by Tabatha Kiss
Maybe this isn’t the best idea.
“You know...” I clear my throat. “You could go do some prep for your meeting with Ian tomorrow. You might not get much time tonight.”
“Nah, I’m good,” he says from the bathroom.
“There’s a lot to go over.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Ian and I are buds.”
“No, you’re his boss.”
Oliver enters the doorway. “What?”
“You’re his boss,” I repeat.
“So?”
“So, when you were both building managers, you were buds. It’s different now and you should act like it.”
He takes a step into the suite, his gaze casually falling on the disheveled bed.
Dammit, Paige.
Your cunning plan has officially backfired.
“I can’t be friendly with my employees?” Oliver asks.
I turn away from him, raising my clipboard to distract myself with. “I didn’t say that,” I stutter. “Be friendly, of course, but you also have to act with some authority.”
“I do,” he says. “It doesn’t mean everything changes.”
“Everything has changed. It doesn’t matter what you had before, no matter how hot your friendship was.”
Oliver blinks twice. I spin toward the closet, cringing as my cheeks burn a bright red.
“Uh, okay.” He chuckles. “What are we really talking about here?”
“Nothing,” I say as I throw open the closet. “No one. You and Ian. That’s it.”
“Have you slept with him?”
My jaw drops in disgust. “Ew!” I say, facing him again. “No. Of course not.”
Oliver puts his hands in his front pockets, presenting the strong, toned lines of his forearms. “I’m just sensing some tension here...”
“There’s no tension!”
He tilts his head.
I sigh. “No. I’ve never slept with Ian. I don’t fraternize with hotel employees.”
“Except me.”
“Yes. There was that... one time, but I’ve never done it again, and definitely not with Ian.”
I bristle. Fully disgusted.
Oliver smiles. “Yeah, I know.”
I frown. “What did he say to you?”
“Oh, you know. Just the usual things idiots say when they don’t have a chance in hell.” He looks at the bed again. “Bend you over this. Make you do that.”
“Gross,” I say as another wave of creeps crawl up my arms. “And what did you say? After the fist bump, I mean.”
“I told him it was inappropriate and that he doesn’t have a free pass to hit on you just because Graham isn’t here anymore.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
He nods. “Graham gave me a head’s up about him. Said Ian’s made you feel uncomfortable before.”
“Once or twice,” I confirm. “Thanks for doing that. You didn’t have to.”
“It’s my job.” His gaze lingers on my expression. “You can check off toiletries, mirrors, and towels.”
I stare at my clipboard instead. “Thank you.”
Oliver walks forward, triggering my pulse as he stops a foot away from me. “See?” he says, teasing me to look at him. “Authority.”
My lips twitch. “Right.”
“But you’re right. I should review my notes for tomorrow.” He takes a step back. “If you’ve got this taken care of...”
“I do!” I say, presenting my clipboard. “I’ll be done soon.”
“Gift shop in an hour?”
I nod. “I’ll be there.”
He opens the door. “Let me know if Ian gives you any more trouble,” he says before stepping out into the hall.
“I will...”
He closes it behind him. I exhale hard, feeling the sudden rush of heat leaving my cheeks as I glance at the bed again.
“Oh, boy,” I whisper.
Chapter 8
Oliver
There’s no better way to spend an evening than trapped down in the depths of the Botsford Plaza archives.
That sounds like bullshit, but it’s not. The archives are the beating heart of the hotel. All of its records, numbers, and secrets lie in these file cabinets and boxes. Sure, mostly everything is done on computers these days, but founder Beau Botsford believed that there were still plenty of reasons to keep a hard copy lying around and that fifty-year-old habit doesn’t seem likely to break soon.
So, here we are.
Paige and me.
Working together two floors beneath the ground in Chicago with clipboards and pens and highlighters, cross-checking numbers, verifying payrolls, and making sure every T and I are crossed and dotted when we’re not here. Efficiency keeps these Plazas running, and the man in charge of making sure that happens is me.
The Company Liaison.
As Kingston himself once told me, it’s the second most important job in the company after the CEO themselves — on paper. What he meant by that, obviously, is that it was more important than the CEO. Hearing that as a teenage kid in his shadow put me on the path to where I am now.
So best not fuck this up.
“Hm,” Paige moans.
I glance up from my paperwork, my tired vision blurring for a half-second before I make her out. She sits on the desk by the door, perched about ten feet away from me down the long line of file cabinets. With her arms outstretched above her head, she finishes her yawn. My eyes instantly lock on her elongated chest, but a silent personal scolding keeps me in check.
Focus, buddy.
Paige relaxes and gathers her hair, gently setting it on one side of her head. She let those golden locks loose about a half hour ago, and I will not lie and say that wasn’t a welcome distraction.
I clear my throat. “How’s it going over there?” I ask.
She looks up from the folder laid open on her lap. “Not too bad,” she answers. “There’s a few numbers here that don’t match up.”
I abandon my file to look myself. She hands it off and I scan it over, instantly coming to the same conclusion she did.
“They really don’t,” I say, doing a bit of simple math in my head. “There’s nearly two-thousand dollars missing here. This the gift shop?”
Paige nods.
My chest skips with power. “Do I get to fire somebody?” I ask.
She chuckles. “Not so fast, boss,” she says as she takes the file from me. “That’s not how we do things.”
“We?” I repeat as she jots down a note on her hot-pink sticky notes.
“We. Botsford Corp. We don’t fire people without investigating first.” Her brow rises for a half-second. “Especially not at the Chicago location.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Let’s just say…” Paige wets her lips. “Money goes missing here. A lot. We open investigations and suddenly — poof — the money returns.”
“Then, you must have made a mistake, right?” I ask. “Money doesn’t just go… poof.”
“And yet, every single time we report the error to management, the money does just that within a couple of minutes.”
I chortle. “Man, you really have it out for Ian, huh?”
“It’s not just me, Oliver,” she says. “Graham. Kingston. We hoped it’d stop as soon as Drake retired, but Ian hasn’t fallen too far from the tree.” She slides off the desk and closes the folder. “I’ll send in the report in the morning,” she adds a smile, “and you can see for yourself when Ian magically figures it out before we leave.”
I step back, giving her space to move. “All right. We’ll see.”
Paige sets the file on her stack by the desk. “Other than that, that’s the gift shop done. How’s the bar?”
“Done,” I say.
“Excellent.” She checks it off her list. “That leaves... the restaurant,” she says, clearly not in the mood to scale that mountain tonight.
“Our flight isn’t until the afternoon tomorrow, right?” I say. “I v
ote to leave it and finish it up in the morning.”
“You have shareholder prep with Ian in the morning,” she reminds me.
“I can set my alarm an hour earlier.”
She considers, but it only takes a moment. “All right.”
I stand tall, happy we finally finished. “Well, we did it.”
Paige smiles. “We did it.”
“We survived our first day together.”
“Looks like.”
“I say job well done. And when I say job well done, I say that deserves a drink.” I point up at the ceiling. “You. Me. Bar. My treat.”
Paige hesitates. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oliver.”
“Why not?” I ask. “What, you and Graham never wound down the night at the bar after an audit?”
“No, we did, but Graham and I are friends. We...” she gestures between us, “are not friends.”
“Sure, we are. Professional friends. You said it before.”
“That’s not friends friends,” she argues. “Friends can get drinks at the bar. Friends of a professional nature cannot.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Then, give me the chance to upgrade my status,” I say. “Let’s become friends. Let’s go upstairs, grab a drink, and you can ask me anything. I’m an open book.”
“Oliver...”
“Winter is my favorite season,” I say. “Real winter. With snow and ice and all that.”
She sighs, but I detect the hint of a hidden smile.
“I think it’s pretty,” I add before she protest again. “My favorite color is blue. That shade, actually.” I point to the frames of her glasses. “The way it blends together right there in that spot.”
“Oliver, I’m kinda beat,” she says. “I’d very much rather head to my room and get some sleep. We start New York tomorrow night, and that’s a big job.”
I bite down, slightly swayed by that argument. “Well, you got me there.”
Paige gathers her folders and clipboard. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she says.
“Bright and early.”
“Bright and early,” she repeats.
“Maybe tomorrow night, then?”
She pauses, pressing her bare lips together as she shifts back a step. Her eyes show an obvious tug-of-war between the business side of her and the fun, casual girl I knew for one night before.
“Maybe tomorrow night,” she simply repeats. Graceful, elegant, and easy to get out of.
I smirk. At least it’s not a no. “Goodnight, Paige.”
“Goodnight, Oliver.”
Each clack of her heels echo throughout the archive as she leaves. She promptly closes the door behind her, leaving me in temperature-controlled silence.
I exhale hard. That wasn’t the response I hoped for. But maybe she’s right. Paige and I have never been friends, even before the night-that-shall-not-be-mentioned. She thinks keeping that barrier between us is the best thing for us and — goddammit — the businessman in me knows she’s right about that, too.
But there’s a stubborn bastard in me, too.
And he really doesn’t like being told what to do.
Chapter 9
Oliver
back to that night . . .
Just make me come.
Yes-fucking-ma’am.
“Oh, my god, Oli,” Paige says at the ceiling.
Her arms rest at her sides, flailed out in the last spots they tumbled to. Her legs are just as chaotic; wide-open with bent knees, yet settled and exhausted on the white bedspread.
“You’re amazing.”
I lay down by her side with a numb jaw and an aching tongue. “Hey, you say make you come, I make you come,” I say as I wipe my lips.
“Yeah, but...” She takes a deeper breath. Her breasts rise and fall, her nipples tightly wound. “I didn’t expect... you know, that many times.”
“How many times?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Uh...” She blinks at the ceiling, lost in thought. I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but the longer it takes for her to figure it out, the harder I get. “Three?”
I grin. And I haven’t even fucked her yet.
Paige rolls onto her side to face me. Her eyes scan downward, shamelessly admiring my naked body as I do hers. “So, what’s next?” she asks.
I chuckle. “You tell me.”
“Ah, but you’re the one in charge, remember?” she teases.
“Oh, I remember,” I say, glancing downward and licking my lips.
“Then, what’s next, Mr. Black?”
Paige bites her lip; an obvious, silent suggestion. I glance down her naked body. My cock surges for the taking of it, rock hard and ready to burst, but I’m not about to do that just yet.
I want this night to last.
I slowly reach out. I glide a finger up her cheek, pushing her wild, blonde hair back behind her ear before traveling back down to her mouth.
Paige parts her lips, letting my thumb slip inside, and she rolls her tongue along the pad of my thumb.
Good girl.
A simple ringtone breaks the silent tension. Paige turns her head to look at her skirt crumbled on the floor next to the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she leans over and rifles her cellphone out of the pocket to check it.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask, willing to hit the pause button.
Paige thinks for a moment as the phone vibrates in her hand. She’s a busy woman who works for important people, after all. I can’t fault her for needing to pick up the phone, especially the night before the annual Botsford Corp shareholders’ convention. And I can’t imagine Graham taking a night off — even if it is technically his honeymoon right now, as strange as that sounds.
“No,” Paige says as she turns it on silent.
She drops the phone onto the floor where it was and returns to me. I close my eyes as she kisses me deeply, passionately nursing my numb lips with her wild tongue. She puts pressure on my chest and I lie back as she moves to straddle my knees.
“I’m off duty,” she adds as she leans over and sticks my cock in her mouth.
Chapter 10
Oliver
present day
Do friends jerk off in the shower to memories of their friends sucking their dick?
Asking for a friend.
Friends. For a second there, I really thought I could do it. I thought, whatever. I’ve had one-night stands before. I’ve hit it and quit it, as they say. Life went on. Nothing changed.
And then there was Paige Landon.
I can hardly remember the names of other women I’ve slept with over the years, but I can remember with perfect clarity every single detail of my night with her. Those deep, youthful eyes. That vulnerable smile. How easy it was to seduce her, which was — admittedly — selfish of me, but what can I say?
Carpe diem.
The problem with remembering every single detail of my night with Paige is that I remember the morning after, too. It felt nice to wake up and see her. I wanted to wake up and see her again.
She, however, did not.
Rejection is a part of life. It happens every day, even to me now and then. But getting rejected by Paige Landon came as a surprise.
The more time we spent away from each other, the easier it became to ignore her. I stopped picturing those adorable blue-rimmed spectacles nestled beneath perfectly styled blonde bangs. I stopped imagining the absolute heaven hidden within those tight blouses she wears. I no longer craved the bliss waiting for me beneath her pencil skirts. Peach-colored panty hose. Sharp high heels. Concave cheeks and a wide-open pink mouth…
Fuck. One more stroke and I’m gonna—
I flex hard as I come. I squeeze my eyes closed beneath the bursting showerhead, smothering the image of Paige on her knees in front of me. Warm water washes away the cum and body sweat dripping down the drain as the inevitable post-ejaculation clarity takes over my oxygen-deprived brain.
I
can do this.
I grab the top towel off the rack and dab my torso while tapping my dripping toes on the plush bathmat.
I can control my urges.
A quick jerk every morning for the next two weeks should be more than enough to make it through this trip.
I can keep my hands to myself.
I toss the towel over my shoulders with a nod, feeling better about the situation now that I’ve released that tension.
Urges completely controlled.
I slide open the bathroom door to let out some steam, and my spent cock instantly twitches to life again.
Paige Landon is in my suite.
She’s bent over the edge of my bed, rifling through my open suitcase. My eyes lock on that beautiful rump of hers, gladly gliding down those perfect legs. Red and black shoes. Red and black blouse and skirt. She likes red. She looks good in red.
Okay.
Maybe a quick jerk in the afternoons is necessary, too.
Paige quickly turns around to face me with two red neckties draped over her arm.
“Good mo— oh!” She twists right back around. “Sorry! I didn’t think you’d be…”
I look down. Oh, right.
Nude.
I throw the towel around my waist. “I, uh… I like to air dry,” I say.
“I did not know that,” she says, her tight ponytail wagging back and forth as she shakes her head. “I’m... very sorry.”
“It’s all right. Nothing you haven’t seen before,” I joke, lightening the mood.
She releases a dry chuckle. “Well, it’s been... a while.”
“It hasn’t changed shape, I assure you.”
Her throat clears, but she says nothing.
I step forward, more than a little tempted to launch a friendly invasion of her personal space, but maybe now isn’t the best time. She rejected my proposal for a drink less than twelve hours ago, after all. I should at least try to keep a professional vibe.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask her.
