by Marian Tee
I looked forward to it. Not.
When I got to my cubicle, I found a Post-It note stuck on my LCD screen from Charli, asking us to review the latest projects of Kastein Entertainment.
Around 10 in the morning, Charli dropped by to check on our progress. By then, it became clear to all of us that we represented different categories. I was given the YA and romantic comedies, George was there for the fighting series like Naruto and Pokemon as well as yaoi. Yaoi or shounen-ai was an umbrella term for M/M stories. Apparently, Kastein wanted to capitalize on the Brokeback craze. As for Arian, she represented the adult chick lit genre, focusing on manga and Asian works that were along the lines of Bridget Jones’ Diary and Erin Brockovich.
My greatest fear about the job was not being able to contribute, but as the day progressed, I gradually – happily – realized that this job was really meant for me. With my fluency in Japanese and Mandarin, I was able to obtain more information about the various series I could recommend to the company. I wasn’t restricted to English translated sites but instead I could dig deeper into the blogs of both mangaka and their readers.
I was so engrossed with what I was doing that I hadn’t noticed lunchtime had come and gone. By the time my stomach let out a loud growling protest that had Arian glaring at me and George chuckling, it was already three in the afternoon.
Big mistake, I could hear the ever-practical Alyx tutting in my head. Never show your boss you’re having so much fun at work that you’re willing to skip lunch. They’ll come to expect it from you all the time after.
“Could you tell Charli I went out for a quick lunch?” I asked George as I grabbed my purse from the table.
George nodded, eyes glued on the screen. He seemed just as engrossed as I was with his own work. “I’ll text you if she needs something urgent.”
“Thanks,” I said over my shoulder, already on my way out.
Arian and I did not look at each other as I left.
Yup, bitter frenemies it really was.
Employees of Kastein, Inc. had access to a private cafeteria in 30/F, which looked more like a hotel lobby holding a gourmet food fair. The staff was dressed in – you guessed it – entirely in black. One section of the cafeteria had cozy crescent-shaped booths while the rest had matching sets of steel-legged tables and chairs accessorized with the finest tablecloths and cushions, both also in black.
All of us had daily meal allowances. How much you spent depended on your job level. Right now, I had $10 to spend each day and anything I incurred more than that I had to pay out of pocket.
To take your one-hour lunch break, you need to clock out. Most people already had by the time the machine scanned my fingerprints. Overhead, a huge board showed a list of the initials of every employee working for Kastein, Inc. The light next to my initials blinked blue, which meant I was on a break. It would turn green once I clock back in or red if I didn’t show up for work.
My eyes strayed unconsciously to the top of the board, where Constantijin’s own initials were also on display.
Blue.
There went my heart, racing all the way to the finish line of utter emotional stupidity and winning first place.
The cafeteria was nearly deserted when I went through the swing doors. One table at the corner was occupied by giggling interns as they repeatedly looked over their shoulders.
Their subject of interest?
He had his back to mine, but the exquisite color of his hair was easily recognizable. I quickly turned around and walked to the Italian station, my heart torn between wishing he’d see me and wishing he wouldn’t.
I asked for spaghetti with meatballs and iced cappuccino, waited patiently for my order because I was too busy trying not to think about Constantijin, and afterwards chose a table next to the windows, far from the giggling girls.
As I took a sip of my coffee, I took a very surreptitious glance at where Constantijin was sitting.
He wasn’t there.
Disappointment made my shoulders droop and I took comfort by twirling a nice amount of spaghetti with my fork and feeding myself. Soon enough, the delightful taste made me temporarily forget about Dutch playboys and mini-orgasms. I closed my eyes, savoring the wonderful texture and spicy taste of my meatballs.
When I opened my eyes, Constantijin was seated across me, a familiar wicked grin playing on his lips, a glass of water in one hand. He was dressed in another pinstriped suit, charcoal gray this time, and one that also defined the broadness of his shoulders. His pale blue shirt underneath was partially unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his chest – the very same chest I was able to---
Aghast at where my thoughts were heading, I hissed, “You shouldn’t be here!” Then I remembered where we were and who I was talking to and I added reluctantly, “sir.”
He laughed when he saw me looking around nervously. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want anyone to know – see – I was talking to him, much less sharing a table with him. It smacked of inappropriateness, the kind that could either get me fired or talked about in sly and hushed tones. Luckily – or unluckily, I couldn’t really decide at the moment – no one was around and even the giggling interns were nowhere in sight.
Settling his glass down on the table, he said, “You certainly took your time coming here.”
My eyes widened. He had been waiting for me?
When I didn’t answer, a wry crooked grin touched his lips. “Do you do that deliberately?”
Frowning in confusion, I asked, “Do what?”
“Drive me crazy with your silence. You don’t talk when most women would and you talk when I expect you not to.”
When I didn’t say anything, he sighed, “And you’re doing it again.”
Biting my lip, I confessed, “I’m not doing it deliberately. I just don’t know what to say when I’m around you.” It was true. I liked talking – a lot. But when Constantijin was around, I couldn’t help getting tongue-tied, couldn’t help being on my guard either because with just that first time we had met, he had so easily shown me how utterly weak my body was in his presence.
He leaned close, so suddenly I almost jumped in my seat like a frightened rabbit. “What?” I asked almost defensively.
“Why did you run?”
I blurted out, “Why didn’t you run after me?” As soon as the words were out, I cursed myself nonstop. Shit. Idiot. Dummy. Why did I have to give myself away like that?
Incredulity shone in Constantijin’s eyes, and I gazed back at him challengingly, warily. I tensed when he started to speak.
“Because I don’t.” His answer shouldn’t have surprised me but it did, his voice implacably hard when he spoke those three little words.
“I want you, Yanna.”
Still more than a little hurt at his rejection – because that was how it felt to me – I said stiffly, “Well, you can’t have me.”
His voice became seductive. “You and I both know that’s a lie. But I don’t want to force you. I want you to come to me willingly and I’ll do whatever---”
Unable to bear hearing more because I knew they were all true, I cut him off desperately. “Constantijin---”
“I love it when you say my name,” he breathed.
I love it when you say mine, too, I thought sadly. Too much so, and that was the problem.
I gazed at him, this time not bothering to hide the plea in my eyes. “I’m not in your league, Constantijin. I don’t do one-night stands. I don’t do affairs. I’m just…not like you,” I ended helplessly.
“I know what you’re saying, schat,” he answered, and the way his eyes burned through me made me swallow. Oh God. His eyes told me that right now he was hard – had been from the start. For me.
Moisture formed between my legs in response.
Triumph blazed from his eyes. “But it’s too late. The moment you walked into my office, with your pink suit and sunny smile – the way you talked to me without flirting, the way you entranced every man in the room without even b
eing aware of it---”
His words made my body so heavy with desire I couldn’t breathe. He was painting a woman I didn’t recognize and yet the way he was staring at me so intensely told me I was her.
“I want to be inside you very badly, Yanna, and I will have you.”
I wanted to look away but couldn’t. His gaze had once again enslaved me, and it was all I could do not to lean toward him and beg for his touch. In a last-ditch effort to save myself, I said shakily, “Can’t we just be friends?”
Without warning, I found myself being yanked forward from underneath the table, and I let out a soft gasp of shock as I felt his hand go under my skirt.
I stiffened.
“Sssh, darling, or people would know,” he whispered.
I tried inching away but he retaliated by cupping my throbbing core, his hand large enough to brand every inch with his touch. “If you keep moving, I’ll tear your---”
“I won’t move!” I half-gasped the words out even as I glared at him.
But this only made his grin widen.
Then I felt his fingers going under the lacy fabric and my back shot up even straighter. “No, Con---” I bit back a moan when his fingers drew a straight line against my flesh, parallel to its folds, before he pressed his thumb ever so softly against the tiny nub of flesh that even I had never touched myself.
“Do you want me to make you come?” His teasing words were accompanied by movement from his fingers, its tips darting in and out of me but never really going inside.
Driven crazy by need, I actually found myself inching forward as if by doing so I could trap his fingers inside me. Oh God, what was happening to me? Constantijin Kastein was a stranger by almost all accounts. Yet here I was, craving his touch like an addiction I couldn’t live without.
“Yanna.”
“Yes,” I whimpered.
“You have to promise to keep quiet, though.”
I nodded, unable to say anything more because his fingers were moving again, going up and down against my sheath.
“Are you ready?”
“Ye---” My mouth parted in a silent scream of agonized pleasure because Constantijin had again taken me by surprise, sliding his finger in and out in a rhythm that made a huge shudder go through my body.
“Quiet, schat.”
I nodded, gripping the tablecloth desperately with one hand as I did my best to prevent my body from meeting the thrusts of his fingers. I was so wet and crazy for desire for him that even this very first penetration of my body didn’t hurt. If anything, it just left me wanting for more and more.
“Do you want it faster?”
I nodded, and closed my eyes when his fingers thrust in and out in increased speed, making me catch my breath.
“Harder?”
I nodded again, not wanting to speak. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d end up moaning my pleasure instead.
His fingers fucked me harder and faster this time, and I nearly buckled in my seat when a second finger penetrated me. Oh, oh---a third finger? This was too much.
“Yanna.” His voice was thick with desire now, almost guttural again.
I had to force myself to open my eyes.
“I want you to come now.”
My breath hitched.
“I want you to come by impaling yourself with my fingers – get it as deep as you can inside you. All right, sweetheart?”
I could only gaze at him in muted desire.
“Say yes,” he gritted out.
“Yes.”
“Then do it now.” And almost as if we had rehearsed this a thousand times, he shoved his fingers in just as I lifted my hips to meet his thrust. I bit my lip hard as I convulsed around him, aware of the wetness trickling out and to my upper thighs.
Dizzy with pleasure, I watched Constantijin take a handkerchief from his pocket and dip it in water. After a moment, I felt the cold touch of the fabric on my thighs. My legs parted on its own as Constantijin efficiently cleaned me under the table while his other hand drummed a lazy beat on the table, his golden gaze burning bright with satisfaction.
“You are right, sweetheart,” he murmured when he pulled his hand away, seemingly satisfied with how he’s cleaned me up. His lips curved in a knowing smile when he heard my legs immediately snapping shut the moment he withdrew his hand.
Still trying to keep my legs from trembling and wondering if I could actually walk a straight line after the very first orgasm I had in my life, I asked shakily, “I’m right about what?”
“This friendship of ours.” He came to his feet in a fluid movement, utterly gorgeous and unflappable, not one bit of him betraying the fact that he had just gotten me into engaging in a public act of sex with him.
He smiled at me again. “I like this kind of friendship, Yanna. I look forward to more of it.”
Lesson #5
Don’t let yourself be rattled by your billionaire.
He’ll see it as a come-on and find more ways to rattle you even more.
My weekend was spent lazing around in Alyx’s home. She hadn’t wanted to charge me for rent, but I had insisted. All our meals consisted of take-outs from nearby delis and fast food chains, since both of hadn’t a clue of cooking. When she left Sunday to meet up with another set of friends, I quickly used the time to Google more information about Constantijin. I couldn’t help it. He was already an obsession – but one I couldn’t bear anyone knowing about.
Just this week alone, more photos of Constantijin came up, with a different arm candy for every event he attended. From the gossip rags, I also learned that he had left the country to sail with his friends, two other billionaires who were almost as gorgeous as he was. A famous celebrity paparazzi referred to them collectively as the Three Pussketeers. I totally agreed, even though the name also made my heart twinge.
God, I was pathetic. Any more of this and I was, like, so applying for some kind of hard casing for my heart. It had to be tougher to survive more attacks of seduction from Netherland’s #1 playboy.
I came in as early as I could to work on Monday, but Charli was already ensconced in her ultra-savvy chair when I got to our office. She also had a new set of Post-Its stuck to our LCDs, and she was fast becoming like Donald Rumsfeld in that sense. In Woodward’s State of Denial – I had this weird thing for political controversies and cover-ups – the author had revealed how Rumsfeld, who was still the Defense Secretary of the US then, would issue white sticky notes whenever he had new responsibilities and duties for his people. They called them snowflakes, and most of those sticky notes had been about the war in Iraq.
Glancing at my own set of snowflakes, I had to wonder what kind of war Charli was waging on behalf of Kastein Inc.’s.
My Post-It asked for a Power Point presentation for a manga series I could recommend which had the Big Three – romance, action, and comedy. And just because Charli had a lot of faith in us three – it said so in her snowflake! – we’d be presenting our recommendation to a small group of middle managers this very afternoon.
I buckled down immediately for work, which I found totally fun and challenging – a great combination that got my heart pumping almost as fast as it tended to do whenever Constantijin – shit, fuck, damn.
I’m not going to think about him, I’m not, I chanted to myself silently.
Determinedly refocusing on my presentation, I asked George, “Do you know how to import videos to Power Point?”
“Sorry, hun, not one clue,” he answered right away.
Swallowing my pride, I asked, “Arian?”
She gave me a wide-eyed stare that I totally wasn’t buying. “Not a clue either.” Today, she was dressed in another come-hither outfit. You would think that guys would get used to her D-cups but no. As days passed by, George told me that Arian’s fan club of lechers just seemed to grow and grow in number.
Her face was also perfectly made up, as always – the one thing that I secretly envied her for. I loved dressing up, but cosmetics? Not s
o much. Mascara, powder, and lip gloss was just about my limit while I had a feeling Arian even trimmed her nose hair. Whatever. Good for her.
At half past noon, I slipped out to buy an energy bar from the vendo machine, unaware that behind the tinted windows was a pair of golden eyes following my every movement.
The energy bar was yummy – but insufficient. I slid another note into the slit and punched the necessary button, but this time nothing come out.
“Oh, come on!” I couldn’t afford any delays right now.
“Here, let me.” Someone spoke from behind and a moment later, a dark haired guy was bending down slightly, rapping one fist on the side of the vendo machine.
The energy bar finally fell down and I grabbed it. Looking up, I was about to thank Mr. Fix-It for vendos but I ended up gasping instead. “You!”
He was just as surprised and then his lips formed a very pleased smile, one that had me blushing again. “You seem to make a habit of needing my help,” he murmured.
It was the very same guy who had helped me out during the time I went shopping for work clothes. It was such a freaky coincidence that for more than a moment, I could only blink at him, wondering if he was Mr. Right.
Yes, yes, I knew I was totally jumping into conclusions – as far as Point A to Point Z in fact, but you see that was how it happened between my parents. Walter and Carole fell in love at first sight. They hadn’t even spoken to each other. They had just looked into each other’s eyes – and that was that.
Could this guy be the one for me?
Still smiling, the guy offered his hand and said, “I’m Drake Morrison, by the way.” He seemed even taller and more handsome than I remembered, but with the same olive skin and light brown eyes.
“Yanna Everleigh,” I returned shyly, shaking his hand. Upon releasing it, I said apologetically, “I have to go. I’ve got a presentation in three hours.”
“Sure,” he answered easily. “Break a leg.”
“Thanks.” When I turned around to walk away, I could feel his gaze following me. It made me extra clumsy and conscious, tripping on my own two feet as I reached the office I shared with George and Arian.
