Now, I pull up to Kombuchaid headquarters in a pale gray skirt suit and white lace blouse. My leather messenger is by my side, and I swing it over one shoulder while getting out of my car. I’m still awkward in heels, mincing across the parking lot, but at least they make me feel taller and more confident.
As I enter the glass doors, I hear a sharp voice call out across the marble waiting area.
“Miss Marshall?” A severe woman in an eggplant suit stalks over to me in stilettos. She has far too much makeup on and one of those “I want to speak to your manager” hairstyles. I’m immediately intimidated.
“Yes?”
She gives me a perfunctory nod.
“I’m Karen, and I’m here to show you around on your first day. Follow me.” And with that, she spins on her heel and walks away, her mouth pursed like she’s just bitten into a lemon. Clearly, Karen doesn’t want to be doing this, and wishes I were dead. I instantly do not like her. She’s skinny and rude and reminds me far too much of my mother but what choice do I have?
Silently, I follow her through the labyrinth of Kombuchaid headquarters and end up completely lost by the time we arrive at my desk. It’s my own little gray corner of office hell, and I wonder if I’m being punished for something. There are probably shackles under the desk, come to think of it, although I force myself not to look.
“Um, thanks,” I mutter.
“Only the best for Brent’s daughter,” Karen says with an ugly twist to her mouth. “There’s nothing for you to do right now, but I’m sure you can occupy your time with your phone or something.”
I nod tightly.
“I’m happy to do whatever is needed, Karen. I can run copies or go get coffee if you like.”
Her sharp laugh is more like a bark. I turn to see if anyone heard, but there’s no one in the office yet.
“No, it’s fine. I’m sure you’ll find something to do. Just sit here, okay? That’s it. That’s the job.”
God, why is this woman such a bitch? I didn’t ask to be the boss’s daughter.
“Thanks,” I say tightly. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“Great,” she says coldly before disappearing down a hallway.
I’m pretty shocked at how openly hostile Karen is. I mean, who acts like that straight off the bat? Clearly, she’s got a chip on her shoulder from something or other.
But I don’t want to make a big deal of it because I don’t want everyone to think I’m that girl. There’s no sense in starting off the summer as the rich bitch who’s also the boss’s spoiled daughter. As a result, I decide to keep my head down. I get acquainted with my computer, clicking around on some random folders. There are no emails yet, which is good. Then, I read a bit of the company manual, but it’s exceedingly boring. So I do as Karen suggested: I pop out my phone and play around a bit. Candy Crush keeps me occupied for fifteen minutes, but then I get bored of that too. I try angling the phone for a selfie, but it’s too depressing. There’s too much gray between my suit and the cloth-covered walls. Tomorrow, I’m going to bring a few succulents to spice this place up because right now, it’s just too blah.
To my surprise, an hour passes and then two. No one comes around to say hi or introduce themselves either, so I decide to head to the bathroom. After relieving myself, there’s still nothing to do, so I decide to take myself on a tour of this place. I’ve been to Kombuchaid headquarters before, of course, but it was always with my dad and we pretty much just stuck to the reception area and his office. This time, I’ll show myself around a bit.
The building is huge, with several floors, and there aren’t any access codes or badges needed in the elevator, so I’m able to roam freely. Strange. I decide to start at the bottom, in the basement. But when I get down there, the elevator opens to what appears to be a construction site.
“Hello?” I call in a moderately loud voice. My voice seems to echo into the quiet.
Then, I step outside and begin to make my way around the construction. There’s plastic sheeting on some of the storage boxes to protect them from all the dust and grime, and the furniture is bound in saran wrap. There’s a ton of dust flying in the air, and I cough a bit, masking my nose and mouth. Damn. I swear the plaster’s getting in my air passages. Maybe I should just go back.
But then I see a women’s restroom and duck inside. Thank god. It appears relatively clean, without the layer of dust covering everything. I look at myself in the mirror, and see my tousled hair and rosy cheeks, not to mention the smart gray suit. Damn, why isn’t Gray here? I wish he could see me like this, when I’m wearing a professional outfit with an ID badge dangling from my waist. Would he laugh? Would he chuck me on the chin, and call me “sweetheart” again? I grow warm inside just at the thought.
God. Gray Jamison. Dammit, why do I keep having to think of him? I haven’t seen him in ages, but his image continues to haunt me even here, in the most inappropriate of places. He owns this building, for crying out loud! Well, at least he co-owns it with my dad.
But I want him too badly, and I can’t stop the urge. His hands on my skin…his cock in my mouth…Gray whispering my name in my ear. It’s too much, and the ache overpowers me.
Like a bad girl, I whip out my phone and google Gray’s picture. I quickly find one of him on vacation in Hawaii and I was right about his body. Damn. Tan, muscular, with a smirk that drives me wild. Unhesitating, I hitch my skirt up and then prop one leg up onto the counter, while holding my phone in my left hand while my right hand slides up my thigh and into my panties. I wish it were his hand, and not my own.
I keep thinking of what I would say if he spoke to me the way I long for him to. What would he say? Would he growl my name in my ear? Would he kiss my jaw before bending down to swipe his tongue across my clit?
I drop my phone on the counter and stare at myself in the mirror, panting. I want the view he would have of me. The feel of his mouth all over my pussy, with his fingers burrowing inside me. Him sucking on me there, forcing me to come again and again, until I can’t take it anymore, and then thrusting himself into me with that massive cock. It’s too much and I let out a high, keening cry as my body shudders and then explodes.
“FUCK!” I scream heartily, not caring who hears. I shatter on my fingertips and my pussy squeezes violently as I dream of Gray coming hard in my sweet passage. I pant, moan, and touch myself more, even as my body crests. I’m sweating now and ramped up higher, if that’s possible. But there’s no help for it. Gray’s not mine, and this is just a naughty fantasy, and nothing more.
3
Gray
* * *
I used to love summer. When I was a kid, summer was the best time of year because it brought a sense of freedom and fun. Even though I grew up poor, I always had neighborhood kids to play with or I’d go hiking by myself, not coming back until late. It was a great way to live.
As an adult, summer means boredom. Kombucha season is definitely summer, so our sales are skyrocketing, but it’s not enough anymore. Nothing seems to be enough anymore. I need a new adventure. Something dangerous. Forbidden, maybe.
I’ve tried a lot of ways to hit this craving. Skydiving, climbing Mount Everest, the usual. But I need the thrill of the chase. To be clear, I don’t need a conquest. I don’t know how much I care about making the kill because it’s the chase that pushes my buttons. The journey of it all. Poor little rich boy, right? Or even worse, maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis, whining about the lack of direction in my life. I roll my eyes at myself so often now, I may need glasses soon.
But it’s true. I hardly feel relevant anymore because everything at Kombuchaid runs like a well-oiled, money-making machine. Our business hardly needs me or Brent, my partner, and it’s by design. We set it up this way on purpose, but neither of us realized just how boring we would make our lives by doing so. Brent’s keeping busy by visiting our factories this summer, but I know better. The factory visits are nothing more than a ruse. He’s bored too and wanted to travel, leaving me in charge at headq
uarters, which is fine. Still, since Kombuchaid doesn’t need me, I’ve been having a hard time sorting out what my life’s about. What is a business that no longer needs its CEOs?
My office was decorated by our publicist and if I’m honest, I hate it. It’s all dark wood, a sleek black desk chair, and a bar discreetly tucked into the corner. I pour myself a glass of bourbon and stare at the luxury. It was supposed to be the classic executive’s office reminiscent of Mad Men, and the designer said it would look good in magazine spreads. But I was sleeping with her at the time and didn’t know how to tell her that I hated the collegiate wooden oar and the tiny cannon on my desk.
But what can I say? The woman was good in bed, and she had a lot of silly ideas of what Denver society would expect of a successful businessman. She offered me the “traditional” publicity package, and at Brent’s insistence, I went with it. I glance at the cover of the Denver Star’s Most Eligible Man of the Year issue. My face looks back at me from the cover, bronzed and handsome, and I cringe. Fuck. This is not what I signed up for. I thought it’d be a public relations thing, nothing more, but people seem to think I’m a piece of meat now. Goddamit.
Then again, the title doesn’t hurt when it comes to the ladies of Denver society. It gives them an ego boost to be seen with me, and they giggle way too much when I squire them around town. I date them, and I sleep with them, but my heart’s not in it. Hell, my brain’s not in it because most of those women couldn’t hold a conversation to save their lives.
I sigh again, defeated. Summer, it seems, makes me introspective. I stare out the tinted window at a nearby park. The hottest season feels like a wasted time of the year when you’re an adult. You notice the kids in the parks, having fun and being loud, and it hits you: that used to be you, but not anymore. Once upon a time, I enjoyed the sunshine and the breeze on my face. Now, life is passing me by while I rot in an office. Well, not rot exactly, given that the A/C is on high. It’s more that I’m a corpse embalmed in an artificial environment.
Fuck. What do I do? I sleep with women, but there’s nothing in it. I’m not even proud to say that I love them and leave them because it sounds lame. I wish I had someone real to call my own. Someone lush, curvy, and enticing, but Denver seems to be filled with the skinny, shallow type.
But then my mind wanders to my friend’s daughter. Harlow Marshall, twenty-one years old, and soon to be a senior at Colorado State with a degree in marketing, of all things. I would have thought she would have gone for something more unusual, like culinary arts or astronomy because she has such a curious mind, and I’ve always adored that about her.
But then I sit upright because these thoughts are going in the wrong direction. Lately, I’ve found myself noticing other things about Harlow too. She’s smart, funny, and my God, that ass. I laugh at myself for being such a dirty old man, thinking of a sweet teenager’s rump. Someone as pretty has her can’t possibly be single or interested in a man my age. Fuck, I’m literally old enough to be her dad. Besides, the idea is moot anyway. Brent would murder me for lusting after his daughter, and rightfully so.
After all, I’ve known Harlow since she was born and she’s the child of my best friend, so it’s out of the question. I knew her when she was merely a twinkle in Brent’s eye. She’s too young. Why is she even on my mind, anyways? I should be poring over spreadsheets or at the very least, fantasizing about a woman my own age.
But the heart wants what it wants, or at least my cock wants what it wants. Then, I jerk upright suddenly. Oh shit, Harlow’s internship starts today, and I was supposed to swing by to say hello. Brent made me promise to look out for her, although I doubt Harlow needs any help from me. I stand, but then sit down again. It’s lunch time, so she’s probably not even at her desk. Just to be sure, I use the security camera feed on my computer to check and, sure enough, her cube is vacant. Where the fuck is she?
I sit back in my chair just to think as the feed pans to some other angles. Kombuchaid is heavy on security, and we’ve got cameras in every corner. Suddenly, something catches my eye and I lean forward in my seat again, eyes squinting.
Harlow is heading to the bathroom, but it’s not the bathroom on her floor. No, this is the one in the basement, where we’re doing construction, and no one is supposed to be down there. I wonder if Karen sent her down to the basement to get some old files. I’ll have to have a talk with Karen about that, because it’s not safe to send anyone down there. It’s supposed to be off limits. But there’s nothing of interest down there anyways, so why is Harlow wandering around?
Even more, the basement bathrooms have cameras in them because we’re in the midst of remodeling. Vandals sometimes break into construction sites, so as a precaution, we have lenses trained on every public space. As a result, I watch as Harlow enters the women’s restroom, the door swinging shut behind her before stopping in front of the mirror. Then, I look away. I’m not going to watch her do her business because that’s private. But the curvy girl doesn’t go into one of the stalls. Instead, she hoists one foot up so that it’s level with the sink and then … what is she…? Oh fuck.
Because little Harlow isn’t so little anymore. She’s a full-grown woman doing what full-grown women do for themselves. One foot is propped up on the countertop, and her legs are spread wide open. She’s watching herself in the mirror. God, this is so hot. Then, her head tips back in ecstasy, and I can’t help but get hard watching this. She is such a dirty girl, holy shit, and I stare with avid eyes as she pleasures herself with to completion. There isn’t any sound on the video feed, but I swear, I can see her lips forming into words, and I swear she’s chanting my name. Quickly, I pull myself out and begin stroking. The sound is obscene, my wetness lubing the way, but just as Harlow comes, I come too with viscous jizz spurting all over my hand.
Then, the sassy girl finishes and she glances at herself breathing hard in the mirror. She takes her foot off the corner, smoothes her hair down, and then smiles secretively before exiting the bathroom. Immediately, I zip up and pull my belt tight before standing. This is going to be a filthy summer, I can already tell.
I watch Harlow return to her desk, with a guilty but oh-so-satisfied look on her beautiful face. I feel like a stalker, peeping in on her. Am I abusing my power by watching her? Maybe. Do I care? Not at all. Her hair is still a little mussed from her bathroom adventure and there’s a funny swing to her hips. Technically, she’s the one who was in the wrong here, but somehow, I don’t care. All I need is more.
Back at her desk, Harlow smooths those wild brown curls into some semblance of order and chugs half her bottled water down. Must have been thirsty work, and I grin to myself.
I would love to know what was on her phone in the bathroom. She studied it so intensely while watching herself in the mirror. Now, her phone flashes again, and she looks at it, then ignores whoever it was. I wonder who she would blow off like that. Maybe a friend. Maybe an ex. I seem to recall Brent complaining about a boyfriend he hated and would like to put in the grave.
I take a moment to scroll through my Outbox. Perfect, my secretary sent an email to Harlow this morning, and it should be in her mail by now. Sure enough, Harlow takes another sip of her water and then hops onto the computer. Her eyes rove left and right, and she clicks on something. Her eyes squint, and then they go wide. She must have just seen the email from my secretary, Priscilla. I asked Priscilla to summon Harlow to my office when she got in, but obviously, we’ve missed that meeting. Now is a perfect opportunity.
But Harlow doesn’t get up right away. Instead, her first instinct is to retouch her lip gloss and I watch, fascinated, as she pulls out a tiny handheld mirror and carefully plumps up her lips with a pink color. That seems promising. Once she puts the lip gloss away, I see something in her eyes that I’m not familiar with from her. Could it be …? Shit, I think it is. Harlow’s nervous, and she’s lusty too. Am I imagining things?
I continue to stare at the feed as she makes her way to the elevators. Her fl
ushed cheeks give her a natural rosy glow even under our obnoxious fluorescent lights. She should be in my office in two minutes, so I attempt to will my hard-on away. Then again, I don’t even care if she sees my stiff member. She’s already been a bad, bad girl, and I’m just the man to teach her a lesson.
Sure enough, within minutes, a soft knock sounds on my door, and the blood pounds in my veins. I feel like a predator about to toy with my prey. I’m ready to pounce on the curvy girl, but I’m determined to enjoy the chase too. It’s been so long since anything was forbidden or taboo because with enough money, looks, and connections, everything seems to be within my reach. But my best friend’s daughter? This absolutely crosses a line, and I lick my lips in anticipation.
“Come,” I say in a deep tone.
The door opens, revealing the beautiful girl.
“Hi, Uncle Gray,” she murmurs. “Is now a good time?”
Oh fuck, why does she turn me on so much? Especially when she calls me “uncle.” It’s so goddamn wrong. I chuckle at my own expense and clear my throat to get my brain moving.
“Sure, no problem, sweetheart. Shut the door behind you and have a seat.”
Harlow strolls in and I take her all in. From her long, curly brown hair which frames that sweet angel’s face to those full breasts and the flared hips that could take anything I want to dish out, I’m entranced by her body. I wish her gray suit were a size smaller so I could see her curves strain against the fabric. She is definitely not a little girl anymore, and I feel myself stiffening beneath my desk even more.
I have to focus on my prey though. I can’t think about all the things I want to do to her. Otherwise, I’ll never make it through this conversation. I give her a polite smile.
“How is the internship going?”
She smiles. She has no idea what I’ve just seen. But Harlow merely bites her lip. Then she hesitantly says, “Well, it’s my first day, and it’s been a little dull.”
My Dad’s Business Partner: A Forbidden Romance Page 2
