Executive Package

by Cleo Peitsche

  “I didn’t mean to let you down,” she said.

  He looked so disappointed that she began crying again.

  “Well done,” Jonathan snapped. He pulled Elle into his arms. A moment later, the door opened and closed as Cunningham left. “Ignore his callousness,” Jonathan said. “He’s worried that you’re embarrassed about us.”

  “I’m not,” Elle managed between sobs.

  “And he knows that. Cunningham has many strengths, but heaven knows that tenderness doesn’t come naturally. Seeing you cry is breaking his heart. It makes him feel helpless.”

  “But you aren’t acting like that.”

  “I’m not Cunningham. I see the humor in the situation. We’re going to be called names—all of us—and we’re going to have to adjust. All of us. You’re going to be very wealthy soon, Elle. No matter who you choose, you’ll be married to a billionaire. Well, I’m only worth about 900 million, but it’s close enough. You’re going to have an enviably charmed life, and we intend to spoil you. It will bring out the worst in others. They’ll be jealous. Logically, you understand that. It’s their problem, not yours.”

  His soothing words stemmed the tide of tears again, and he handed her another tissue.

  “My mother… when she finds out what people are saying…” She shrugged helplessly as she looked into his stunningly handsome face and his gorgeous blue eyes.

  “Ah. That’s what it’s about. You’re embarrassed, but not about what the world thinks. I think Cunningham would understand that… but let’s not tell him.” A little smile played on Jonathan’s lips. “You were caught off-guard. We were caught off-guard. But it’s not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.”

  “What do I do?”

  He smiled and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well… we could ask Nolan to buy up every major news outlet in the world and drown the story that way. What do you think? Overkill?”

  “No, not overkill.” She laughed. “Ok, maybe so.”

  “At the very least, I want you to turn off your phone and the internet for a little while. Just get back to your life. In the meantime, there are some things I can handle to minimize some of the more… annoying… aspects of your newfound fame.” He helped her stand. “Good?”

  She smoothed the bottom of her dress, which had wrinkled because she hadn’t sat carefully. It was amazing how much better she felt after letting go in Jonathan’s arms. “Surprisingly, yes.”

  He smiled warmly, sexy little lines crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she was suddenly aware of the closeness of his muscular body. All the morning’s excitement seemed to be fueling her libido, creating an urgent physical need for this man, who had ridden in like a knight on a white horse to rescue her.

  Jonathan kissed her gently, and she pressed against him and discovered she wasn’t alone in indulging impure thoughts. He reluctantly pulled away. “I would love nothing so much as to pull the swing down and fuck you right here, but I do need to see this client. Unless you feel sex is necessary for you to survive the morning?” he added hopefully.

  Elle burst out laughing. “You always know what to say. You really are the perfect man.”

  His smile brightened, making Elle feel even better. “Feel free to use my bathroom to freshen up, and take as long as you need.” He headed for the door.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He turned. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t comfort you? And remember, kill your phone and internet. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  His smile was radiant. “Thank you,” he said, and left.

  Elle turned and took in his office. She spent a lot of time there, but never alone. It seemed too large, too empty, without her lovers.

  On the surface, it could pass for a completely normal place to do… whatever it was that the co-partner of a successful design and advertising firm did when he wasn’t lounging on the sofa and reading trade journals. But she knew the truth. She ran her fingers over the cool, polished surface of his desk and detected a whiff of citrus wood cleaner.

  No, not a normal office at all. For starters, there was a sex swing hidden in the ceiling. Then there was the low, padded bench that made for a very comfortable place to recline while having her mouth and pussy fucked at the same time, and with Cunningham underneath her, his arms wrapped around her body, she could have all of her holes stuffed at once. If she hadn’t known the bench’s true purpose, she never would have guessed.

  There were restraints that dangled from the ceiling and along the wall. They, like the swing, were currently stowed. And maybe that was the reason the office seemed sad. No sex toys.

  Laughing at herself, she slowly walked into the bathroom. It was sparkling clean. She looked longingly at the large tub that was perfect for warm bubble baths. Maybe at the end of the workday, if her bosses fucked her in the office, they’d take her into the tub afterward.

  She cleaned off her ruined eyeliner and reapplied her makeup, and since she knew there was a curling iron in one of the cabinets, she took the time to add some spirals to her hair. She stared at her reflection and tried to imagine what people must think when they saw her with these men.

  Objectively speaking, she was average. On the pretty side, but still average. No one had ever fawned over her eyes or skin or hair, and while her body was fine, she was hardly a lingerie model. Though the personal trainer she sometimes hired, and the expensive salon visits she could now afford, made her almost pretty, she knew the truth.

  Cunningham’s criticism rang in her ears. Too insecure.

  She ran her fingers through her hair and shook out the curls until they fell loosely around her shoulders. She tried to evaluate herself as a stranger might, hoping to find something that set her apart from the millions of other women in their early twenties.

  Nope. Nothing. She was always Elle, would always be Elle.

  But a spritz of bold perfume that Cunningham had bought for her, rubbed on her inner wrists and neck, made her feel a lot sexier.

  The curling iron hadn’t cooled yet, so she just unplugged it, then used a fresh towel to wipe up the splashed water on the sink basin. The cleaning crew would restore everything to perfection, but the bathroom was so pretty that she didn’t feel right leaving strands of hair in the sink. Once things were tidy, she switched off the light and wandered out, closing the bathroom door behind her.

  She liked Jonathan’s office. It felt safe. Now that her sinuses were clear, she could smell the mingled, very faint traces of aftershave from all three men, the scents threaded together into something that both calmed and excited her, and most definitely filled her with longing. Maybe she couldn’t have them with her right now, but this was almost as good.

  And Jonathan had said she could stay as long as she wanted. He wouldn’t mind. Cunningham… she wouldn’t have dared stay in his office without permission. Cunningham was scary, there was no doubt about that, but he was trying. At this point, she was intimidated by him because it was a habit. He had taken her into his bed and carefully made love to her. He’d sworn to do it gently and for as many times as she needed to be convinced of his love.

  But that didn’t change the fact that he was a frightening man. Maybe if he didn’t glower so much…

  She sat at Jonathan’s desk and opened his laptop. It took her a fast moment to log into the company’s network, and another moment to access her unfinished projects. She brought up the logo she’d been working on the last few days.

  It was a pro bono job for an after-school program aimed at mentoring children whose parents needed to work and couldn’t afford a babysitter. The program recently received an injection of grant money, which allowed them to expand, and, as the director explained, they needed to look professional.

  Their previous logo had been done by a former intern who hadn’t quite mastered clip art. Elle found it charmingly earnest, and immediately saw a few ways to keep the theory behind the old logo while updating it. She’d quickly volunteered to take
on the project. While researching the organization’s background, she realized their website was badly in need of a redesign, so she started jotting down ideas for that, too.

  She had plans for a mobile app as well, one that would allow parents to connect with their children, though maybe that was overstepping her position. And anyway that wasn’t her area of expertise. Still, she could see what it would look like, how it might function, and she was sure that someone could do the programming.

  Within a few minutes, the world fell away and she was immersed in the minutiae of her work. She loved this hypnotic, deep attention to detail. And she was good at it. Some designers had innovative ideas but lacked the technical skills to execute their vision.

  Her favorite college professor had told her that she was rare in that her ideas and skill set were evenly matched. The professor, a severe and serious woman in her sixties who had won multiple genius grants, never gushed with praise, but Elle had realized she was being encouraged.

  Maybe, if she really was going to be as rich as her boyfriends seemed hellbent on making her, she should use her skills for good. It wasn’t like the world would bemoan the loss of another cog in the advertising machine.

  She smiled. Cunningham would flip out if she left to start her own boutique agency. She should bring it up. Make it a condition of deciding who to marry. At the very least, it would be worth seeing the look on his face.

  The door opened, and one of Cunningham’s assistants leaned in. His brow furrowed as he threw the door wider. “Been looking all over for you. I was starting to think you’d ducked out.”

  “Where on earth would I go?” She quickly saved the project and stood, feeling self-conscious about being in the boss’s office unsupervised. “What do you need?”

  “You,” he said, looking at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. “In the conference room. You’re late.”

  She glanced at her watch. It was 11:20. “Crap!” Her ankle twisted as she hurried around the desk.

  “I tried your cell,” he said. “And email.”

  As they approached the main conference room, she was surprised at how quiet it was. It wasn’t long before she realized why. The fifteen employees and two clients were all completely silent. Eighteen busy, important people, including Cunningham, had been waiting for the last twenty minutes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Cunningham, then to the clients, Karl Mains and Gustav Black. She knew these men, had been loaned to them by Cunningham. They had touched her, kissed her, and oh yes, they had fucked her. They knew who she was and what she needed in a way that the newspapers never would, thank goodness. Her mouth went dry as she remembered the paparazzi and her sister’s texts.

  Cunningham stared at her, a warning in his eyes. He was very upset, and this time it was clearly directed at her.

  “Nice to see you, Elle,” Gustav said. Under normal circumstances, his sexy accent would have made her shiver.

  “Hello,” she replied. Gustav was in his mid-forties, athletic and sexy. He was the oldest man she’d ever been with, and a natural dominant. She felt her face coloring as she remembered what his cock had felt like in her mouth.

  And judging from the twinkle in his eye, he had a pretty good idea of what had just crossed her mind.

  She murmured a greeting to Karl, then took a seat at the back of the table. She folded her hands in front of her and stared at her nails, afraid to meet Cunningham’s disapproving gaze.

  “Now that we’re all here, we can discuss the logistics of this division of labor. Rather than divert resources from the soft launch, I think it’s easiest if we hire someone new to redo the commercials.” Cunningham’s voice was too deep and rumbly for Elle to pay close attention to his words, and really, she was only there because Gustav and Karl thought she had good taste. They represented a multinational company that sometimes subcontracted help when their in-house advertising department was overwhelmed.

  Karl had even offered her a job, no sex attached.

  “What do you think, Elle?” Cunningham asked.

  Seventeen heads swiveled her way. She blinked. “I’m… not sure,” she said. “Let me think about it a moment.” She had absolutely no idea what he was referring to.

  She wished Jonathan were there; he always took pity on her. Even Nolan would sometimes throw her a lifeline… especially if it meant he’d get to tease her about it later. But Cunningham just stared at her, disappointment and annoyance blazing in his dark eyes.

  He sighed. “And now that you’ve thought about it?”

  Damn. She opened her mouth to confess that she’d missed the question—after being so very late—but Gustav cleared his throat. “You’re very polite, Elle. Sorry, C, but if she’s not excited about it, I’m out.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Elle protested. Cunningham was going to kill her. He must have asked if she thought they could handle the extra workload. “Actually, I think it’s a great idea. There might be some adjustments, but I have no doubt we can handle them.” She smiled and heaved a little sigh of relief.

  Cunningham shook his head slightly. “I thought you loved that deli,” he said.

  Oh. The deli. She’d fought with Cunningham to get it added to the list of approved catering places. The food was solidly good and not the least bit pretentious, unlike the caterers that Cunningham preferred.

  “The deli, yeah,” she said. “What I mean is that I just don’t know if they can come up with enough food on such short notice.”

  “Of course they can. It’s what they do,” Cunningham growled. He picked up the phone, pushed a few buttons, and unleashed a torrent of demands at the unfortunate soul on the other end of the line. Elle took in his broad jaw, his Adam’s apple. She knew what he smelled like there, all masculine and yummy, but right now he was plain scary.

  Cunningham hung up. “Lunch should be here by noon, and I apologize again for the delay.”

  “Not a problem,” Gustav insisted, his thick accent making each word he said as sexy as if he were reading a dirty story aloud. “We weren’t keen on attending our luncheon. You’ve presented us with the perfect excuse.” Even though his words were politic, his natural dominance made Elle feel even guiltier. It took every fiber of her being not to kneel on the floor and beg his forgiveness.

  What was it about these men that made her instantly submissive?

  Elle paid close attention for the rest of the meeting. When the caterer arrived with platters of fresh sandwiches, buttery pastries, and brightly colored, fresh-cut fruit, Cunningham ordered his employees to work while they ate. Then he grabbed a platter of sandwiches. “Gustav, Karl, let’s go someplace where we can talk. You too, Elle.” He ran his gaze over the assembled group. “Someone notify Jonathan and Nolan, tell them we’ll be in Room Four. And we’ll need a ruler.”

  A ruler? Elle quickly rose to her feet and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. If Cunningham wanted a ruler, it wasn’t because he needed to draw a straight line or measure something. He intended to punish her.

  She followed the three well-dressed men to a smaller conference room. Cunningham placed the platter on the table, then shut the door. “Remove your clothes,” he said.

  He hadn’t spoken very loudly, so Elle wasn’t sure that she had heard correctly. Then he grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the table, his grip firm. “Clothes off. You kept these gentlemen waiting, and now you’re going to wait on them.”

  Her eyes darted to the clients. Karl was in his early thirties—likely younger than Cunningham—but his thick hair was prematurely graying. If not for that, he could have passed for a decade younger. He had the body of a serious athlete, a tennis player, perhaps, or a swimmer.

  He stared pointedly at her mouth, his green eyes filled with eager anticipation. He had nearly choked her with his cock the first few times they met. She was much better at giving head now, and she wondered if her skills had progressed to the point where she’d be able to handle his enthusiasm.

  “Maybe,
if I suck you all, you don’t have to use the ruler,” she pleaded, staring up into Cunningham’s stern face. His lip curled in irritation at her disobedience, and she began to fumble with the bottom of her dress.

  “I don’t see that she’s made much improvement as a submissive,” Gustav said. “When was the last time she had a proper spanking?”

  Cunningham bristled at the veiled insult. He pulled Elle toward him and yanked the dress off of her, tossing it aside. Elle quickly crossed her arms over her chest, ducking her head so that she could smooth her mussed, staticky hair.

  “What do you say, girl?” Cunningham asked.

  “Thank you, sir, for helping me.” Her voice trembled. He spun her, unhooked her bra and pulled it away. “Thank you, sir,” she said. Her nipples pebbled in the cool room. She sensed Gustav and Karl staring at them, and she knew that underneath their sinfully expensive suits, their cocks were hardening.

  “Gentlemen, please have a seat,” Cunningham said.

  Elle knew better than to sit, so she waited quietly, wondering what Cunningham had in mind.

  The door opened, and Nolan and Jonathan entered. A dark look crossed Nolan’s face, but Jonathan laughed. “Oh, Elle,” he said. “What did you do this time?”

  “Nothing,” she snapped, embarrassed. Her reaction only made Jonathan laugh again, and she shot him a miserable look. To her relief, she noticed that his hands were empty. Maybe Nolan’s were, too…

  Cunningham wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and forced her to bend over. “Think carefully about how you talk to him,” he said. He smacked his wide palm on her ass, catching the curve of her buttock and making her flesh shudder. He pulled her closer and smacked her again, hard, the sound like a gunshot.

  He stopped at two, though, and she exhaled, closing her eyes, relieved it was already over. But then small, metal teeth bit into her nipples. She looked down and saw that Cunningham had fixed clamps on them. A short, golden chain swung between the cruel devices.

  He used a single finger to tug the chain downward, and she gasped, tears forming in her eyes. It wasn’t just the pain, which was still tolerable. That Cunningham was punishing her like this, in front of others… she shifted her weight from foot to foot, dancing.