by Marian Tee
"Toodle-loo," I returned, laughing. This was another thing I loved about George. He was so unashamedly gay. At first glance, you’d think he was the poster boy for Microsoft’s Best Looking. Then he’d open his mouth, and you knew from the moment he called you dah-ling that he liked girls the way Paris Hilton like poodles.
It was around eight in the evening when I stretched for the last time, having typed the final period in my report. Being a perfectionist, I had to triple-check it before leaving.
After locking the door to our office, I took my time walking – what was the point of rushing out when both George and Alyx were out tonight? It wasn’t as if the latest Pendergast novel from Preston & Child was going to complain if I came home a little late.
Upon reaching the room containing Constantijin’s office, I found myself slowing down to a stop, gazing at my reflection on its tinted glass walls. Why did I do it? I had no idea. I just wanted---
I just wanted another connection with Constantijin, even something this flimsy.
Placing my tote bag on the floor, I straightened, staring at my reflection again. I looked no different from any mid-twenties office girl, with my dark hair lying straight and fine against my shoulders, black and utterly boring workplace outfit, and my even more boring pair of sensible flats.
Did I look like a woman who could attract someone as hot as Constantijin Kastein?
No. I so did not.
I decided to fluff my hair out, shaking my head like a rockstar until it was one huge mess.
“There,” I muttered, dealing my reflection another critical look.
Did I now look bimbo-ish enough for Constantijin’s tastes, perhaps someone with a mix of classy and hussy like the woman who had called him in Vegas? Her name was Selena Bartholomew and I was so not ashamed I had Google-stalked her, using all my Internet research skills in order to gain access to her locked tweets and private Facebook page.
And what did I learn?
That she was just one of the many who was constantly after Constantijin.
My eyes went back to my reflection.
No, not enough, I decided and fumbled for my lipstick inside my bag. I applied several layers of it to my lips, smacking them before turning to my reflection. Now – now I looked like Taylor Swift gone wild – the brunette version.
But it still wasn’t bimbo-ish enough in my opinion.
I bent down again, letting out an ‘aha’ when I found my very last makeover tool. I applied several layers of blush to my cheeks – the kind that I only applied for clubbing because it was too wild for anything else – and, after a moment’s hesitation, I also shrugged out of my bolero. After pulling my shirt down and plumping my breasts up, I turned back to face my reflection.
Oh my God!
A giggle escaped me.
If Constantijin saw me like this, he would be, like, totally attracted. Not. I looked more like a clown than a bimbo.
Giggling again, I bent down to take my iPhone out of my bag, intent on taking a photo of myself and sending it to Alyx and George just for laughs. When I got back to my feet, the lights in Constantijin’s offices were all open, and a shadow was moving inside.
I let out a scream. And another and another and another---
The night guard came running, shouting, “What is it?”
Oh, thank God! Shaking in terror, I gasped, “There’s---” I turned back to Constantijin’s office.
“There’s---”
The shadow was shrinking but coming closer to me at the same time.
“Oh my God, there’s---”
Constantijin.
There was Constantijin, grinning at me.
I whirled back to the night guard, who was scowling at me now. This time, I notice how his uniform top wasn’t tucked, his belt left hanging from the loops, and his pants zipped halfway.
Oh, dear.
I so didn’t want to know what I had just interrupted. Red as a tomato, I stammered, “Sorry, I didn’t know someone else was here.”
The look on the night guard’s face told me to drop dead, but he left without a word after tipping his hat respectfully to Constantijin, who had just come out of his office. Having him near made my temper boil – and when he actually started laughing again the moment the night guard left us, I totally lost it. Again.
Slap.
“Yanna!” It was his fiercest and most furious growl, ever.
And okay, I had to admit I was more than a little scared at the look on his face – surely Constantijin wasn’t so angry he’d forget murder was a crime – I forced myself to stand my ground. “You deserved it!”
“I fucking didn’t!"
We glared at each other. Then suddenly his gaze dropped, and I realized that with the neckline I had pulled so low and my breasts heaving in emotion---
I crossed my arms over my chest with a cry of protest. “Stop staring!”
He was doing his best not to grin, I’d give him that. But as far as I was concerned, he needed to try harder. This was so not funny. Well, okay, it was – but he totally had to pretend it wasn’t.
“You should have let me know you were inside,” I snapped.
“I was about to---but then I saw you suddenly shake your head---”
His words made me recall my actions with a cringe.
“And then you started applying makeup like you had a bit role as one of The Walking Dead---”
Oh God, this was the most embarrassing moment in my life.
“And to top it off, you actually made your breasts---”
“I get it,” I snarled, cutting him off because I couldn’t bear listening to another word. “I was acting crazy. Happy now?”
Constantijin sent me a curious glance, his head cocked to the side. It was my first time to see him like this, and my heart tripped all over itself at the sight of it.
Constantijin was here.
Constantijin was talking to me.
The impact of those realizations finally hit me, and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
“Why were you acting like that?”
I shrugged, wanting to lie but with my mind so messed up, I couldn’t think of something else to say but the truth.
“Yanna?”
Letting out a sigh, I mumbled, “I wanted to look like a bimbo.”
He reared back. “Why?”
I glanced up, a little taken aback at the shock threading through his tone. No – it was more than shock. It was something else – like I had just committed genocide in his eyes.
“Constantijin?”
“Why?” he demanded, his voice noticeably cooler.
Bemused, I blurted out, “Because I was thinking if I looked like a bimbo, you’d like me.”
The silence that followed was so incredibly tense I didn’t dare move, scared that if I did I would ruin the atmosphere. It wasn’t good, wasn’t bad – but it felt crucial. When he spoke again, it was in a curt voice that made me forget all about being soft and vulnerable and had my hackles rising.
“Come to my office.”
He turned his back on me without waiting for my answer, which I found completely reprehensible. I dug my heels and answered frostily, “No. This is my free time and---”
“Yanna, will you fucking obey me for once and follow me inside?” He disappeared into his office.
I debated with myself, wondering whether I should push my luck or not. It was my free time. And he so totally didn’t say ‘please’, which he should have – even if he was my CEO. Besides, what was there to talk about? Work?
My eyes widened.
Work!
Oh my God, what if we were going to talk about work?
I totally wanted to bang my head against his glass walls until they crashed. I was such a ninny for thinking he wanted to talk to me about anything else. He had weeks to do that, but he hadn’t. So what made me think that tonight was going to be any different?
Lesson #2
Beware when your billionaire wants to talk.
&nbs
p; It usually means he wants to fuck.
Hurrying after Constantijin inside his office, I hastily tried thinking of an excuse for my less than respectful behavior – not exactly a good basis for a job recommendation from the CEO –but couldn’t think of any. Shit, shit, shit. He wouldn’t fire me just because I overreacted – would he?
I slowed down as I crossed the threshold of his office, tense and wary. The last time we came here he was on full attack mode, and I ended up sprawled on his desk, his mouth on my---well, never mind about that.
Constantijin stood in the middle of his office, hands behind his back, facing the windows. He was elegantly dressed in a dark suit – minus the tie now, as his reflection on the window showed.
My knees quivered in belated response at his impossibly gorgeous looks. Oh, God, why couldn’t I get used to how beautiful he was? Once upon a time, I had this hugest crush on Channing Tatum but after seeing him at my gym every freaking day, my glasses slowly lost its rosy tints, and he became human in my eyes. Even his drool-worthy abs were totally ho-hum-ordinary for me now.
But Constantijin?
Every day, he just seemed more gorgeous, sexier, and so much more unreachable than he already was.
I cleared my throat. “Sir?”
Constantijin turned around. This time, I got a really good look at him, and it made me let out a small gasp. He looked – less than perfect. Still beautiful but – now he was beautiful in an imperfect way when he was never that before.
His hair looked like he had been running his hand through it all over (because of me?), his eyes had noticeably darker circles under them (because of me?), and his slightly unshaven face bore a faint red mark on his left cheek (totally because of me).
His eyes narrowed. “Stop it with the sirs.”
Keep it cool, keep it cool, I reminded myself, biting my lip to prevent myself from saying anything I shouldn’t. I had a very bad urge to throw myself at him and bawl like a baby. I missed him. Oh dear Lord, how I had missed him!
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.” Yes, I was provoking him. No, I had no idea why I was doing it.
Exasperation lined his face. “Yanna.”
“Mr. Kastein,” I said, imitating his tone perfectly.
We stared at each other.
My lips were the first to tremble, and then we were smiling, the bad parting we had weeks ago momentarily fading from the present.
“You are very stubborn,” he said, shaking his head, his accent adorably thick.
And you are very addictive. The thought had me biting my lip.
His eyes darkened.
Uh-oh. Hurriedly releasing my lip, I asked, “W-what did you want to talk about with me?”
“Us.”
I whitened. “I thought we were going to talk about work.”
Just as tightly, he answered, “No. We’re not.”
“Then I’m through with this conversation.” I turned back towards the door even though I wasn’t sure if I was even making the right decision.
“Yanna, if you try to leave before---”
Unable to help it, I stole a glance at his face over my shoulders. Oh, shit. The feral look on his face had me panicking even though I wasn’t exactly sure why. Self-preservation? Instinctive coyness? Everything in between?
It didn’t matter in the end, not when Constantijin’s furious strides had him catching up with me in seconds.
I let out a shriek when he suddenly lifted me up with just one arm curled around my waist. Feet dangling at least three feet in the air, I began beating his chest, struggling to have him put me down. “Constantijin, stop this!”
But he didn’t answer, walking steadily towards the couch on one side of the room. Its leather covering was – you guessed it – black, sprinkled with white throw pillows, and bordered by glass tables where framed photos of an older couple were on display.
Constantijin threw me on the couch.
I immediately reared up like a resurrected zombie. My mind told me to hurry and escape, but my body told me to slow down, sensing how near its favorite addiction was. As for my heart – it was my most useless organ ever. All it could do was confuse me.
Constantijin’s weight pressed down on me, and my legs automatically spread open as if welcoming him back. Shit. What was happening to my body?
“Get off me,” I hissed even as my heartbeat continued racing, practically gunning for an Olympic record now that Constantijin’s cock pulsed heavily against my aching core.
I tried pushing him away, bracing my hands against his chest, but it was a weak effort and we both knew it.
He stared down at me, unsmiling, his eyes intense.
“Yanna,” he growled.
There was something in it that made me stop beating his chest with feathery-soft punches. God, I felt so weak even a newborn baby could knock me out with the kind of resistance I was putting up.
“You win.” And that was all he said before his lips took mine for a breathtaking, toe-curling, and sanity-crushing kiss.
Oh, I could have wept for that kiss.
Wait, I already was.
Tears fell from my closed eyes even as I kissed him back hungrily, my arms going around him.
“Don’t cry, schat,” he groaned, kissing my tears away.
The tears fell harder.
He licked them away. “Please, sweetheart, you’re tearing me apart.”
Burying my face in his neck, I sniffed, “I don’t understand what’s going on now.”
Constantijin suddenly flipped us, and I found myself lying on his chest in an instant. When I lifted my head to look at him in askance, he gave me a smile, albeit a grim one as he repeated, “You win, Yanna.”
I frowned. “I win---what?”
He took a lock of my hair, curling it around one finger, caressing its tips as if he was fascinated by its texture. Then he let it go and, caressing my cheek with his knuckles, he stared into my eyes and said, “I will court you.”
I stopped breathing.
The drawn look on his face told me he considered his words a huge concession on his part, and maybe – maybe it was. I had no idea what made him change his mind, but right now that wasn’t important. What mattered was that he had said yes.
“Did you hear what I said?” Constantijin actually shook me, impatient and looking more than a little uncertain about my reaction when I just kept staring at him blankly.
Clearing my throat, I summoned a smile, which rested shakily on my lips. “I’m just…overwhelmed.”
He smiled back, but it still didn’t reach his eyes. He cupped my face suddenly, pulling me down for a short hard kiss that got me breathing again – no, hyperventilating. When he released me, he said, “I will court you but there are conditions.”
Lesson #3
If your billionaire lets you have the last word,
it is because he will have the last laugh.
“Uh…”
Constantijin Kastein had agreed to court me.
My mind repeated the words over and over. He seemed to have said something else after that, something about confusion or whatever, which I totally understood. This was utterly confusing for me, too.
Constantijin Kastein had agreed to court me.
Oh, the mind boggled. It was like some girl – a total nobody like me – had asked Ryan Gosling to court her (the nerve!) and he had agreed (the bitch!).
“Yanna?”
I looked up at him blankly.
Constantijin Kastein had agreed to court me.
He frowned.
Okay, that was not a look a man intent on courting me should have. Shaking my confusion away, I said, “W-what is it?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“That you’re confused?”
Exasperation making his accent even thicker, he growled, “No. I said I had conditions.”
Oh.
It was my turn to frown, and I did so, severely. “What do you mean ‘conditions’?” He was the one court
ing me and yet – he was setting conditions, too? Did Dutch people have a different understanding of the word ‘courting’?
“No one should know I’m---” He paused then said, reluctantly and distastefully, “---that I’m courting you.”
My stomach twisted at his words. “Are you ashamed of me?”
His eyes widened and then he was kissing me again, his tongue boldly sweeping inside my mouth as his hands swept my back, trailing down to cup my buttocks and pushing it down on his cock.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, letting go momentarily of my lips but nothing else, “you anger me, confuse the hell out of me, but one thing I will never feel is ashamed of you.”
He shifted under me, and I swallowed back a whimper because his movement had his erection rubbing against my already-sensitive clit.
Constantijin pulled my head back to his chest. I couldn’t help wriggling closer, especially when he said, with a smile in his voice, “In fact you are the only woman who is not blood-related that I am proud of.”
“Really?” I whispered.
“You love your work, I can see it every time I hear you make a presentation and talk to people about it.”
His praise made me want to cry. Blinking tears away because I knew he wouldn’t like it, I choked out, “Thanks.”
Constantijin tipped my chin up. “So, no, I am not setting conditions because I am ashamed of you.” His voice gentled. “You will not think like that again, yes?”
Oh, these Europeans and their confusing sentence-enders. Smiling tremulously up at him, I said, “Yes.”
He pushed my head back down again. “Now, the conditions.”
I couldn’t help but tense.
“We will not tell anyone about it – not until it is the right time. Right now, you are unsure of me so there is no point for anyone to know. Office romances are discouraged – are forbidden but even so I know they exist. However, I do not want to rock the boat unless I have a good reason to.”
“A good reason?” I echoed, a little confused about what that could be.
He didn’t answer.
Lifting my head up again, I gazed into his eyes, asking worriedly, “Constantijin?”
