by Gemma James
Because I had no fucking clue he was married. None. I knew he was involved with someone. But married? Fuck to the no.
“You’re right. That is a total cliché. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
“My marriage is complicated, Jules.”
Damn him for using my name again. Every time he does, the core of my sex pulses. The faster I get out of here, the better, and yet I can’t help but push back. “I imagine kissing strangers on planes would complicate a marriage.”
“I didn’t kiss you.”
“But you wanted to.” My accusation settles between us, heavy with the ring of truth.
“Yes, I wanted to,” he admits, “and I would have if things were different.”
“Meaning, if you didn’t have a wife waiting for you at home.” I feel like such a hypocrite, considering I cheated on Chris, but I can’t stop the rush of betrayal from flooding my system. It’s illogical, irrational, and it’s close to choking me.
“I wasn’t sure I had a marriage to go back to. If you remember, I’d just found out she was cheating on me.”
“So that makes it okay?”
“No,” he says, eyes on his fingers as they collapse and entwine on the desk. “It doesn’t make it okay. What I did was out of line. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“How can you promise that? We had a…a connection.” If he denies it, I might go crazy on him. And I’m not crazy. There’s no way I imagined the hunger in his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenge, gripping the arms of the chair. “Tell me those hours weren’t as real to you as they were to me? Tell me—”
“They were,” he interrupts, a soft plea in his tone.
“But you’re married!” I cover my mouth with a trembling hand. How the hell did I get stuck in this sadistic loop of deja vu?
Please, please, please have a good reason. Don’t be a slime ball.
God, the thought of him being a first-class douche is too much. Whether it makes sense or not, I fell hard for him in a matter of a few hours. Call it rebound. Call it insanity. It’s probably a mixture of both, but I can’t deny that I feel something for him.
Cash.
He’s no longer my sexy stranger. He has a sexy name. A sexy life. A sexy job. And a sexy wife I’d fuck if I were into women. I hate myself for admitting that.
He better have a damn good reason for omitting his matrimonial bliss.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know,” he says, pulling at his tie. “It was hard enough talking about her affair. It didn’t occur to me to share more than that. C’mon, Jules. Did you expect to see me again?”
I dreamed of it. Wished for it. But… “No.”
We’re saved from further discussion by the swish of an opening door. His wife stands with one hand cradling her hip. There’s no warmth in her glacier blue eyes, and despite the fact that I basically hate this woman now, I hate it more that she’s looking at him like that.
“I need to speak with you,” she tells him. “I’ll come back when you’re done here.”
He doesn’t even offer her a verbal acknowledgement. He merely nods his head, avoiding her eyes the whole time.
She prances through the door, letting it close in her wake, and I reevaluate my earlier assessment that she’s polite. And it isn’t due to jealousy, though I can’t deny that a dizzying amount of emotions are storming through me, and one of them might be a little green. The biggest reason for my mistrust of that woman is the way she walks—with a calculated sway to her hips. I recognize manipulation when I see it, because I’ve witnessed it many times in Brit.
Cash clears his throat, bringing my attention back to him. He’s holding my resume in one hand. “You were my first pick out of the candidates HR sent my way.”
Were.
I’m stuck on his use of the past tense, and struggling to switch gears as fast as he had. “I don’t have much experience, and I only have an associate degree.”
He quirks a brow. “Are you trying to talk me out of hiring you?”
It would be the sane thing to do.
“Not at all. I’m just being upfront with you,” I say, uncertain if I meant the double meaning in that sentence or not.
He either doesn’t pick up on it, or he chooses to ignore it. “A bachelor’s is preferred but not required. And I like that you don’t have a lot of experience. I prefer things are done a certain way, so I don’t mind training you.” Something about that statement makes him visibly gulp. “Besides,” he says, setting my resume back on the desk, “your previous boss sang your praises.”
“Probably because I fucked him, to which he repaid me by asking for my resignation.”
Cash holds my gaze, his eyes brimming with smoldering ash. “Do you always talk about your sex life during job interviews?”
“Nope. This is a first.”
“Your old boss sounds like an ass. I hope you handed him his.”
This interview is an epic fail, a mockery of professionalism. But we tossed propriety out the window the instant I walked through the door.
“He was a mistake.” My lungs seem to shrink, and I draw in a deep breath until the suffocation subsides. “I don’t plan to go down that road again.”
Cash settles back in his chair, dark brows pulling together as he fingers his chin. The line of his jaw is cut from granite. “What are your top three strengths as an employee?”
“I thrive under pressure, can multitask without sacrificing work quality, and despite what you might think of my personal life, I have good work ethic.”
A sigh puffs off his lips. “You have no idea what I’m thinking. If you did, you would have left already.”
I can no more leave this office than he can push me out. I’m the magnet to his steel, the yin to his yang. A force of nature brought us together, and we can neither defy nor define it.
“What would you say is your biggest weakness?”
“Married men, apparently.”
One in particular, and he’s sitting across from me with a glower on his gorgeous face. “I’m trying here, Jules. Do you want the job, or not?”
“I want to go back in time and know you’re married.”
Had I known, I wouldn’t have flirted. I wouldn’t have lost myself to his voice and touch, and I definitely wouldn’t have ached for his kiss. A fucking kiss that should have never been a possibility, because even though I didn’t know he was married, he did.
“Jules…” he says, pushing a hand through his mussed hair. “An apology will never be enough for my behavior that night. If you take the job, we’ll keep things professional.”
Doubt plummets to the bottom of my gut. “I’m not sure I can.” Meeting his eyes is impossible—not after admitting in a roundabout way that my feelings for him are lightyears away from professional.
“You’re right,” he says, his voice strangled. “Working together is just asking for trouble, but professionalism aside, the thought of you walking away again is…” He’s shaking his head, as if trying to find the right words, but none are needed.
I know exactly what he means. For all the confrontational shit I’ve flung at him, I feel the same way.
“Ask yourself how you ended up in my office, of all places.”
Fate.
I crash into the storm of his eyes, unable to brake in time. The damage is done, and if I’m honest with myself, I was headed for destruction the instant I decided not to run the other way.
“Accept the job, Jules.”
There’s that tone again—a deep and commanding timbre that vibrates straight to the delta of my thighs. My mind is galloping ahead of me, imagining him using that tone as he bends me over his desk. The attraction I had to Perry was mild compared to this. It was minuscule and lacked depth—in truth harmless, until we somehow ended up in bed together.
But the chemistry between Cash and me is all-consuming, awakening me in ways I never believed possible. In ways I never knew existed. In ways I n
ever knew I wanted. The energy surrounding us is scorching, and I’m too far gone to heed the warning licks of fire.
“Okay,” I say as I imagine my life going up in flames.
This man is going to be the death of me.
9. Bathroom Break
Cash
For the second time in a month, I’m thoroughly…poleaxed. It’s the most appropriate word I’m able to come up with, since the object of my obsession just left after agreeing to work for MontBlake.
For me.
Of course, she had questions. Like how long would it take to train her, when would she start, and why hadn’t I told her I was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company? She seemed to have a very accurate memory of our time on that plane.
For every one of her questions, I had one of my own. Only I couldn’t ask them. Doing so would be intrusive and personal.
Like did she love her previous boss?
How long did the affair last?
Did his wife find out?
Is he the reason she left Oklahoma?
No, she was heartbroken over the boyfriend—I remember that much. So the boss must have been the mistake she was talking about. I let my thoughts drift back to the last half hour, to her wide, deep brown eyes and the way she nibbled her lip. How she stared at me as if I’m the next mistake she’s going to make.
I’d give anything to dig underneath her exterior, to unearth her secrets and desires. But I won’t, even if it kills me. We’ve catapulted too far over the line of professionalism as it is, and it’s going to be hell to fight our way back to the right side of the equation, to the sum of boss and employee, minus a whole shitload of trouble neither of us want. That’s the way it has to be, since I’m blatantly ignoring the professional and right thing to do.
Which would be to send her on her way.
Hell, I might as well stop breathing. Watching Jules walk away a second time will gut me. No matter the right or wrong of it, she’s lived under my skin ever since I laid eyes on her. And the way she looked at me today…
Too fucking tempting.
I shouldn’t have hired her.
How the hell did this happen?
I glance at my watch and realize I’ve been sitting in a daze for the last twenty minutes. I’ve got emails that need sorted and answered, phone calls that need to be returned, appointments that need to be made, not to mention putting travel plans into motion. All of this shit piled up because my last personal assistant up and left last week without notice.
What I need is Jules.
I’m also behind on finalizing the building plans for MontBlake’s newest hotel. Ironically, it’s scheduled to begin construction in Oklahoma City soon. I don’t have time for this raging hard-on, compliments of one Jules Harley.
But God, she’s sexy. Bold. Blunt. She speaks before thinking, which can be a bad thing, but on her it’s a damn aphrodisiac.
Shaking the rails loose on that train of thought, I attempt to get my mind in the right headspace before she returns. I sent her down to HR to get the paperwork rolling, deciding not to have her sign a nondisclosure agreement about her knowledge of my marriage troubles. Having that document in place is company policy on such matters, but there was no way I could ask that of her. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
She’s the only one who knows, other than the private investigator I hired and the unknown person who outed my wife’s affair. Regardless of how little I actually know Jules, my gut tells me I can trust her.
Cursing under my breath, I check my watch again, remembering that Monica wanted to talk to me. Jules should be back in an hour or so, but my wife could show up in five minutes or five hours.
And I’ve still got a hard-on to deal with. I push to my feet and make my way to the private bathroom off the office. Once inside, I lock the door and cross to the toilet. I’ve got my pants unbuttoned and unzipped in seconds, and I’m leaning over the porcelain bowl, one hand pumping my cock as images of Jules play through my head.
My perverted mind has her bent over my desk, legs spread, her palms flat on the surface as I wind her golden locks around my fist. With every desperate stroke of my hand, I imagine thrusting into the hot, wet glove of her body. And her voice? Jesus, her seductive voice is begging for more.
Harder, Cash.
In this fantasy that’s way too vivid, I bury myself to the hilt, my fingers gouging her hips, teeth scraping over the slope of her shoulder. The scene plays out in my head like a porno as I let the pressure bust me wide open. I groan, loud and unrestrained, as I spurt cum into the toilet water.
I’m so fucked, and I definitely shouldn’t have hired her. But not hiring her was about as possible as not thinking about her.
Every time the skies open and rain beats down on me.
Every time I grab a coffee and overhear someone order tea.
Every time a damn plane sounds overhead.
A quiet knock intrudes on this private and forbidden moment. I tilt my head toward the locked door, ragged breaths rushing from my mouth as I prop myself against the wall.
“Cash? Are you in there?” Monica never bangs on a door, or outright yells, or cries out when she comes. Not that she’s come for me in months.
“I’ll be right out.” I clean myself up then put my clothes back in order.
I bet Jules would cry my name. I have no doubt she’d writhe in my arms. Moan her pleasure into my mouth. Let me fuck her while holding her captive in my gaze. Forehead to forehead with the lights on. Eyes locked together in surrender, spilling all our secrets. Fingers grasping, clawing, then lacing together as we hold on for the ride. The feminine curve of her spine speaking the language of ecstasy.
I switch on the faucet, and the rushing sound of water brings me back to reality. Monica is tapping on the door again, her soft voice calling my name. After I finish washing my hands, I open the door. Those blue eyes used to seduce me with a single glance. Now they spit nothing but cold-hearted rejection.
“What is it?” I ask as I push past her. I take a seat behind my desk, sparing her an annoyed glance. “As you can see, I’ve got work to do.”
“Before you make your decision on a PA, I wanted to give my recommendation for Lydia Hirsch. She mentioned the interview went well. She’s highly qualified, Cash.”
Tilting my head, I narrow my eyes. “Is she a friend of yours?”
She works her jaw, hesitating. “Yes, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t put our personal issues before business decisions. She’s a solid choice and deserves a chance.”
“Ms. Hirsch is certainly qualified, but she’s not a good fit for me. Besides,” I say, waving my hand. “I already filled the position.”
“That was fast. Who did you hire?”
“Does it matter?”
“Per the terms of the merger, you’re required to consult me on anything business-related.”
“Hiring a personal assistant hardly falls under that condition.” I sit back and cross my arms. “You want a rundown of the financial statements for last quarter? Details about the Oklahoma City project? I’ll have my new assistant send you those particulars, along with anything else you require.”
Her brows knit together. “You might be CEO, but I’m chairperson. This is a partnership.”
“Like our marriage is?”
Her silence speaks volumes.
“We’re sleeping in separate bedrooms, Monica. How about we do the same here at work? You can see yourself out of my office now.”
“You can be a real asshole sometimes.”
“Do you really want me to respond to that?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Don’t bother.” She pivots on her heel and exits my office, letting the door shut with a bang. That’s the angriest I’ve seen her in a while.
I stare at the closed door for a few moments, the wheels in my head turning. During the past few months, I’ve slowly come to the realization that Monica never does anything without a reason, and if she wanted her friend working directly und
er me, there must be a reason why. I pull out my cell and dial my private investigator.
He answers on the fourth ring, and I get right to the point. “It’s Cash Montgomery. Have you found anything yet?” I ask, tapping my fingers on the desk.
“Not yet. The sender’s email address was a bust. Whoever sent the photo doubled up with a VPN and a proxy server. My tech guy’s still working on it, though.”
“And the photo?”
“Same. Got an expert analysis taking a closer look.”
“I don’t know if this is important, but Monica wanted me to hire someone she knows as my PA. She was very insistent, and furious when I told her I already filled the position.”
“You got a name for me?”
“Lydia Hirsch.” I spell it out for him. “Maybe there’s something there.”
“I’m on it.”
“Let me know when you’ve got something.”
I end the call and rise to stand in front of the windows. The sidewalks are busy, the streets busier. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, but I feel one hovering over my life. As I watch a ferry make its way across Elliot Bay, I think of how there’s someone out there who wanted me to know about Monica’s affair. Someone who captured her betrayal in a photo but left behind no evidence in our condo. My instincts tell me the digital footprint of that email will lead back to the asshole who’s fucking my wife.
10. Double Trouble
Jules
Cash put me to work after I returned from HR. He gave me a quick tour of the thirty-eighth floor before showing me the office I’d be working in for the foreseeable future…assuming my employment here works out.
That was four days ago, and so far, I’ve managed to do my job without tripping all over myself. My workspace is the next room over from his corner office, and knowing he’s on the other side of that wall has been more distracting than is good for productivity.
Thank God it’s Friday. A little distance is exactly what I need to get ahold of myself after this whirlwind week. Once I’m finished handling his schedule, fielding phone calls, and running errands, I spend the remainder of the day sorting emails and coordinating travel plans. The fact that he’s going to Oklahoma City soon squeezes my heart a little—it’s an unwanted reminder of the heartbreak I left behind in Whiskey Flats.
