oh… Je-sus. Mr. No Fun right here,” Turner laughed, flashing Carter a look that said yikes.
Eyeing them, I considered calling it quits again, like I did at least once during each of our meetings. But this time, the thought didn’t promptly disappear because I had Sara on my mind. I was quickly regretting putting her in this situation. Considering I could barely stomach the Roths’ idiot misogyny, I had trouble imagining she could. She was the one they’d be staring at, hitting on, touching as much as they could possibly get away with. I could already see all the unnecessary contact – little pinches on her arm, the quick hands on her waist here and there. My lip curled when I pictured Turner eventually escalating it with a hand up her skirt or his hotel key slid in her palm.
I reached for my phone.
ME: Possible change of plans. Call me before you get in.
I sent the text to her before I could think twice about it. I was going to give her an out.
In just the past few seconds, I’d made up my mind on it.
Of course the moment the word “Delivered” appeared under my message, the door to the conference room swung open, and my mouth snapped shut as Sara walked into the room. She was dangling a paper bag on each slender wrist and wearing a dress too white and tight to coexist with panties. My frenzied eyes had drunk her in twice before I even realized that like the Roths, I was suddenly on my feet, and feeling a tinge of anger for the fact that Turner received her first dazzling smile.
“Thank you so much!” she laughed as Turner rushed to grab the bags from her.
“You’re very welcome. Sara, right? I can’t believe Julian’s got you carrying heavy bags like this,” he clucked. It was then that Sara’s glimmering eyes found me.
“Oh, he knows I can take it,” she grinned, the sound of her voice going straight to my cock. She let her gaze linger for just another second before engaging in whatever Turner was talking about now. My pulse rose steadily as I watched his eyes devour her. It wasn’t long before she had both brothers standing too close to her, giving her barely any room to breathe with their overzealous introductions. Jesus Christ, if I hated watching just this then I was fucked.
Reaching my limit, I cleared my throat.
“Gentlemen, why don’t we sit?” I said.
I gave the verbal suggestion, but Sara carried it out as she walked over to her chair. Three pairs of eyes watched in silence as her hips swayed from side to side, drawing us into a trance. Her silhouette was particularly striking as she leaned over the table to slide into her seat, smoothing her hands down the dip and curve of her sides.
I had to smirk. As if there was a single wrinkle on that dress. It was practically sewn onto her mouthwatering figure. But I got it. It was all for show. The exact one I’d asked her to put on.
Then again maybe she had this in the bag.
“So,” Sara started brightly. “I’m excited to finally meet you gentlemen. Julian told me while I was out in Biarritz that there were a lot of people interested in the property and it made me so happy. And, well, a little sad at the same time,” she added with a sheepish laugh.
Turner grinned wide. “Happy and sad? Why’s that?”
“Oh, well,” Sara bit her smile as she eyed me. “I think Julian hates when I say this, but that resort is to die for. It’s so elegant, so beautifully designed. Every detail is deliberately thought out to ensure the most relaxing time ever – I barely felt like I was working.”
“Wow,” Turner murmured as I told myself not to be annoyed. The resort was a sore spot, but Sara didn’t know. On top of that, she was acting, and she had her audience captivated. “That true, Hoult?” Turner finally tore his eyes off of her to grin at me.
“I do hate when she says that. It’s not like I won’t miss the place once it’s gone. I’m just moving away from hospitality, and the resort doesn’t suit my direction anymore.”
“But it more than suits yours, right, gentlemen?” Sara asked, looking at Carter then Turner. “I understand you guys were pro surfers – which, by the way, is really amazing.”
Turner sat upright. “I was pro. Carter was semi-pro.”
“I was pro,” Carter argued.
“You were both pro then,” Sara settled it warmly, shutting them up. “And I understand you’re in the market for the resort because…”
She leaned over to grab a file I’d watched her push away when she first sat down. Now I realized she’d done it just to give herself an excuse to angle forward and show off just enough cleavage to leave all three of us wanting more.
“You’re looking to bring a… luxury surfing competition to Biarritz?” Sara said, reading off some notes. “Wow.” She paused for effect. “That’s so interesting.”
Christ. She was blowing smoke up their asses but she made it look goddamned good. Every little twist
and turn of her body, every flick of her hair elicited a reaction. Without doing much at all, she exuded sex appeal, and at this point, I couldn’t stop watching. I was riveted. I had to cover a grin to hide my amusement when she snuck a look at me before giving Turner her undivided attention, nodding along and offering the occasional “wow” and “absolutely” as he pitched her his vision for a Basque Country surfing competition.
I was already impressed as it was.
But she didn’t stop there.
“And Carter – I’m so lost. Could you help me with the logistics of bringing a brand new surfing event to this town?” Sara asked after spending six straight minutes on Turner. “How long would that even take?”
Carter jumped at the chance to be useful. Of course, Turner was never to be outdone, so both brothers wound up explaining eagerly, assuring her that with their sports and entertainment resources, they could get a fully sponsored pro event up and running within two years.
“Wow,” Sara breathed, shuffling her papers. “So you’ll be needing this property sooner than I thought.”
I raised my eyebrows. When she glanced at me, I shot a look that said, I see what you’re doing. She hit me with the quickest little smirk as Turner laughed.
“Damn, I guess so. We gotta get shit moving,” he said to Carter, keeping his eyes on Sara.
He was watching her simply study some notes, idly running her fingertips along her collarbone. His stare remained as she then cocked her head, smiled and asked Carter when he’d started surfing. She chatted with such casual brightness that neither Roth noticed when she changed the subject back to business, suggesting a trip out to Biarritz.
“You guys can teach me how to surf like I’ve always wanted,” she said. “And, of course, we can have you check out the property firsthand so you can really gauge your interest.”
“Oh, I’ll teach you to surf. I’ll have you rippin’ waves like The Duke.”
“I have no idea who that is, but I look forward to getting a full-on surf education from you, Turner,” Sara giggled.
“You will, you will. We’ll have to set a date soon.”
And just like that, she had them.
All I had to do was sit back and watch the scene unfold, Sara directing every second with such effortless charm that the Roths had no clue they were falling right into neatly laid traps. Fuck. How had I even doubted her? She was nailing it better than I could have ever imagined, and I was so turned on by that fact that I could hardly sit still. I’d seen this woman ass naked bent over a couch for me last week, yet I was certain I’d never been more attracted to her than I was now. Every sound she made – every curious turn of the head and little burst of a smile lifted a weight in my chest I didn’t know I had.
If her act was working on even my cold, dead heart, then the Roths stood no chance.
Opening my group text with Emmett and Lukas, I fired a quick summary of the meeting they’d insisted on.
ME: She just got them to agree to the Biarritz trip without even trying.
EMMETT: Damn. You should consider growing a pair of tits
ME: She has more in her arsenal than just that.
EMMETT: Ahh look he’s defending her
LUKAS: Adorable
Regretting my text, I clicked my phone off and slid it down the table.
When the meeting was all over, I saw the Roths to the elevator, Sara following closely behind. The neat little clicks of her heels were an unbelievable tease for my cock. All I wanted was to turn around and get a long look at those fucking sexy legs, but it was my turn to actually do my part for this meeting.
“Gentlemen. We’ll touch base soon,” I said, using Turner’s own vague line on them. This time, he was the one who got specific.
“Yeah, yeah, well, why don’t we shoot for sometime next week? I’m booked through the weekend, but how about we link up again Monday?” Turner asked, making sure to flick his eyes past my shoulder at Sara. I assumed she nodded because he smiled.
“Monday it is,” I decided, watching Turner struggle to leave without getting Sara’s attention a couple more times. When they were finally gone, I turned to find her narrowed eyes on me.
“You didn’t think I could do it,” she said before I could even congratulate her on the job well done. I cocked an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“You texted me before the meeting started. ‘Possible change of plans?’” she quoted me. The smirk on my lips was tight as I found myself caught red-handed. I gripped my tie and adjusted as we started walking.
“I wasn’t doubting your ability so much as trying to give you an out. The Roths were being particularly intolerable before you arrived, and it gave me certain ideas of how they’d behave around you.”
“Certain ideas? Like?”
I drew in a neat breath between my teeth. “Like using certain language and putting their hands all over you in ways I didn’t care to see.”
“I thought you’d hired me for that specific reason, sir.”
I flinched at the word sir.
“I did. Today, I entertained second-thoughts,” I replied brusquely.
“I didn’t pin you for someone who had those,” Sara lilted, pissing me off and turning me on in the same breath.
“Well, I imagine there’s a first time for everything, Sara.”
“Fine. But if it happened because you feel in some way protective or doubtful of me, you can relax,” she said, walking ahead of me up the stairs. My jaw clenched as my eyes instinctively fell to her round ass. “As far as I can tell, you have full confidence in Colin and Tori and every other employee of yours in this office. So if I’m just another one of them, sir, you can feel free to let me do my job.”
“There’s a unique nature to your contract,” I ground out as she stopped midway up to face me. She looked a bit smug when she caught my eyes where they shouldn’t have been.
“Yes, there’s a unique nature to my contract, but if all the same rules apply to me, then what I simply ask is that you respect me in the same way you do everyone else. Anything short of that is completely hypocritical,” she said. Then as if she hadn’t just laid into me, she lifted her voice and smiled. “Anyway, may I go on my lunch break now, sir?”
“Why are you doing that?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Doing what?”
“The way you’re calling me ‘sir.’ It’s odd.”
“I’m just trying to be as professional as you want me to be.”
My laugh was brusque as I confirmed my suspicion that she was essentially taunting me with the word.
“I believe the term you’re looking for is passive aggressive.”
Sara bristled. “What would you prefer I call you?”
“Julian.”
“Alright, Julian. Is it alright if I go on my lunch break now?” she asked, back to flashing me that deliberately over-polite smile that made me want to punish her in a million ways I couldn’t think about right now. Suppressing my fantasies, I mirrored her corporate smile.
“You may go to lunch.”
“Thank you, Julian.”
“You’re welcome, Sara,” I said, keeping my poker face straight as I watched her ass twitch away.
Fucking fuck.
I was supposed to enjoy this – having a new employee who was eager to fulfill her every duty and simply do her job. Considering my need for efficiency, I should be grateful to have someone as ready, willing and able as Sara on my team.
The only thing was that she was playing my game a little too well.
And the fact of the matter was that I already hated it.
10
SARA
There was progress in the elevator by Thursday morning, and it came with the riders I’d nicknamed Gucci and Bald Guy – Gucci for her bag, and Bald Guy for, well, obvious reasons.
Alright, I congratulated myself after both got in and gave me that silent but cordial greeting. Two nods. I’d collected two whole nods and a few lunch buddies during m
y first week at the very cliquey Hoult Tower. The developments were small, but it was still something in terms of knocking the wall down.
But upon getting into the office, I found that a new one was officially up.
Like yesterday, I got no hello from Julian as he passed me with Colin and a few others. He was dressed to kill in a three-piece suit that stopped my heart for as many beats, and yes, he was busy, but he did take the time to flick those blue eyes over to me and slide them down the front of my wrap dress. He remained thoroughly stoic in the process, and while the others managed a nod or a “morning” as they passed, Julian opted out of either.
It could mean nothing, I tried telling myself.
But then there were the two occasions during which my entrance to a particular room resulted in his exit within the minute, with barely a glance in my direction. Again, no solid confirmation of bad blood, especially since we still spoke cordially about the Roths, but still.
The strict lack of non-work eye contact or conversation was enough to have me consider that we were in some kind of office Cold War – some bid to out-professional one another, and to be honest, it was a well-matched battle. We were both proud, tenacious and stubbornly single-minded. We could very well do this dance forever.
That idea didn’t interest Lia.
“I don’t think you’re bringing it hard enough,” she decided as we sat in Hoult Tower’s tenth floor pantry – the fancy word for their cafeteria. “This could be a double date right now, but it’s not.”
As if to offset Julian and my Cold War in the office, the weather all week had been sweltering, and by Friday, we’d finally reached a hundred-plus degrees out – nasty anywhere, but particularly Manhattan. You could pretty much stick your tongue out and lick the humidity, so thanks to that, the cafeteria had been unusually crowded of late. Even the higher-ups were forgoing their two-minute walks to the usual steakhouse to eat lunch in the building.
