Occupational Hazard: The Ultimate Workplace Romance Box Set
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Occupational Hazard
The Ultimate Workplace Romance Box Set
Eve Langlais
Cathryn Fox
Mandy Harbin
Parker Kincade
Cassandra Carr
Ann Mayburn
Ros Clarke
Lilly Cain
Delilah Devlin
Cari Quinn
Copyright © May 2014
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Kim Killion © April 2014
Formatting by JTLW Design
www.JTLWDesign.com
Penning Princess Publishing
P.O. Box 13188, Maumelle, AR 72113
www.penningprincess.com
ISBN: 978-1-941467-03-9
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from the author.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Table of Contents
Occupational Hazard
My Secretary, My Mistress Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Yours To Take Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Against Company Policy Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
White Collar Cowboy: A Shadow Maverick Ranch Novella Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Seducing Chase Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
First Kiss Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Flirting with the Camera Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
No Restraints Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Pleasing Sir Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Shadowboxer Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
My Secretary, My Mistress
Eve Langlais
Copyright © 1st edition, July 2010, Eve Langlais
Copyright © 2nd edition, May 2014, Eve Langlais
2nd Edition, Edited by Devin Govaere
2nd Edition, Copy Edited by Amanda L. Pederick
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
1606 Main Street, PO Box 151
Stittsville, Ontario, Canada, K2S1A3
http://www.EveLanglais.com
ISBN: 978-1-927459-51-5
My Secretary, My Mistress is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Chapter One
What on earth is he doing?
Feigning sleep, Isabelle listened as Grant snuck out of her bed like a thief—tip toeing around her bedroom and barely breathing, as if desperate to evade capture. She heard the faint rustle of clothing get yanked on, a zipper being pulled. She peeked through slitted eyes as he readied himself for escape. He didn’t cast any fond glances in her direction, which admittedly miffed her.
Could he truly be so callous after the night they spent? A night of frantic lovemaking in which he’d caressed and explored every inch of her flesh. Surely, he felt some remnant of the passion they’d shared. Her own body still ached pleasantly. Actually, it would take very little to reignite the flame of her desire.
The moment of truth dawned. Fully dressed, cell phone tucked in his pocket, he faced the doorway out of her room but at the last moment, he approached the bed and placed a soft kiss upon her brow. She pretended she slept, but as he turned to walk away, she couldn’t stop the half smile that curved her lips.
He’s mine now.
How wrong she was.
Monday morning at the offic
e, Grant acted as if nothing had happened. As if he’d not seen her naked and panting beneath him as he thrust into her. Pretended as if they were nothing more than boss and employee. Was he acting indifferently to throw the others in the office off?
“Isabelle, would you get me a cup of coffee, two sugars, one cream and while you’re at it, dig out the files for the Peterman case,” he demanded, not even bothering to look up.
Wearing a brand new pantsuit that showed off her curvy figure, Isabelle bit her tongue instead of having a hissy fit at his indifference. We’re at work, and I know how dedicated he is. Grant’s always been a by the books kind of guy. He’s just making sure no one suspects he’s fraternizing with an employee. You watch. He’ll probably take me to lunch or dinner. Maybe an afternoon delight at a nearby hotel …
That didn’t happen. Instead of getting her flowers, or making plans for later, heck even giving her ass a discreet pinch, her boss left the office on supposed business and didn’t return for the rest of the day. It was as if he intentionally wanted to avoid her.
Annoyed, Isabelle took the bus home and shook herself a double martini with an extra olive. How could she have misjudged him so badly? I could have sworn he liked me. After all, he couldn’t get enough of me on Saturday …
Just thinking about that passionate rendezvous had her squirming in her seat. And to think it happened by accident. They’d worked late, the paperwork on a deal requiring overtime. Grant offered her a ride home, which she accepted. He in turn said yes when she invited him in for a drink.
One thing led to another and next thing she knew, they were going at it like wild animals. Who could have imagined the wild man that hid beneath those prim and proper suits?
Such grand plans she’d had for the two of them, plans involving a repeat performance at the very least. However, with his actions, she saw those fantasies dissolve. It was hard to imagine any kind of a future when Grant acted as if she barely existed. Or was it more of a case he didn’t clearly remember?
Surely, he hadn’t been that drunk. They’d only had the two bottles of wine. And even if he’d over imbibed before they started, he sure as hell was sober by the time they were done.
It made no sense, which was why she returned to her other theory, the one that said he didn’t want to be caught socializing with romantic intent at work. That had to be the reason. Their big boss, the one everybody in the company obeyed, frowned upon office affairs.
If that’s the case, I can respect that. But she needed to know for sure. Ladylike or not, I’ll approach him after work and ask him. Did she suffer from denial? Possibly, since she refused to acknowledge the fact that he possessed her phone number and could have called her anytime.
The following day, Isabelle dressed to the nines—short black skirt, which hugged her curvy bottom, white silk blouse with a hint of transparency and clung to her lace bra. She wore matching thong panties and garters. Dressing sexy made her feel sexy, and confident. Try to ignore me now.
She knew she looked good and so she arrived at the office with an expectant smile, only to again find herself disappointed.
Tuesday ended up a repeat of Monday with Grant barely acknowledging her existence and never once meeting her eyes. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t run away two days in a row, so instead, he closeted himself in his office, feigning phone calls whenever she popped in to bring him files.
The more aloof he acted, the more Isabelle’s irritation grew. How dare he ignore me after playing with my body so intimately? How dare he treat her this way? It didn’t matter he’d made her no promises, he could at least not act like a total jerk!
Her attempts at engaging him in conversation were met with polite evasions, and somehow she couldn’t manage to speak to him alone after work. She swore he monitored her actions so he could dash out the door while she was answering a call.
On Wednesday, she tried to corner him. She kept an eye on a call she transferred to him, and as soon as the red light blinked off she marched into his space without knocking. She spoke before he could, “Grant, last about Saturday night—”
“Sorry, I’m needed down in accounting,” he said, cutting her off abruptly. “Can this wait until later?”
Of course, later never came.
By the end of the day on Thursday, Isabelle had reached her boiling point. As if he’d trained as a military operative, Grant evaded her using skills and techniques that defied belief. And it wasn’t because she didn’t try. She even stooped so low as to employ the oops-I-dropped-my-pencil routine while wearing a stupidly short skirt with her flimsiest panties.
For a moment, when she’d straightened, she thought she saw a flicker of smoldering interest in his eyes, but just as quickly the polite mask she’d come to hate blanketed over his face again.
Screw this. She needed to attack this dilemma differently. Instead of waiting for him to act or say something to acknowledge what had transpired between them and continue from there—even if that place was nowhere--she created a plan of her own, called Operation: Get The Boss. It was simple, really, and to a scorned secretary, a form of poetic justice.
On Friday, she brought what she needed to accomplish her first objective in a large carry all. When Grant told her at five o’clock via the intercom that he would be working late, she was ready. She didn’t say a word of protest when the jerk ordered her to run across the street to fetch him some dinner before she left—with no mention of dinner for her, of course.
No matter. It gave her the perfect excuse to implement her plan and bring him to heel.
Chapter Two
Awareness returned with turtle-like slowness. Discomfort was immediate, and overall, confusion reigned supreme. What the hell?
Grant opened heavy eyelids to see that he still sat in his office. I must have fallen asleep, which is odd, because the last thing I remember is eating dinner. Alone, because he didn’t dare lead Isabelle on even if he hated the confusion, hurt and more lately anger in her eyes. But he didn’t have a choice.
Attempts to shift his stiff body into a more comfortable position failed. The reason was quickly obvious. His forearms were bound to the armrests of his chair, and his torso was lashed to the back.
“What the fuck?” The expletive spilled from his lips as he pulled at the restraints holding him prisoner. After a few minutes of straining and cursing, he realized he couldn’t break free. His many hours on the squash court and gym toned muscles were no match for the superman strength required to liberate him from the silver duct tape wound around his forearms and the armrests of his chair.
Unsure how he’d gotten into this position, he debated calling for help. What if whoever did this to me is still here? What if they come back and do something worse? Was he a hostage? A victim of robbery? A potential body in a not yet fulfilled murder?
All chilling thoughts. And all egocentric ones. What of Isabelle? Sweet, gentle, sexy Isabelle. I remember her bringing me my dinner. Did she manage to leave before my attack or has my assailant done something to her, too?
He hoped not.
She didn’t deserve mistreatment. She’d borne enough because of him. Despite the situation, burning shame crept through him. Only a true asshole wouldn’t have noticed the way she expectantly watched him all week. Confusion had filled her eyes each time he’d met her gaze and pretended not to see her silent plea to acknowledge the special moment they’d shared. Someone paint him yellow, because yes, he had taken the cowardly route and ignored her--even if he couldn’t forget what happened Saturday night, the most glorious, passion filled night of his life.
But one night of bliss was not enough to make him throw away years of dedication. Years of doing the right thing. Why the hell am I even thinking about that now? Who cares if I want to touch and taste her again? I need to find a way to free myself.
Playing the part of victim went against every grain of Grant’s being. He liked his job as man in charge. Enjoyed the power he wielded that had people dancing to his tune.
The fact that someone so easily managed to subdue him--and in his own office!--stuck in his craw. If this gets out, I’ll be a laughingstock.
But at least he’d be alive.
The not knowing what his duct tape assailant intended was the worst. It meant he had to swallow his pride and ask for help.
Grant eyed the touchtone phone on his desk. His hands might not work, but perhaps if he maneuvered himself, he could use his face to make a call. After all, it worked in the movies.
Dragging his chair, using his feet Fred Flintstone style—and thanking himself for ordering one with wheels—he rolled to the left side of his desk where his phone sat. After several irritating moments of trying to maneuver himself into the right spot, he finally drew close enough to nudge the handset aside with his jaw. Then he was faced with a daunting dilemma.
How do I push the buttons?
Glad nobody was there to see him use his nose—a facial trait that had been described as aristocratic by more than one lady—he attempted to press the numbers that would contact the guard in the lobby. He’d vetoed a call to nine-one-one, as the humiliation and emasculation at having strangers find him trussed like a turkey would have been more than he could bear. It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to ask that goof of a night watchman to free me. And if the minimum wage guy dared to take pictures, he’d find himself in the unemployment line so fast, he’d have whiplash.
The phone rang, and rang again. No one answered. Didn’t it figure the guy was on break. Grant continued to let it ring though. Sooner or later, someone was bound to answer. He heard a double beep, signaling that the call had transferred to another department. Probably the answering service. Not ideal, but duct taped CEO’s couldn’t be choosers. He waited impatiently for someone to answer. A sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead as he thought about what to say. A click sounded as the line was picked up.
“Hello, Grant,” his secretary said in a dulcet tone. “Can I assist you?”
Of all the people to answer. He almost groaned. He didn’t want her to see him so ignobly captured. “Isabelle? Listen, can you get the guard up to my office? I kind of have a problem.”
“Oh, my. You sound so serious. I’ll be there in a moment.” She hung up.
And Grant cursed. While happy Isabelle obviously wasn’t a victim, his need for rescue warred with his desire to not appear weak in front of Isabelle.