by M. Robinson
I flash him a bright smile. “All done for the night?”
He nods. “You didn’t have to stay.”
I usually stay later than everyone else, but not this late. I didn’t notice it was approaching ten o’clock. We’re the only two left in the office. Everyone else went home hours ago.
I open my closet to stash the wrapped gifts and retrieve our coats. “I don’t mind. I had wrapping to do anyway. I picked up a couple of things earlier on my lunch break. Might as well get it done now so I don’t have to do it later.”
“Yes,” he says wryly. “I’m sure wrapping Christmas gifts is such a chore for you.” He takes his coat from me and starts to put it on.
My gaze drifts to the window as I put mine on, and my body follows. Our offices are at the very top of this skyscraper, so when I look outside, I see flurries of snow and a sea of city lights set against the pitch-dark backdrop of the night sky.
Manhattan looks so small from way up here. The taxi cabs look like toy cars.
I feel Lee move up behind me. Standing so close as he joins me in looking out the window, his heat seeps into me and melts my bones. My tummy flutters, but I’m quick to lock that errant butterfly right back up in its cage.
I turn my head to look at him. Our faces are so close, if either of us leaned in just a little, they would touch.
“What are we looking at?” he asks, his tone lower and a touch more intimate.
I swallow. That persistent butterfly can’t be contained and bursts free from its cage. “The city is so pretty when it snows.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up with a hint of amusement. “The smallest things make you happy.”
I shrug, unrepentant. “What can I say? I’m a happy girl.”
Especially when he stands this close to me.
“I wasn’t complaining,” he says, taking a step back and turning away.
I feel his absence immediately. I can breathe again, but a thin blanket of disappointment swaddles me, too.
Trying my best to ignore the lapse, I grab my purse and follow him to the elevator.
“You didn’t pay for them yourself, did you?”
I look up at him blankly. His question is so sudden—and I’m so distracted—that I don’t immediately follow the thread of his thoughts. “Hm?”
We step into the elevator. His eyebrows rise as he looks over at me. “The presents you bought on your lunch break.”
“Oh.” I shake my head to clear it and paste on a smile. “The presents. Yes, of course I paid for them.”
“You shouldn’t have. I’ll reimburse you.”
“It was my idea.”
“They’re coming from my company.”
It is his company, but I’m so invested, I think of it as ours.
I don’t have many people to buy presents for anyway, so I wave him off. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. My boss pays me the big bucks. I can afford to splurge a little on Christmas gifts,” I tease.
His lips tug up faintly. “Your boss pays you all that money for having to deal with him.”
“Oh, he’s not that bad.”
“He’s an asshole. You’re frankly underpaid.”
The elevator doors open and we step out into the lobby. “I’m going to have to insist you don’t besmirch the good name of my employer, sir.”
“I’ll show you sir,” he mutters.
I wish you would.
I bite back a smile at the errant thought, thankful he can’t hear it as we pass the nighttime security guard. I offer a little wave, but Lee walks by as if the man doesn’t exist.
“We should give Randy a Christmas tip,” I tell him.
He scowls. “Who?”
“Randy.” My eyes widen when his register no recognition. “The security guard?”
“Oh,” he murmurs. “That’s below my pay grade. I’d say you could tell my assistant to do it, but she might be too busy wrapping Christmas presents.”
“Keep it up, mister, and you might not get one.”
That’s an empty threat if I’ve ever made one. Still, the man could at least pretend to be worried.
He doesn’t. I already know what he’s going to say, but I still find it faintly annoying when he says, “I told you not to get me anything.”
Doesn’t he know I like buying him Christmas presents? It isn’t an item checked off a to-do list for me like it is for him. I genuinely enjoy the process of finding something I hope he’ll like. I anticipate the look on his handsome face when he unwraps it, wonder if he’ll think about me when he uses it.
Our first Christmas together, I wasn’t used to his often dismissive and impatient ways and I let him crush me.
I had a bit of a crush on him, but not one I would ever act on. He wasn’t just my boss, he was also married at the time—completely off-limits.
Still, he meant something to me, so I picked out a gift I thought he’d like. I bought overpriced wrapping paper that had a print I thought he would be amused by and attached a Christmas card I had to practice an enormous amount of restraint not to gush in. He had mentioned in passing that as a child his favorite cookies were the oatmeal raisin ones his mom used to make, but she didn’t make them anymore, so I wanted to make some for him. I thought it might come off a bit odd if I made them only for him, so I made enough for the whole office. That way when I offered him one, he wouldn’t know I’d made them for him, but he would still get his favorite Christmas cookie.
He didn’t touch the cookies or the card. He barely glanced at the gift before telling me to open it for him and send a thank-you card to whoever it was from.
“It’s from me,” I said with a smile, my cheeks warming as I held it out to him.
He blinked. “From you?”
“I brought in gifts for a few co-workers; I wanted to bring you one, too.”
He held my gaze for a moment, but with every fraction of a second that passed, I seemed to sink another inch into the floor. Without uttering a single word, he made me feel as if I’d done something terribly wrong when I thought I was doing something nice. Then, finally, he reached out and took the gift.
“Thank you,” he said flatly.
I watched as he set it aside on his desk and resumed jotting notes down on his notepad.
Even though I felt like I might burst into flames if I stood there another moment, I forced a faint smile. “Aren’t you gonna open it?”
He looked up at me again, enough irritation in his gaze to flood me with embarrassment. Wordlessly, he reached for the present, tore it open without even noticing the paper it was wrapped in, and ripped off the top of the box. He barely glimpsed the tie inside before closing the box and setting it aside. “There. Happy?”
I was crushed. He seemed angry at me for getting him a gift. I knew he wasn’t expecting one, but I thought it would be a pleasant surprise, not an annoyance.
Thankfully, I had to run an errand that day, so I fled the building before I suffocated on my own humiliation.
Not that my errand was much more enjoyable. I had to pick up a piece of jewelry for his wife. When I returned to the office, I had to wrap it, too. I was at my desk ensuring every crease was neat and perfect for her when Lee walked in with a Christmassy unicorn stuffed animal.
I looked up at him blankly as he set it on my desk. For a fraction of a second, I thought he was giving it to me. I was confused, but tentatively excited.
“Can you wrap this for my daughter, too? I like to get her something just from me.”
“Of course,” I murmured, grabbing the soft unicorn toy.
His daughter, Tina, wasn’t his biologically. When he met Tess, she was pregnant by an ex-fling. The biological father didn’t want to be in the picture, so when they started dating, Lee stepped up and took on that role. I think it’s one of the reasons they got married so quickly, maybe at all. In most regards, Lee is a careful, deliberate man who weighs his moves before he makes them, but he only dated Tess for six months before marrying her.
&
nbsp; He hadn’t told me any of this himself, but I picked up plenty from the office gossips. It was widely known that his marriage was a miserable one. He hadn’t dated Tess long enough to ensure they were compatible, and they weren’t. She was shallow, dishonest, and irresponsible—always lying and creating some new mess for him to clean up.
Most men in his position would have left, but Lee stayed and tried to make it work. No one knew why because it didn’t even seem like he was deeply in love with her, but I thought it might have something to do with his adorable little daughter not technically being his.
Years later, I found out I was right.
By then I was used to him occasionally being mean to me for no reason. I had convinced myself it might be because he felt an attraction to me and couldn’t act on it. He didn’t know I would never have acted on it, either, so when he felt that tug of attraction, he would go cold and try to push me away.
It happened a lot.
It didn’t work.
It hurt, but I didn’t go anywhere.
Knowing why he was doing it and considering it so noble probably made my devotion to him deepen even more, honestly. He was just such a good man. Strong and loyal even when he was unhappy, unwavering in his own principles even if he might be a little tempted.
When his wife left him for someone else and took her daughter with her, that was the first time I ever truly felt his guard fully down around me, and it was a fleeting thing.
Chapter Two
Georgia
It was at the end of a long day. Everyone else had left. I figured Lee must be in the zone working on something since he’d been shut away in his office all day. When I had stayed as long as I could justify staying with nothing to do (I was still hourly back then), I finally interrupted to see if he needed anything before I left.
As soon as I stepped inside the office, I caught the scent of hard liquor. I’d never known Lee to drink alone, so I was instantly on alert. Then I saw him at his desk, disheveled as hell with his hand wrapped around a glass of amber liquid.
My heart jumped to my throat. Closing the door behind me and tentatively approaching his desk, I asked, “Is everything okay?”
He looked up like he’d forgotten I existed until that moment, his gaze cloudy and sad. He hadn’t shaved, and that wasn’t like him. “Yep,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “Everything’s perfect.”
That was clearly not the case, so I moved closer. “Are you sure?”
Setting down his glass and swiping a hand tiredly across his face, he said, “Yes, I’m sure.”
I walked even closer and stopped beside his desk. Clearly, he wouldn’t tell me until I dragged it out of him, so I braced myself and started pulling. “What happened?”
He shook his head. I tried a few more times, but he still wouldn’t tell me.
I was torn. I didn’t know what to do, but I didn’t want to leave him there like that, either. “Can I get you some coffee?” I asked, subtly trying to move the glass of alcohol away since I didn’t think he should drink any more.
“I don’t want coffee,” he said, a tinge of anger in his voice like I’d offered the wrong thing and he was annoyed by it.
“Water, then?” I walked behind the desk to search for the liquor bottle I knew he must have back there. “Have you eaten anything? I can order you dinner before I go.”
“You’re leaving?”
The way he asked tugged at my heartstrings. His tone made it sound like I was abandoning him in his time of need. “I was about to, yes. I have plans tonight and I’d like to change clothes first.”
“Plans?” he asked sharply, a little too curious.
I frowned faintly, looking down at him as he sat sprawled on his throne like a grumpy, spoiled king whose primary indulger was disappointing him. “Yes.”
“What plans?”
I froze. It was absurd to be so reluctant, but I didn’t like telling him when I had dates. I didn’t expect him to care, I just felt awkward about it for my own reasons. If I told him and he made a disparaging comment about my date—which he often did—it wouldn’t matter that he’d never met the man and was just being an ass. Lee’s words would be all I thought about for the rest of the night. I might even fool myself into thinking he was agitated imagining me out with another man, maybe a bit jealous, and that wouldn’t do anybody any good.
My silence lasted for long enough that he figured it out for himself. His lips curved up, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “Ah. You have a date.”
The way he said it made me feel a little dirty, like I was doing something wrong. I nearly offered to cancel my date and stay late if he needed me—it wouldn’t even be the first time I’d done it.
It wasn’t always to accommodate him. Sometimes I just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to go out, and I was eager for the excuse to cancel. Dating was hard, especially when you compared every man you encountered to someone else and found them all lacking.
“Who’s this one?” he asked, pinning me with his gaze. “Not the chef, still?”
I shook my head, but I felt awkward about it. “No. We only went out once.”
He rose from his chair and took a step toward me. “Wasn’t your type?”
Wasn’t you.
Compelled by some instinct I’d never had to use with him, I took a wary step back.
He cocked his head curiously, like my retreat made no sense. “You like this new guy?”
I shook my head no before I even realized I was doing it.
His lips curved up as he took another step toward me. “No? Then why are you going out with him?”
The only reason I ever went out with men—to try and distract myself from him.
I couldn’t say that, of course. “I don’t know,” I murmured nervously, dropping his gaze. “He asked. He seemed nice.”
“He asked. He seemed nice,” he echoed, a touch mockingly. “Is that all it takes, Georgia? For a man to ask?”
His tone was crude, and not in a playful way. It was so unlike him, and I didn’t understand why he was acting that way.
My heart was pounding by that point. He was closing in on me, and I was so confused. Trying to put back some of the formality between us, I said, “Mr. Holden, I think maybe you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Have I?” he murmured.
I gasped when I felt his hands on my thighs, underneath my skirt. Arousal struck swiftly and worsened when he roughly bunched up the material and positioned his muscular thigh between them.
It was exquisite torture. I couldn’t breathe. I’d imagined his hands on me a million times, but I couldn’t actually let him touch me.
I reached for his hands to push them away. “Mr. Holden, please.”
“It’s Mr. Holden now, is it?” he asked, his grip on my thighs tightening insistently.
A breath rushed out of me as he pushed me back against the wall, forcing himself into the space between my thighs.
“You usually call me Lee,” he murmured, his face so close to mine, I could feel his breath on my jaw as he spoke.
That wasn’t all I could feel. His hardness was pressed against the thin fabric of my panties, all but demanding the material disintegrate so he could lose himself in my wet heat.
“Stop,” I whispered, holding on to his wrists and desperately searching his gaze. “You’ve had way too much to drink.”
“So?” he murmured, butting his erection against my pussy. “Are you telling me you don’t want it?”
“I—no. Yes.” I shook my head, mixed up. “I don’t want it.”
“Little liar,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone as his scruff grazed my jaw line.
I can’t want it.
That was closer to the truth.
“You’re married,” I reminded him, since that was the real reason it couldn’t happen. “Lee, please.”
“She hates you, you know?”
My heart sank. I don’t like being hated, and I couldn’t imagine why Tess would have any
feelings about me at all. Yes, I was madly in love with her husband, but she didn’t know that. And I might be guilty of coveting what she had, but I would never try to take it from her. Whenever we crossed paths she was polite to me, and I thought she was the luckiest—most ungrateful—woman in the world, but I was always nice to her, too.
Turning my face away, I said, “That’s… it doesn’t matter. I can’t do this.”
His lips tilted up in a cruel little smile. “Please. You’ve been parading this pussy around my office for years just waiting for me to want it, and now suddenly you can’t do it?”
Ouch.
I sucked in a breath, feeling as if he’d gut punched me.
I wasn’t surprised he had picked up on my attraction to him, but to be so crass about it. To imply I was trying to tempt him when I’d gone out of my way not to.
If I really wanted his dick, I would’ve made a play for it instead of dating every other man in Manhattan trying to find someone—anyone—to take my mind off him.
“That’s a horrible thing to say,” I informed him.
He didn’t seem to care. He unbuttoned his pants and dropped them just enough to get his cock out. I struggled in earnest as he lifted me up and pinned me to the wall, my heart rate kicking up as I feared he might not stop. I knew he wouldn’t normally act that way, but he was drunk and angry; maybe he would do something he would swiftly regret.
“Get off me,” I demanded, shoving against his muscled chest.
Still, he ignored me. I shoved at him and tried to put distance between our pelvises, but he was so much stronger than I was. He hadn’t taken my panties down yet, but his cock was free. He used one hand to grip it and shove it between my legs. I gasped when the smooth tip grazed my thigh as he guided it to my entrance and pushed my panties aside.
I was out of time.
If he penetrated me, everything changed, and not for the better.
There were a lot of threats I could have made right then, but when I opened my mouth, I said the only one that was true.
“If you do this, I’ll quit.”
He paused. I could feel his bare skin pressed against mine, but he wasn’t inside me. Not yet.
