Office Player

by Eden Summers

  Office Player

  Eden Summers

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Inarticulate Preview

  Copyright © 2018 by Eden Summers

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Chapter 1

  “Beth, you’re an asset to the Sutherland & Son team, but I’d like to make you a lot more than that. Much, much more.”

  Beth’s brows jumped at her boss’s words. He was old enough to be her father, yet his tone held an innuendo that definitely didn’t scream fatherly intent as he leaned back in the plush seat, his fingers pitched over his chest.

  This had to be a joke. Surely, any minute now, he would slap his hand on the desk, burst out in laughter, and say, “I’m joking. I’m not seriously propositioning you to be my mistress.”

  She pasted on a soft smile and tried to convey a calm that continued to elude her while she studied the gentle wrinkles of his indifferent expression. He scrutinized her, his head cocked, brows raised, waiting for a response. Fear bubbled deep in her belly, multiplying and turning until her stomach threatened to revolt.

  “Umm…” She continued to frantically study him, taking in the firm set of his mouth, the slight raise of his chin.

  Oh, God. He was serious.

  She didn’t need time to consider whether she wanted to be his dirty little concubine. The answer was a no-brainer—a resounding hell no—but she needed to handle the situation with care.

  Her heart hammered as the walls closed in, her panic shrinking the room to a tiny box. The distance between them now felt uncomfortable and intimate, even though he still sat on the opposite side of his luxurious wooden desk.

  Blood rushed in her ears and her chest grew tight. So damn tight. She needed to take a step back, clear her head, and wade through the crazy. She couldn’t think under the pressure of losing her job, or her dignity, or hell, even her sanity. “Can we sleep on it?”

  Max’s lips fell open a crack. His blatant shock made her pause and do a quick rewind of what she’d said.

  Holy. Crap.

  “Me. I meant me…alone. I want to sleep on it—not both of us sleeping together.” She pointed at her chest, trying to reiterate what her flustering couldn’t seem to convey. “Not that I’m opposed to sleeping with you…I…just…”

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  She needed to breathe, but her throat began to constrict. Her cheeks burned, and she hung her head in humiliation.

  Where was her calm-under-pressure business persona? She tried to reclaim it, to paste on another smile and steady her gulps of air, but sadly, it seemed to have fled the building along with her boss’s sanity.

  Twelve years of city life and she still didn’t relate to the loose virtues and low sexual standards of her city counterparts.

  “I realize this is out of the blue, Beth, and I don’t expect you to answer straightaway, but please take my offer into consideration. I think the arrangement would be mutually beneficial.”

  Out of the blue? Really?

  Mutually beneficial? Oh, hell no.

  She wanted to flick her wrist and wave away his comment. No way, I receive similar offers from men twice my age on a daily basis.

  Instead of voicing the sarcasm, she nodded like a bobblehead on speed. “O-okay, Mr. Sutherland. I will definitely think about it.”

  She stood, taking an extra second to steady the tingling legs that threatened to buckle beneath her, before she retreated from his office.

  Steve, her second in charge, passed her in the hall, his gaze narrowed with curiosity. “Everything okay?”

  Her cheeks burned. The sordid details of the meeting felt like they were tattooed on her forehead for everyone to see. “Yeah, great. Perfect.”

  Super dooper awesome.

  She rushed into her office, closed the door behind her, and let out a hearty sigh of relief. As soon as the breath left her lungs, she waited for calm clarity to return.

  And waited.

  And continued to wait.

  Being a little optimistic, she gave it another try. A large inhale expanded her lungs, and then she counted to ten, letting it out.

  Nope.

  Not even breathing like a Zen master would calm her down. She needed to go home. Boarding the crazy train wasn’t something she wanted to do in front of her colleagues. The team she worked with were friends, but the bastards stored up humiliating memories like they were lost treasures of Atlantis. At every available opportunity they would bring out their trove of memories to share.

  She snatched her handbag from the bottom drawer of her desk, contemplated the additional time needed to shut down her computer and decided against it. Seconds were ticking by and she didn’t want to risk another encounter with Max today.

  With her mind set in secret spy mode, she poked her head into the hall, taking a peek to the left and right.

  The coast was clear.

  She yanked her handbag onto her shoulder and stepped from her office on silent feet, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

  As she pivoted on her toes to take the first small step toward freedom, she gave a routine glance toward Dean Sutherland’s office. And froze.

  Shit.

  His frowning gaze held her immobile as he sat behind his desk biting the end of one of those expensive pens he loved so much.

  Why, oh why, oh why did this have to be the only Friday in history that the boss’s son didn’t leave work early?

  She straightened, gave him a crazy-lady finger wave with an overly-cheesy I’m-not-doing-anything-weird smile, and hightailed it to reception. Her muted footsteps moved from the carpeted hall to tap, tap, tap against the tiled floor of the waiting area.

  The receptionist’s back stiffened on Beth’s approach, the woman’s fingers madly clicking to close the pages on her computer.

  “Looking at porn again, Ange?” Beth slowed long enough to fluster her too observant best friend.

  Angela turned with a mock glare and pushed the headset microphone away from her mouth. “For starters, it’s not porn. I’m looking at still images of the naked male form in all their blazing glory. I consider it art. And secondly, you know I hate how you sneak down the hall. You’re the only one here who doesn’t walk like a baby elephant.”

  Beth wanted to laugh but she was sure the sound would come out as a sob. She smiled instead. “I’m heading home early. I’ll call you over the weekend, okay?”

  A crease marred her friend’s forehead. “Everything all right?”

  No, not at all. Thoughts of her boss flashed through her mind. Unwanted images of Max’s naked body as he gave her a com
e-hither glance.

  She had looked up to him like a father figure. Apparently, he had looked up to her, too, but his comparison was probably closer to the way a guy gazed up at a dancer working a stripper pole.

  She shivered, trying to dislodge the horror. Could a man his age actually get it up without chemical intervention?

  Of course he could.

  The more important question was—why the hell was she even pondering the functionality of his dick?

  Christ.

  She would need to scrub her brain with a toothbrush and bleach if she ever wanted her libido back.

  “Beth?” Angela’s voice held a hint of concern. “I asked if everything is all right?”

  Beth reached the elevator and pressed the button. She needed more distance from her friend’s perceptive gaze before she turned back to answer.

  “I’m fine.” She cringed at her unnaturally animated tone and mentally forged ahead with a beaming grin. Great, now her friend would know, without a doubt, something was wrong. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  The merciful elevator arrived before she could display more of her deplorable acting skills. She hustled inside, mouthed a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of impeccable timing, and pressed the button to the lobby, getting her ass as far away as possible from the much older man who wanted to get in her panties.

  The plan had been to go home and drown herself in a bottle of wine. An expensive bottle. One capable of causing memory loss because forgetting this afternoon sat high on her agenda. But twenty minutes later, she was still in the building, seated on a stool at the sports bar located on ground level.

  The world resembled a much better place now. In the space of a few quick shots, her awesomely crappy day flittered away like fairy dust in a snow storm.

  All her troubles faded, moving from her mind with each drink until they became snagged on thoughts of her boss.

  She swiveled her stool and surveyed the room to keep occupied. Small groups of people mingled, laughing, drinking, while taking complimentary food off trays located along the polished bar.

  In a few hours, the majority of the Sutherland & Son employees would be here, enjoying the tradition of Friday afternoon drinks. She needed to leave before they arrived, but at the moment nobody paid her attention. The only person to acknowledge her since she’d walked in had been the bartender.

  She turned back to hover over her empty shot glass and stared into the clear liquid, wondering why her life had taken such a bad turn. Her career had always been demanding. Every day brought new issues to deal with or another task which required urgent attention.

  That was the thrill. She loved the fast-paced environment.

  It was hard work, plain and simple. Being product manager of one of the biggest electrical appliance manufacturers in the country wasn’t meant to be easy.

  The sexual harassment, however, was a whole new hurdle she hadn’t anticipated. An unwanted bonus to her workplace agreement. But she wouldn’t let the drama ruin her fast track to success by suing the company.

  Suing.

  She sighed and threw back the vodka shot in one gulp. The start of the week had been all about kicking butt and taking names. Now, she was the one getting her ass kicked while legal proceedings hovered in the back of her mind.

  She lifted her empty glass to gain the attention of the bartender and smiled at him to request another.

  Moments later, he slid a filled glass toward her, a flirtatious grin tilting his lips. She should totally go there—to the hot and sweaty place his twinkling blue eyes alluded to—except she didn’t do one-night stands.

  Every one of her sexual experiences held an emotional commitment, some form of bond between her and her lover, and no matter how much of a hunk the bartender was, a cocky smirk wouldn’t cut it.

  Instead, she ignored his interest and mumbled, “A vodka and Coke, too, please.”

  She needed a chaser. Her mind still craved enough alcohol to make her incoherent, even though her body hummed with a warning to slow down.

  The way she swayed on the stool was a great indication she should listen. Four shots—three more drinks than her weekly average—and she was already close to tanked, yet the image of Max Sutherland’s hands on her naked body wouldn’t quit. She couldn’t stop reliving the meeting, analyzing it, cringing over it.

  In all honesty, the shots were probably exaggerating her tension. Her boss wasn’t a horrible man. He ran his business in a fair and honest manner. His looks weren’t all that bad either, an older version of his son’s aesthetic perfection. She would probably consider him attractive if she went for older men…much, much, older men. But he was her employer, and twenty-five years her senior, for God sake.

  Max hadn’t even suggested the offer in a flirtatious or enthusiastic tone. He pitched it like a business proposal. As if outlining the benefits of the latest kettle on their assembly line. Maybe if the proposition had been stated in an enticing manner she would have felt flattered instead of icky.

  The bartender slid the vodka and Coke her way, the suggestive smile and gleam in his eyes still in full force. Before she could thank him for the drink, his focus drifted to the low neckline of her blouse and became trapped in her cleavage.

  Was something in the building ventilation making everyone infatuated with her today?

  She contemplated gawking at his zipper and the slight bulge in his pants continuously for the next half hour. Then he would realize the error of his ways. Scratch that. With the current sparkle in Mr. Pretty Boy’s eyes, he would probably consider it a come-on, and she didn’t have the focus to give him the verbal smack down he deserved.

  Clearing her throat, she tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows until his baby blues climbed to meet hers. Their gazes met, and he had the nerve to give her an arrogant smirk before moving to serve another customer.

  Asshole.

  This was exactly why she didn’t enjoy drinking with the yuppies in the central business district.

  “Don’t hold it against him. It’s hard not to stare at a woman with your beauty.”

  The familiar, husky tone had her back snapping ramrod straight. Her heart shot to her throat and her nerves tingled in hyperawareness. Through her periphery she watched Dean Sutherland take the stool beside her. All sophisticated and confident.

  Great, exactly what she needed. She didn’t bother to look at him, knowing in her current state she would stumble across the line of professionalism, plummeting headfirst over the cliff of lust if she focused on those dark chocolate irises.

  She let out a deep breath and tilted her head to the ceiling to pray for guidance. The air continued to leave her lungs as she grabbed her drink and threw it back in quick, choking gulps.

  Of all the people, in all the bars, in the entire city, Dean had to be the one to approach her. Admittedly, the sports bar was located at the bottom of their high-rise office building, so it was inevitable that a colleague would spot her—but did it have to be him?

  The sexy, smart-ass took pleasure in unwittingly teasing and taunting her on a daily basis. Every moment in his presence reminded her of the feel of his sultry lips against hers. Their one alcohol-filled embrace from last year played on a continuous mind loop—perfect and perfectly stupid in equal measure.

  Now he sat beside her, talking about her beauty as if he actually believed the compliment. Too bad she wasn’t convinced by a single word of it. She refused to falter.

  All they had was playful banter. Nothing more. And their so-called professional relationship definitely didn’t allow for the luxury of letting him see her in this state—swaying on her stool in a complete mental mess.

  The cherry on top of her perfect afternoon included the inability to bitch to him about the scandalous meeting. Max Sutherland may be the managing director of the company, but Dean was part owner, and a director himself. It didn’t seem like a great career move to bad-mouth the boss to his own son.

  “What do you want?” Her agi
tated words came out with a tiny drunken slur.

  He raised his finger to the bartender, self-confidence ebbing off the material of his expensive charcoal suit. “Scotch on the rocks, thanks.”

  The bartender gave him a nod and began to prepare the drink. Dean turned his body toward hers, the hardness of his knee bumping her thigh leaving a scorching trail along her skin. “I was walking by and caught sight of you at the bar. You fled the office in a hurry. I wanted to make sure everything went okay in the meeting with my dad.”

  Her heart fluttered even though she knew his concern was nothing more than idle conversation.

  At one time, she would have cherished the thought of him caring about her, but after months of watching him with a revolving door policy on women, she knew he was incapable of monogamy.

  Dean was a player. A self-assured man, proud of his womanizing ways. He could make women pole dance in the palm of his hand with a mere glance. Hell, he could make her pole dance in the palm of his hand at a time like this.

  She swiveled toward him, needing the visual to confirm whether his concern was genuine or a tease.

  His face held no humor. His usual casual appearance was now troubled with a set jaw and creased brow. The taunting amusement she heard in his voice earlier had disappeared from his expression.

  “Everything’s fine.” She spared a moment to appreciate his appearance before she turned back to the bar.

  From his Italian leather shoes, all the way up his expensive tailored suit, to the casual shaggy haircut, he was a mighty fine specimen. She couldn’t be ashamed of the heated attraction running through her veins. Nobody could deny he was undeniably gorgeous. And she certainly couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a phenomenal kisser, too. He just didn’t deserve any more female attention.