by Eden Summers
“I want you in my life—”
Oh, God. “Please, Dean.”
He ignored her. Surely the horror must be clear on her face.
“Will you go out with me?”
The room went silent, or maybe her ears just stopped functioning.
What did he ask? She frowned, trying to rerun the conversation while a smirk brightened his face. Not will you marry me but will you go out with me?
She dropped his hand and glared.
Bastard.
She tried to convey how much she wanted to flay him alive while she pressed her lips tight, determined not to smile. “You scared me half to death.”
His smirk transformed into a grin, a set of gleaming white teeth hitting her full force. No woman in her right mind could have resisted smiling back at the beautiful man kneeling before her. She didn’t need to turn and see the faces of the women onlookers to know they were wondering why she was so lucky.
“I suppose asking someone on an actual date is as monumental as proposing marriage for a player like you,” she drawled.
He clutched at his chest, feigning a mortal injury. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”
She glanced around, taking note of the tens of people smiling at them, their faces eager as they waited for a conclusion. “You know everyone thinks you just proposed, right?”
He gave a smug nod. “Are you going to let us all know your answer?”
He reclapsed their hands, his touch sending warm tingles through her arm and down into her chest. She should continue glaring. He didn’t deserve to be let off the hook so easily. Not when the gossip of this moment would take minutes to shoot through every level of the building, and years to leave.
But those dark eyes, that perfect smile, his gentle touch… They warmed her in a way she’d dreamed about since she first met this man.
Their future had been mapped out in her mind through thousands of fantasies for the longest time. The one thing that always seeped in to ruin the image was Dean’s reputation and the fear he couldn’t commit.
His face fell, the mischievous smile disappearing as if he understood her thoughts. He continued to gaze up at her from his position on bended knee, not once allowing his attention to waver to the crowd standing politely out of hearing distance.
“Beth.” His eyes pleaded more than his words as he clutched her fingers tight. “I love you.”
The world tilted, her vision skewing for the briefest second.
He had said those words in the elevator, but back then she hadn’t listened. She hadn’t deserved to hear them. She hadn’t wanted to believe him.
This time was different. This time his heart poured into the three monumental words, his honesty weaving around her, comforting her.
“Beth?”
She couldn’t deny him.
Her head nodded in enthusiasm and she mouthed her answer without voice. The lobby erupted in a mass of cheers, the outside world beginning to spin again. The crowd may think they were now engaged, but that didn’t matter. Dean’s dating proposal had been just as monumental as a proposal of marriage. And she couldn’t be more elated.
He loved her. Dean Sutherland, woman-slayer of the city and surrounding states, loved her. Her heart soared on a high while she tried to contain her emotions.
Moving to his feet, he wrapped his arms around her and she closed her eyes in his embrace.
“I love you,” he whispered. “God, how I love you.”
Epilogue
Three months later
Beth raised her brows and stared down at Dean who was lowered on one knee before her. Really? He was really going to repeat the whole fake proposal again?
She mentally recounted how many times he’d played this stunt. The first time had been to ask her out on a date. The second came at the end of the first date, his bended-knee request for a second date this time. Then the third scene had been at a random park only two weeks later, asking her to return to her old position at Sutherland & Son.
The most recent, and monumental, had only been last week, on the balcony of his apartment—Will you move in with me?
Yes, his bended knee proposals were moving up in slight degrees but he’d done them so many times that the zing had now left the building.
“Dean, if you ask me something lame like if I want Chinese for dinner, I’ll have to remove your manly bits with my fingernails.”
The smile he shot her contained pure, intoxicating heat with an even more impressive dose of affection. After three months, she still hadn’t become used to his intoxicating devotion. The way his eyes filled with appreciation and adoration caused her heart to skip a beat every damn time.
“No, sweet cheeks, this isn’t about Chinese, so please take your eyes off said manly bits.”
Well, that deleted one possibility off a list of thousands.
She shook her head in exaggerated frustration and turned to walk away. She loved him to death, but she didn’t have time for another fake-proposal re-run when there were a billion stacked boxes littering his hallway.
Although, she would never admit it out loud, the decision to move her belongings into Dean’s home without professional help had been a mistake of monumental proportions. She’d imagined salivating over her man’s sweaty, sexy body all day and instead she’d been too distracted with lower back pain from all the heavy lifting.
He grabbed her hand before she could flee and held tight. “Please, Beth.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She couldn’t deny him. Not in the bedroom. Not in the office. She gave him everything he wanted, and he returned the generosity tenfold.
She turned toward him and gasped at the sight before her.
His grin remained intact while he clutched her fingers in a warm, gentle grip, but his other hand now cradled a small black box.
She closed her gaping mouth and tried to remain calm as she raised a brow. She could play it cool. That box was more than likely filled with a key to his apartment. The small, black velvet jewelry store box he deliberately used to try and tease her out of her ever-loving mind.
“Beth Graison.” He released her hand, his gaze never leaving hers as he opened the box with a deafening creak, then reached for her again.
She tried to ignore the glimmer coming from his open palm, tried to keep her eyes locked on his while little bursts of reflected light beckoned to her.
“You’ve ruined me,” he murmured. “There will never be anyone else. Not now, or in the future.”
A sob escaped her lips and her heart palpitated at a salsa rhythm. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t form words.
His expression softened, his smile losing its male arrogance to be replaced with the adoration she’d grown addicted to. “I love you. I didn’t even fully grasp the concept until we first kissed, and now I would die before letting you go. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She swallowed, her brain still malfunctioning. There was no response for this moment. Nothing monumental or exquisite enough to mark this occasion. Tears burned her eyes, the sting causing her to rapidly blink her blurring vision. “I-I…”
She grasped at his hand, pulling and tugging until he raised to his feet. She flung her arms around him, clinging tight as she nuzzled into his chest.
He held her until her pulse slowed to a pace where she could breathe. Held her as if he would never let her go. Held her until he finally whispered in a panic, “That’s a yes, right?”
She pulled back and stared into the future happiness she could easily read in his eyes. “Yes, Dean Sutherland,” she choked. “I want nothing more than to marry you.”
Thank you for reading Office Player.
This was the first novel I ever wrote…but it’s now at the end of a long list of sexy contemporary romances.
If you would like to read my most recent office romance - INARTICULATE - please CLICK HERE.
Turn the page to read a preview of my delicious, silent hero Keenan.
Inarticulate Previ
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Chapter 1
“My sweet Ms. Hamilton, we’ve got a problem.” The deeply growled tone came from the office across the hall.
Savannah slumped over, resting her head on the elegantly polished wood of her desk and fought the need to bang her forehead. “What is it, Spencer? I’m kinda busy.”
As far as understatements went, hers was gargantuan. The To-Do List currently stapled to the back of her mind was growing with every disgruntled staff email that slid gracefully into her mailbox. She had property managers to call, PR issues to resolve, and profit reports to analyze that, at first glimpse, showed a lot of red, instead of soothing black.
“It’s important. Get your butt in here. Now.”
A hissed chastisement came from Spencer’s office and she cringed, knowing his father was also in there. Mr. Rydel, the Mr. Mathew Rydel from the Rydel hotel empire, was her boss. So was his charming son, Spencer. The former was a demanding man. He cracked the whip like an ancient Roman on a power trip, without apology or remorse. It was a challenge to work under his leadership, and she thrived in the role.
Spencer, however, had a different work ethic, one that revolved around flirtation and perfectly worded compliments. He’d seduced her into an eight-month relationship that ended six weeks ago, when he forgot to remain monogamous.
But she hadn’t been hurt. Crazy, huh? Eight months of companionship had come to an end and all she could think about was stocking up on AA batteries. Because that’s all their time together had been. One scripted sex scene after another. It was merely colleagues with benefits.
Convenient copulation.
Only Spencer disagreed. Apparently, their future held the unmistakable sound of wedding bells and a honeymoon somewhere warm and exotic. Her reluctance to agree was merely stubborn pride because he’d slummed it with the manager of the Rydel Chicago property in a moment of weakness.
She actually felt sorry for his unrealistic perception. She could never love a man like Spencer. He was too pretty. Too perfect. He’d never worked a day in his life, he merely skated along the pristine path his father laid for him. He had no drive, no commitment.
In the last six weeks, his self-righteous attitude and love for himself had scrubbed away any aesthetic appeal, leaving her to see the egotistical man he hid beneath.
He was, however, a perfect asset in the bedroom. A woman couldn’t live on the company of battery operated products alone, and for a brief eight months he’d given her the opportunity to unsubscribe to her favorite sex toy website.
“My life is but to serve,” she muttered and pushed to her feet, shimmying her ass to lower the thigh-high skirt now hiked up her stocking-covered legs. As she shuffled around her desk, she swiped at her mug and stole the last dregs of coffee, placing it back down with a relieved gasp that spoke too much of her reliance on the heavenly liquid.
With a pasted on smile, she held her head high and strode across the hall. When she entered Spencer’s office, her footsteps faltered at the matching scowls etched across the faces of the father and son duo. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s problems in Seattle.” Mr. Rydel’s hazel eyes were a darkened shade of we’re-in-huge-fucking-trouble.
“Problems?” She frowned. “The paperwork for the sale has already been finalized. There’s less than three months until settlement. There shouldn’t be any problems.” Well, nothing worthy of the high level of concern focused her way.
Over time, the Seattle property had slowly become their profit decimator. The cause of their sinking bottom line. This year the decision had been made to cut and run, sacrificing their worst performer to benefit the rest of the portfolio. It was an emotional and stressful conclusion none of them liked to acknowledge. And as soon as the sale was complete and staff began working for their new employer, Savannah planned on kicking off her heels and dancing around her living room while simultaneously guzzling a bottle of merlot.
“Less than three months that will bring us to our knees if our employees continue to quit,” Spencer muttered. “They’re leaving in droves.”
“Why?” It didn’t make sense. “Our terms with Grandiosity were specific. They promised to take on incumbent staff. You told me that was non-negotiable.”
Spencer leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his immaculately tailored suit. “That’s what we agreed on with Patrick, but it looks like his team is playing dirty to get a better deal. If any more staff leave, we won’t be able to reach the minimum hotel occupancy we committed to in negotiations. Which means the fucking settlement figure will fall.”
“Son,” Mr. Rydel grated.
“What? You know it’s true. They also made it clear our staff are sub-par. Getting them out of the way means they can slide their own into place instead of wading through three-month probation periods and possible payouts for those who need to be fired.”
“Just show her the email.”
Spencer’s lips pressed tight as he slid a sheet of paper toward her. “We’ve been receiving information of unrest since we announced the upcoming sale, but this came from the shift manager this morning.”
Savannah picked up the email and skimmed over the text.
Dear Mr. Rydel. Yadda yadda yadda. Staff are seeking alternate employment in fear of the inevitable loss of work in the future. Yadda yadda yadda. They’re intimidated by the presence of future management. Yadda yadda yadda. Please advise how you would like me to proceed.
She slammed the paper back down on the desk. “This is a breach of contract. Their management can’t terrorize staff. They shouldn’t even be in the building.”
“No, they shouldn’t,” Mr. Rydel agreed. “But from the amount of concerned phone calls we’re receiving, someone certainly is.”
“Who?” She slid into one of Spencer’s hard leather seats beside his father. “Do we have a name?”
Spencer squinted at his computer screen. “It’s the assistant to the CEO. A Miss Penelope Augustine.”
Savannah’s stomach dropped. What was the chance of two women with the same extravagant name living in Seattle, Washington? “Fuck.”
Mr. Rydel stiffened, his gaze narrowing on her in concern. “Savannah…”
“Sorry.” Her composure was usually solid in the office, her profanity contained to the inner spheres of her mind. But this… This wasn’t good.
“Are you familiar with her?” Spencer’s expression was more impressed than distraught.
“You could say that.” They’d grown up sharing summers together. And a thinly veiled annoyance for one another.
Hope twinkled in Mr. Rydel’s eyes. A misplaced hope. One she wished he would wipe off his face, so she didn’t have to do it herself. “That’s perfect.”
No. No, it wasn’t. “We’re not close. We haven’t spoken since I was seventeen.” The same year Savannah kissed the guy Penny had been crushing on, sending her younger cousin into a rage that probably should’ve been calmed with pharmaceutical intervention.
“But familiarity will work in our favor.” He pushed from his chair, as if a conclusion to the problem had already been found.
She tracked his movements to the door and refused to bite her lip. “So you want me to place a call and gently ask her to back off?” Awkward wouldn’t come close to the way the conversation would pan out.
“No. I want you to go to Seattle and talk to her.” Mr. Rydel peered down at her, the faith in his expression weighing heavy on her shoulders. “I also want you to track down the staff who have resigned and convince them to return. And make sure all current employees are comfortable and familiar with how the changeover will occur. There’s a lot of miscommunication over there, and you’re the perfect person to clear it up.”
“Perfect person?”
“Yes. You’re bubbly and approachable.”
She raised a disbelieving brow and stared at Spencer, hoping he was noticing his father’s rapid descent into psychosis. “I’m none of those things. The sarcastic wit and humorous c
harm is a front. I honestly despise people. I like to consider myself as more of a dictator that staff are confident in but scared to approach.”
Mr. Rydel laughed.
Laughed.
She wasn’t joking, goddamn it.
“Mr. Rydel—”
“You’ll get the job done, Savannah. I have faith in you.”
She blinked once, twice. “But…” What? What possible excuse could she use to get out of saving the company a large chunk of settlement money? “I’m entirely smothered with work. I can’t drop everything and leave for a few days.”
“We’ll figure something out.” He stood in the doorframe, an undeniable force. “And it won’t be for a few days. I want you to remain in Seattle until this is over.”
Eleven weeks. “But, sir—”
“It’s a big ask, I know.”
She sank into her chair and met Spencer’s focus, wordlessly pleading for him to say something to his father. Anything.
He shrugged. “We’ll give you a week to pack your things.”
“That’s much better.” She rolled her eyes. One less week wouldn’t make much difference. “What about the backlog of work I currently have? I’ll never catch up.”
“The staff here are capable of taking some of your duties for the duration. The rest you can do while you’re there,” Mr. Rydel’s voice was filled with confidence. Annoying, authoritative confidence. “I’m relying on you to fix this, Savannah.”
She turned to him, hoping her puppy dog eyes would work better on the aging Rydel man, but he was already gone. Deal done. No begging or pleading possible. She slumped into the chair and tried to ignore the growing list of tasks that made her brain throb.
“I’ll handle reporting while you’re gone,” Spencer offered.
She scoffed. He’d completely mess them up. The benefit of being the boss’s son was that you could fuck up absolutely anything and get someone else to deal with the fallout. “Thanks.”
