Dee could tell where this little chat was heading and, from behind Kendra’s back, she gave him the high sign for a change of subject, but it was too late. When would he ever learn?
‘That’s right,’ Kendra said, ‘I believe in sex. Romance is something everybody wants but nobody ever really gets. But anybody can get laid.’
‘Come on, Kendra. Do you really think you can have sex the way you have cereal in the morning for breakfast, and it’s no big deal, no attachments, no hard feelings?’ Harris grinned wickedly and fanned a wave of smoke away from his face.
Kendra began laying plates on the table. ‘I don’t see why not. I don’t see why physical need necessarily has to have anything to do with emotion.’
Harris coughed and moved out of the line of smoke. ‘It sure as hell would make life easier, wouldn’t it? I mean if we could just say “excuse me, but I’m horny, and I need to have sex, would you mind?”’
Dee found herself thinking about Beverly’s Sex Clause again, found herself thinking of what had happened between her and Ellis. She wasn’t a big keeper of secrets. She didn’t have all that many to keep, and especially not from Kendra and Harris, but she had kept sex with Ellis from them. It seemed like a betrayal to share it somehow.’
‘No attachments, no regrets,’ Kendra said. ‘That’s my motto.’
‘Oh, I like attachments myself.’ Dee slipped an arm around Kendra. ‘My vibrator came with this neat little –’
‘We’re talking about real cocks here, Dee, you know – something that doesn’t require batteries.’
‘Hey, I think it’s a great idea if you can handle it.’ Harris waved the grilling tongs enthusiastically. ‘But I don’t know that many people who could just think of sex as physical, with no emotional strings attached.’
Dee couldn’t help wondering if Ellis was one of those people.
Any attempt to sleep that night was just an exercise in futility. Dee’s brain was too busy replaying the meeting at Pneuma Inc. and trying to analyse how she had ended up to be Ellis’s new executive assistant.
Perhaps it was the late hour, or just the build-up of tension generated by her ruminations and the events of the day, but at last, her thoughts turned to the long-familiar fantasies. In her mind’s eye, she walked the late-night corridors of the executive suites at the Pneuma Building. She could hear movement from Ellis’s office, disturbing the gossamer silence. Cautiously, she approached on tiptoes, holding her breath as she peeked around the corner. There, sprawled in his chair, was Ellis, trousers open, hands occupied, cupping and stroking and rocking against himself in the privacy of his moonlit suite. Hadn’t he told her he didn’t have time for sex? The thought of him touching himself, the thought of him as single-minded and focused as she’d had to be, the thought of him having as little time for sex as she had, made her hot. In her fantasy she moved around the desk where she could make out the details of his exposure and his mesmerizing attentions to his erection.
In her bed in the real world, the slick rubbing and dipping of her fingers became too enjoyable to waste time rummaging in the nightstand for the vibrator. Though she couldn’t keep from imagining how nice it would be to have something between her legs that – as Kendra so eloquently put it – didn’t require batteries. She knew exactly what it was she wanted, and how amazing it felt. That something she imagined having between her legs belonged to Ellison Thorne.
She closed her eyes and arched against the pillow, bringing the fantasy into focus behind her eyelids.
She eased him back in his chair, her hands taking over his efforts against his erection, freeing him to open her blouse and undo her bra. In her fantasy, his mouth quickly found its way to her throat, then to her breasts. His hands slid up under her skirt to caress the inside of her thighs, opening her with ticklish kneading. Then he stood, shoving files and correspondence, pens and paper clips off onto the floor as he guided her back on top of his desk. In her fantasy, she watched in growing arousal as he lifted her hips to remove her panties, lingering to caress her bottom as he did so. But instead of entering her, he took her with his mouth, licking and suckling her like she was ice cream melting against his tongue. When she could stand it no longer, he shoved deep inside her with a groan of pleasure, and the urgent sounds of sex hammered her imagination. She could almost feel the firm musculature of his body against hers. Her scent thickened and warmed in the sustained tension of arousal. And just before the explosion that sent her brain off-line and into the thick cotton chrysalis of sleep, she felt suddenly reassured. If both Ellis and Beverly had agreed she was the best person for the executive assistant position, then surely everything would be all right.
Chapter Six
Ellis woke with a start, nearly falling out of his chair. In his dream, he’d been pleading with Dee Henning. Whether he was pleading for her to take the position at Pneuma Inc. or pleading for sex was disturbingly unclear, though the heavy erection pressing against his jeans indicated it was probably the latter. In the dream she was wet, just in out of the rain, and her shirt was … Well, her shirt was way more transparent than it had been in real life. Up until now his dreams had always been of falling or showing up for an important meeting only to discover he’d forgotten his clothes. The absence of sex in his life had not translated to more sex in his dreams, at least not until Dee Henning appeared on the scene. It was all he could do to keep from dwelling on the Dee in his dream, wet and dripping and … He cursed softly, rubbed gritty eyes, and felt around the desk for his glasses, staring through the bleary soft focus of sleep deprivation at the night-darkened shadows of his study.
It was nearly one in the morning. The laptop still hummed quietly, with the screen saver flashing images of planets, galaxies, and nebulae. He poured coffee from the carafe on the cart next to the desk. It was still warm enough to be drinkable.
He’d planned to finish the report for Scribal Paper tonight, along with a new proposal. Beverly had always been in charge of Scribal. She and Alan Marston had been friends, and she knew the best way to handle the cantankerous old fart.
Beverly was barely cold in her grave before Marston was allowing himself to be courted by Terrance Jamison, all anxious to sell him cheap timber from a virgin forest in Valderia, primed and ready to be clear-cut. Christ, Marston knew better. If Beverly had been here she’d have told him what an idiot he was, and he’d have listened.
Marston would be Dee’s inheritance. Based on that fact alone, Ellis figured she would probably hate him before she’d been at Pneuma Inc. a month, if she didn’t already. He would if he were in her shoes. And that was sad, because he really wanted her to like him.
Absently he sorted through the orderly stack of mail Harold had left on his desk. From midway down, he pulled a familiar mauve envelope. It was from New World Gallery in New York. Inside, along with the usual monthly supporter’s newsletter was a handwritten note from Stacie.
Dear Ellis,
I’m so sorry to hear about Beverly’s death. I know how much she meant to you. I’m sorry this note is so late in coming, but I’ve been away and didn’t know until Garrett told me. If there’s anything I can do, you only have to ask.
I’ll be in Portland on a regular basis soon. I’m opening a new gallery there. My staff is liaising with a wildlife photographer named Harris Walker for our opening exhibition. Maybe you know him. His work is often in Wilderness Vanguard.
I’m looking forward to seeing more of you soon. Call me when you’re in New York again, and we’ll catch up. It’s been too long.
Love,
Stacie
In a flood of memories, he wadded the envelope into a ball and tossed it into the garbage. Memories of Stacie and his brother announcing their marriage; memories of him turning without a word and walking out of the room; memories that used to tear at his insides like ground glass. But that was a long time ago. It was the past. Sadly, Stacie had never forgiven herself for her part in what happened at Caltech. How could she or Garrett possibly hav
e known just how bad their timing was? He’d long since forgiven Stacie, forgiven his brother too. It was uncanny, but she and Garrett both had a way of only making matters worse the harder they tried to make it up to him. He wished they’d get it through their heads that there was nothing to make up. Their hearts were in the right place, but the best thing either of them could do for Ellis was leave him alone.
He pulled up his email and scrolled through. There was a memo from Tally Barnes railing on the secretaries in accounting. Something about inter-office emails. The memo was strident and bordered on abusive. For some reason she seemed to think that after Beverly’s death every memo she sent should be cc’d to him.
He suddenly recalled his conversation with Beverly about why he shouldn’t hire Tally as her replacement. He supposed he should warn Dee about her, just in case. The one thing Dee didn’t need was more hassle.
And, just like that, Dee was centre stage in his mind again. And in his body. A sudden flash of Dee Henning dripping all over the floor of his office, followed by the recollection of her on the carpet with her legs wrapped around him, and his erection was back with a vengeance.
Dee and Beverly had discussed the Executive Sex Clause. She’d said so. That uncomfortable thought made him even hornier. He shouldn’t even be thinking about implementing the Executive Sex Clause with Dee, yet he was. The room felt suddenly hot and Ellis squirmed in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Would Dee have been thinking of him while Beverly expounded on how much better the brain would work if the junk was well-satisfied? Would Beverly have even suggested that the two of them … That he and Dee might satisfy each other’s junk. He thought of Beverly’s email suggesting that he hire Dee and implement the Sex Clause. It was a joke. Dear God, surely Dee knew it was only a joke. But after what had already happened between them, how could she know? And now she had accepted the position as his executive assistant, did she think it included the Sex Clause?
Almost without realising, he opened his fly. He imagined himself helping a rain-drenched Dee out of her wet clothes as they casually discussed business. He imagined that they both agreed they’d had a stressful day, and they needed the relief the Sex Clause afforded them.
And suddenly it was too late to tuck himself back in his jeans. It had to happen, and it had to happen soon. He made the shift from chair to sofa, stroking as he went, imagining Dee allowing him access to her wet places with a towel, with his fingers, with his tongue. He imagined her forcing him back into the chair behind his desk and straddling him. He imagined himself thrusting and grinding and pressing. He imagined until his fantasy sent him over the edge into spasms of relief, spasms so hard that the chair creaked and groaned beneath his ass. Was it possible that Beverly was right, that some relief of a sexual nature might just help him deal with Marston and Jamison and the rest of the avalanche of urgency Beverly had left him with? Was it possible that an Executive Sex Clause might just be the best way of getting that relief?
Chapter Seven
Tally Barnes was into her second or maybe third glass of expensive champagne. She couldn’t remember. What she did remember was that her plans to be able to afford expensive champagne on a regular basis were down the crapper, now she had been passed over for the promotion of a lifetime. Since Beverly Neumann’s death, she had allowed herself the luxury of the good stuff, certain that she’d soon be able to afford it regularly once she took over the woman’s position. She’d already run up her credit cards to make sure she had a wardrobe that was up to the task. She even had an interior decorator on retainer to redo Beverly’s office when she finally took over. She had been that certain. How could she have been passed over like this? Right now, she needed alcohol, and damn it, she deserved the good stuff after the shit day she’d had.
She was about to leave the bar and find a table. She had her laptop and the memory stick. She wanted to go over the files she’d downloaded from Beverly’s computer back when everyone was grieving, back when she had access to the woman’s office to help with the financial statements for Scribal Paper. And while she’d had access, she took full advantage and downloaded Beverly’s emails, which she hadn’t looked at until now. She was hoping to find something there, to figure out what happened, what Dee Henning had that she didn’t. Damn it! She wasn’t going down without a fight. Her mind was on the inter-office email that had announced Ellis’s choice for his new executive assistance and ruined her day. She wasn’t looking where she was going when she ploughed into a man who’d had the bad luck to get in her way.
Before she could tell the asshole to watch where he was going, he beat her to it, only much more pleasantly. ‘Beautiful women should drink good champagne, not wear it,’ he said.
Before Tally could respond, the man in Armani grabbed her gently by the shoulders and spun her back around, seating her once more at the bar before the collision that would have had her wearing the remains of her Moët and Chandon. Then he took the glass from her hand, set it on the bar, and perched lightly on the stool next to her. ‘Are you all right?’
Tally was all ready to tell the man to fuck off and mind his own business, then she caught sight of his cool blue eyes and handsome face. Even in the dim light of the bar everything about him said not only business chic, but outrageously expensive business chic. He was the kind of man who filled her dreams and fantasies, and he looked really familiar, like he should be somebody famous, somebody important. But with her head slightly muzzy from the alcohol, she couldn’t quite recall where she’d seen him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, allowing him to help her onto the stool. ‘It’s just that I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
He eased the computer bag off her shoulder and settled it onto the floor next to her. Then he motioned to the bartender to bring another glass of fizz for her and a Glenfiddich for him. At last he turned to face her, offering her a smile that made her feel giddy. ‘Good things, I hope. On your mind, I mean.’
‘Not good things. Not good at all.’ She tossed back her half-empty fizz and pushed the glass aside. ‘I was just overlooked for a promotion and the position was given to someone far less qualified.’
‘You mean Dee Henning?’
‘Yes, I mean Dee Henning. That job was mine.’ Tally leaned close to him, practically hissing in his face. ‘I can’t believe Ellis could even consider anyone else. I’ve been busting my ass in accounting for five years now, and after Beverly Neumann’s death, I was indispensable. Ellis barely knew which end was up without me.’
‘Strange choice, Dee Henning. You’re right. She’s not really qualified.’
‘Of course she’s not qualified. She’s just a headhunter and …’ She stopped mid-rant. It suddenly hit her. ‘How do you know about Dee Henning? Who are you anyway?’
‘I had a rather unpleasant run-in with Ms Henning when she worked for Jasper and McDowell.’ Her new friend waved his hand as though he were batting away a fly. ‘Besides, I make it a point to know what’s going on in the business world.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Terrance Jamison, at your service.’
She nearly fell off the stool. ‘The Terrance Jamison, of Jamison Holdings?’ She thrust a hand forward.
‘The same.’
‘I thought I recognised you, but I was a bit distressed, you know, not thinking very straight.’
‘Perfectly understandable,’ he said. Just then the drinks arrived. He handed her the fizz and lifted his whiskey. ‘I’d like to make a toast to new possibilities, Ms Barnes. What is it they say, a door never closes but what a window opens? Is it OK if I call you Tally?’
‘You know my name?’
‘Of course I know your name. How could I not know your name? From what I’ve heard, Pneuma Inc. would grind to a standstill without you. I think it’s shocking that Thorne doesn’t appreciate what a treasure he has in you.’
He barely got the words out before his iPhone rang, which gave Tally a chance to let what Jamison had just said sink in, while she did a little basking in the first good thing that had happened
to her all day. She studied the man surreptitiously in his conversation. So this was the infamous Terrance Jamison. She half expected him to have horns and a tail with the reputation he had at Pneuma, Inc. – probably undeserved. Jamison was Ellis Thorne’s rival and worst enemy. Everyone knew the men hated each other. She’d seen pictures of Jamison in The Oregonian, always looking like he was king of the world, like the kind of man you toyed with at your own peril. And he was sitting here next to her, buying her expensive champagne, reminding her of just what an asset she would be for any company. And that made him even easier to look at. In spite of the man’s chivalry, he was a bit frightening with those cool eyes and pale hair. He was in his early 50s, she’d read somewhere, but oh, he was definitely one of those men who aged very well indeed.
Ellis had never been chivalrous to her. The best she’d ever gotten from Ellis, even with all her help and kindness after Beverly’s death, was distant politeness. She could have been the janitor for all he noticed.
She was consorting with the enemy. It gave her a warm, squirmy feeling inside, like revenge of the very best kind, especially since Terrance Jamison knew who she was. Ellis might not appreciate her, but Ellis wasn’t the only show in town now, was he? And it would serve him right to lose her.
At last Jamison hung up. ‘Sorry about that, Tally.’ He gave a conspiratorial smile. ‘That was Alan Marston. You know Alan Marston, don’t you? He certainly speaks highly of you.’
A slight blush of pleasure warmed in her chest. ‘Al? Al speaks highly of me? Well, I’m delighted, of course; I mean, I’ve basically picked up the slack with him and the Scribal Paper account since Beverly Neumann’s death, no easy task as I’m sure you can imagine.’
‘Oh, I can well imagine,’ he said, swirling his drink, holding her in an icy-hot gaze. ‘Marston’s not easy to work with, and who can really blame him. I mean the man’s in a real bind, isn’t he? He knows, as we all do, that anything Pneuma Inc. can offer him now would, sadly, be little more than a stop-gap. The man runs paper mills. He clearly needs trees, not environmental woo-woo.’ He shrugged. ‘And I can get the man what he needs at a good price.’ He offered her an embarrassed grin, like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘Do forgive me, Tally, it’s very unprofessional of me to be speaking to you about such things. Conflict of interest and all, but I figured you would overhear enough to suspect who I was talking to, and I’m sure –’ he leaned closer ‘– I can count on this to be our little secret. Can’t I? No harm done.’
An Executive Decision Page 5
