Tempted by the CEO: An Office Romance

by Iona Rose

  “You should have led with that instead of the football story. Everyone loves someone who can make a mean dessert.” Brett laughs.

  “If you think that’s impressive, you should try my chocolate chip cookies,” I joke.

  “Don’t make jokes like that Opal. It’s just mean unless you plan on bringing a batch to the office one day.” Brett smiles.

  “Oh, you never know, I just might do that,” I respond with a grin, glad we’ve moved on to a slightly less dangerous subject.

  “I’m holding you to that,” Brett says.

  Nodding, I smile again. It’s nice to chat to Brett in a more relaxed setting. I’m still totally enthralled by him and I still find my mind wandering to a place where he’s holding me in his arms, kissing me passionately, but it’s nice to see a less formal side to him. He’s smiling, laughing and sharing little things about his life with me. It’s nothing particularly meaningful, but still, it’s nice to see the man behind the corporate face a little bit.

  As I listen to him telling me a story about a time at college when he and some of his friends where the victims of a rather embarrassing prank, I realize something. When Brett isn’t focused on work so much, not only is he smoking hot, but he’s also much more likeable as a person. When he’s smiling, laughing and talking to me this way, I don’t feel like he’s so much of an enigma. I feel like I could actually get past the cold corporate face and get to know him a bit.

  Or maybe a lot.

  I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. While I am most definitely enjoying his company, it’s dangerous, because finding out he’s funny and charming beneath the cool veneer he presents at work is only making me like him even more. And that’s bound to lead to me getting hurt.

  “So basically, the night ended with me and three other guys stark naked and locked out of the dorms,” Brett says.

  I realize I have missed most of his story as my mind wandered, but just that line alone is enough to give me the gist of it…I laugh and shake my head.

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  “We spent a very cold and uncomfortable night hiding out in a nearby shed.” Brett snickers. “And the next morning, we waited for someone to leave the dorms so we could slip inside. It must have been quite a sight for that poor guy. There he is, minding his own business, going for a run, when four naked guys rush past him and dart up the stairs.”

  I giggle, picturing the scene. “I hope you got your own back.”

  “Oh, we did,” Brett says. “Believe me, we did. We basically spent the rest of the year goofing around and pranking each other. As I’m sure you can imagine, my parents weren’t in the least bit impressed with my grades that year. But in the end, I buckled down and got my degree. Not because I wanted my father’s approval, but because I started to think seriously about what I would do after college. I knew my father wanted me to go and work for him, and I didn’t want to. I guess I realized that if I failed at school, I wouldn’t have many other options.”

  “So your father paid for a fancy degree, so you’d go work for him and instead, that motivated you to not work for him?”

  “Yup. Ironic huh?” Brett nodded.

  “Indeed.” I smile. “But I have to ask. Why was the thought of working for your father so unbearable?”

  “I guess because all of my life, it had just been assumed that’s what I would do. I started to feel trapped and I realized that my parents’ dream wasn’t the same as mine. I wanted to do something just for me, to prove to myself that I could make it on my own, without having to ride on my father’s name. Stupid huh?”

  “Not at all! I get it. It must have been hard to walk away though.” I stared at him.

  “In some ways it was, but in other ways, it was a relief. Anyway, enough about that. It’s getting awfully close to being work talk isn’t it?”

  “Yeah a little,” I agree, although I still have a hundred questions I want to ask him about it.

  I reach for my wine. The glass had been consistently topped up throughout the evening’s meal and I’m starting to feel a little tipsy. But I’m enjoying the conversation and the giddy feeling, so I keep drinking, even though I know I really should stop.

  Gazing around after I’ve taken a drink, I see that most of the other guests have left the table and wandered back through to the piano room. “Should we go back through to the other room?”

  Brett nods somewhat reluctantly.

  I feel my heart slam in my chest. Was he enjoying being almost alone with me, or is it just that he knows once we’re back in the other room, he’s going to have to get back into work mode and schmooze a few more leads?

  He stands.

  I follow him, feeling slightly unsteady on my feet, but not enough so just anyone would notice. We go back into the piano room. The soft music has been replaced with something a bit more livelily and several people are dancing.

  Brett looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

  I laugh softly. I guess I’m not the only one who has overindulged on the wine slightly.

  Brett nods to an empty spot on one of the couches. “Do you want to sit down or have you worn your dancing shoes?”

  “Let’s just sit down for now,” I say.

  “Oh, thank God!” He grins. “I was almost afraid you’d choose dancing and see my two left feet in action.” He leads me to the empty spot on the couch.

  Within seconds, a potential client has approached us and he and Brett fall into a deep conversation about solutions and investments. Once I’m confident Brett has a handle on the conversation, I switch off from it, looking around at the other people in the room.

  We’re not the only ones huddled down no doubt making deals, but I suddenly find myself wishing I’d chosen dancing, even though I know my feet would have been killing me by now. The people who are just treating tonight as a party seem to be having so much more fun than the people sitting talking. But I remind myself I’m not here for a party. I’m here as a representative of Asima Asset Management and I’m here to get new clients, not have a good time.

  Brett shifts slightly beside me.

  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as his thigh brushes up against mine. He doesn’t seem to have noticed our thighs are now touching, but holy shit I’ve noticed. My thigh is warm where it touches his, sparks flowing from the spot and running through my whole body.

  I feel my pussy clench as I look at him, trying and failing to ignore the touch of his thigh, trying and failing to not think about how I want to feel him inside of me. I can’t help letting myself imagine pushing my hands into his hair and slowly stripping him down. I imagine his hands all over my body, working me into a frenzy, until finally, he makes love to me for hours.

  With a start, I discover that my pussy is getting wet just thinking about it and I’m suddenly flustered. I’m in a room full of people, many of them associates or clients and I am practically coming in my panties. I know I’m wearing a stupid smile on my face, and I can feel that my skin is flushed, not just on my face, but all down my neck and across my chest too. God, how could I forget myself like this? I’m really not safe to be allowed around Brett, especially when there’s wine on the go.

  I touch Brett’s arm, feeling my pussy clenching again, as my skin brushes over his suit jacket, feeling the taut muscles beneath it.

  He looks up at me, a questioning look on his face.

  I note that my hand is still sitting on his arm and I pull it away quickly, hoping he hasn’t noticed the weird moment between us. His slight frown tells me he has noticed, and I’m suddenly glad of the potential client still being there beside him. He can hardly ask me about it with a potential client in ear shot.

  “Would you excuse me for just a moment please?” I say in a breathy voice, forcing myself to smile like everything is completely normal between us.

  “Sure.” Brett nods giving me a quick, unsure looking smile that’s different from his normal.

  I want to say more, but I can’t,
not with the potential client sitting there. I tell myself that’s a good thing. I would only end up blurting out something embarrassing which I would hastily come to regret.

  It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if I had something else to say, something I could say in public, I couldn’t get it in now without looking rude as Brett turns straight back to the conversation he’s in. I guess it’s a good thing that at least one of us still has our head in the game. It doesn’t feel like a good thing though and I suddenly wish I hadn’t asked him if he wanted to come back through here. It was so much nicer at the dining table, locked in a conversation between just the two of us. Mr. Connell wouldn’t be too happy to learn that we dropped the ball at this party though.

  Despite all of that, I still feel a pang of jealousy going through me again at the potential client who holds Brett’s attention in a way I can only dream of.

  Realizing I have sat for too long after asking to be excused, I get to my feet to stumble through the crowd and find the bathroom. God, what am I doing? How have I let Brett get so far under my skin so quickly?

  I use the toilet and go to the sink to wash my hands. I leave my hands under the cool water for a moment until I feel like I have myself back under some sort of control. I have to get a grip of myself and start acting like a professional, instead of some love sick teenager. Ideally, before Brett notices I’m acting oddly.

  It’s probably already too late for that, but if I can find a way to start acting like my normal self again, then hopefully Brett will think he just imagined the strange moment between us where our thighs were pressed together and my hand lingered on his arm for just a little too long.

  7

  I’ve been standing here in the bathroom trying to talk some sense into myself for far too long and now I’m too nervous to come back out. How am I going to explain to Brett why I’ve been in here for almost ten minutes? He’s probably going to think I’ve been throwing up or something after the amount of wine he’s seen me guzzling. It’s really not an image I want him having in his mind when he thinks of me.

  I can’t just stay in here all night though. The longer I spend in here agonizing over coming back out, the longer I’ll be missing and the worse it’ll be when I finally do go back to Brett. Inspiration comes to me and the answer is so obvious I give out a soft laugh. I’ll just say I ran into someone I knew and I was talking to them.

  God, I’m losing my actual fucking mind here. As if I couldn’t think of that sooner. What the hell is wrong with me? Is it the wine? Brett’s effect on me? Both of those things? It’s most likely a combination of both.

  I swiftly dry my hands and step out of the bathroom. I shake my head at myself and my own paranoia. The party is in full swing now with more people up dancing and those sitting around seem to be laughing and having a good time now, rather than talking business quite so much. So no one will have even noticed how long I’ve been gone. Especially not Brett. And even if he has noticed, it isn’t as if he’s going to care. He’s only here with me because he has no choice. It’s not like he would have chosen to bring me.

  This thought should make me feel better, but instead, it gives me a twisty, crampy feeling in my stomach. As much as it pains me to admit it, I want him to have noticed. To have noticed and maybe even be a little bit worried about me.

  Damnit Opal, get a grip of yourself. You’re not fifteen. Stop acting like you are.

  I’m almost back at the piano room when I feel my purse vibrating. I stop to open it and pull my phone out. I’m getting a call from an unknown number. I rarely answer my personal phone to numbers I don’t know and I go to push my phone back into my purse when I change my mind. It could be Mr. Connell calling from the hospital. It makes sense that he would call if he’s awake to see how the dinner party is going and to check in and see if we’re getting anywhere with the leads.

  Mr. Connell will be angry with me if I ignore his call…if I don’t answer, he might call Brett instead. “Hello,” I say as I take the call.

  I can hear a male voice, obviously I was right and the call is from Mr. Connell, but the music is too loud for me to make out the words. I’m just glad I took the call. “I can’t hear you properly. Hang on a moment please,” I say, hoping he can hear me.

  Looking around for a quieter spot, I see a pair of double glass doors pushed open letting in some fresh air. I move over to the doors and peer outside. The doors lead to a pretty patio area, decked out in sandy colored wood and decorated with an array of small bushes and flowers in pots. The area is encased with a decorative wooden fence and a little gate leads out and down into the main gardens.

  Moving away from the house, I head to the small fence, resting my elbows on it and looking out into the garden. I can still hear the music drifting on the air, but it’s quiet now, like I can hear it in the distance. I bring my phone back up to my ear. “I’m sorry Mr. Connell. The music was rather loud inside and I couldn’t hear you. What can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Connell huh?” The voice is low and filled with a kind of mean amusement. I recognize that voice instantly. Gary, my ex-boyfriend. I feel my heart sink. I never should have taken the call, but it’s not like I was expecting Gary to somehow have my new number.

  Gary and I broke up a couple of months ago. We had been dating for a while and I was starting to think the relationship might be going somewhere, but as we spent more time together, Gary started to reveal his true colors and I found that I didn’t much like the person he hid under the charming act. He would act get jealous and controlling. He didn’t like me going out with my friends. He didn’t even like me going to work. And he would fly into rages when I would tell him I was going out with Rita or Jessie, or doing pretty much anything that didn’t involve him. He was too clingy for my liking and I knew things would only get worse if I stuck around, so I ended things between us.

  Our breakup hadn’t exactly been pleasant. Gary had apologized over and over again for his possessiveness, saying he was just afraid he would lose me. I almost caved, but as I opened my mouth to tell him I’d give him one more chance, I changed my mind. The truth is, I had seen I wasn’t really into Gary. I didn’t want to be with someone who thought it was okay to treat me that way, regardless of the reasoning behind it. I told him it was over. Afterward, he hadn’t really taken no for an answer, constantly calling me, texting me, and even turning up at my apartment. He tried to say we should take a break and then try again, but I was so done with him that I didn’t even entertain the idea.

  I had threatened him with a restraining order the second time he turned up at the apartment and he stopped appearing there, but the calls and texts hadn’t stopped. They varied between Gary begging me for a second chance, saying he loved me, and him telling me I was unattractive, fat, stupid, any of a hundred mean things, and that I might as well get back with him because no one else would ever love me.

  In the end, I had changed my phone number and it had all stopped. I had really begun to believe I was free of him, but now apparently, he had found my new number. I really could have done without that happening. I had almost forgotten how annoying it was to be harassed over the phone constantly by someone.

  “Gary…” I sigh into the phone. “I think I’ve made it clear I don’t want to talk to you. How many other ways can I tell you that?”

  “Don’t be like that Opal. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to get this number? Surely, that tells you I’m serious about us and that I’ve changed.”

  Yeah, sure. Changed from a control freak boyfriend to a stalker ex boyfriend. Perfect.

  “How did you get this number?” I ask him the question partly because it gives him something to focus on other than his obsession with me and partly because I’m genuinely curious. If someone has given it to him, then when I change it again, I know who not to give the new number to, so he doesn’t get it again. I really thought I had only given it to people who could be trusted this time, but evidently not.

  “It doesn’t matter how I
got the number. It only matters that I did. I had to find the number Opal. I had to be able to call you. I know you’re mad at me still, and I get it, I do. But you have to give me a chance to prove to you that I’ve changed,” he says.

  “I don’t have to do anything.” I roll my eyes.

  “But I love you Opal,” he says.

  I’m really sick of this now. I need to hang up. Gary is a weirdo who I don’t need in my life, and the way he says my name with almost every sentence feels creepy and weird. I’m starting to feel the familiar panic he always drew out in me. It’s like whenever I talk to Gary I feel trapped, reminded of how I felt when I was with him.

  Gary must take my silence to mean he’s still in with a shot. He’s talking again, telling me how it will be different this time, how he will treat me like a queen, and how he understands that I need time to myself to go out with my friends.

  As he babbles on, I become aware of a presence behind me and I turn slightly. I gasp in a breath as I see Brett behind me. He’s so close that if I had taken a step back, I would have fallen into his arms. I didn’t even hear him approaching. It’s like he just materialized there out of thin air.

  I give him a half smile and I find my eyes locked on his. For a delicious moment, I think he’ll kiss me.

  He holds my gaze and runs the tip of his tongue over his lips, but of course he doesn’t kiss me, he just smiles questioningly at me. “Is everything all right?”

  I nod, smiling apologetically. I realize Gary is still rambling on and suddenly, I don’t care if I piss him off. I’ve always been careful, trying to cajole Gary into leaving me alone rather than demanding it, because I have always been afraid he would turn up at my apartment again. But right now, looking into Brett’s eyes, I feel brave. “Gary? I have to go.” I end the call in the middle of his protest.

  “You left me in the shark tank all alone,” Brett says with a half smile.

  “Sorry,” I say, holding up my phone before I push it back into my purse. “I thought it might have been your father.”