by Kelly Myers
My blood boils as I call Ashley’s extension. “Get in here,” I order and slam the phone down.
She slips into my office a moment later looking terrified and I struggle to control my temper. “Close the door,” I tell her through gritted teeth.
She turns and does as I say, and not even the sight of her perfect ass can calm me down. In fact, it riles me up even more and, before I know it, I stand up and in three long strides, I’m towering over her, my eyes flashing.
“Do you have any idea what you did?” I hiss. My chest rises and falls and I look down into her clueless, blue-green eyes.
And, right now, they’re not only unsure, but also full of fear. She pulls back and shakes her head.
“Well, then let me show you.” I grab her wrist and drag her over to my desk, heels clicking. I spin her around to face my laptop and jab a finger at the screen. “What in the fuck made you send that email to the entire office?”
Eyes wide, Ashley bends over and leans in to get a better look. I move closer, practically hovering over her, and cross my arms. “I-I thought it was TBanks I forwarded. Not TBBanks. I’m so sorry.” When she stands back up, she doesn’t see I moved forward, and her delectable little rear brushes against the front of my zipper. I suck in a breath.
“Get out,” I grind out. My nostrils flare in anger and I get a whiff of her perfume. I don’t want to look at her anymore today. And, I definitely don’t want her anywhere near my zipper. “Go home.”
Those wide sea-blue eyes turn up and look at me. “Am I fired?” she asks.
Here’s my opportunity, I think. Just let her go and wash my hands of Ashley Monroe.
But, no. Even I’m not that big an asshole.
It was an honest mistake and she apologized. And, I respect that. If she had lied or made up excuses, then I would be done.
My gaze pierces hers and when I realize how close we stand, I feel my pulse throb. I manage to shake my head and force out a husky, “No.”
She moves away, bumps into the desk and trips over her ankles trying to avoid me. Once she reaches the safety of the door, she turns back around. “I’m really sorry,” she says again. Then, she slips out, closing the door behind her.
My jaw hardens and I want to punch my fist into the wall.
Instead, I grab my phone and hurl it across the office. It smashes against the wall with a crash.
I sit down in my chair and glare at the spot where my phone sat a minute ago. You’re an idiot, Drew.
Then, my hand drops down under my desk, into my lap, and it lightly touches my zipper. I can’t pretend I didn't like when she backed up into me. I wanted to slip my arms around her waist, pull her flush against me. Then, hike up that skirt and bend her over my desk.
I run a frustrated hand through my apparently shaggy hair and then reach for a pen.
On a post-it, I write, “Order new phone. Make hair appointment.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ashley
I can not believe he threw his phone across the office like a little baby!
I roll my eyes and walk away from the bus stop, heading down the sidewalk in the Inner Richmond, the safe, little neighborhood where I live. Who does that? A spoiled-rotten billionaire, that’s who.
What a day, I think, as I pass by endless restaurants. The Inner Richmond, also known as San Francisco's “Second Chinatown,” possesses a casual, yet urban vibe and I can walk everywhere. The residents are predominantly Chinese, Irish and Russian so the food here is varied and delicious. A lot of young professionals and families live here, too.
The Presidio lies to the North and Golden Gate Park to the South. I love that my neighborhood borders the half of the park with the Conservatory of Flowers, de Young Museum, the Japanese Tea Garden and the Botanical Gardens. The only thing not so great, I suppose, is like any western part of the city, there’s more wind and fog.
It’s September now, though, and I love September in San Francisco. It’s 70 degrees every day, the warmest month of the year, and the perfect time to walk through the park and enjoy all it offers.
There might be a chill fog in the early morning and evening, but the relatively lower cost of living in the Inner Richmond makes up for it. If you consider paying $2800 a month in rent for an older, one-bedroom apartment a good deal. What can you do? City-living is not cheap, I think.
A part of me wishes that Drew Carson did fire me because then I wouldn’t have to go back tomorrow morning and do it all over again.
Between his moodiness and Becca’s half-ass training, I am exhausted. I walk up to my little place and let myself inside. With a sigh, I kick off my heels, drop my purse and see a bottle of champagne chilling on the kitchen counter.
I walk over, recognize my brother’s handwriting and open the card. “Congratulations on the new job, sis! Can’t wait to hear more about it.”
Ugh. Mom must have told him I got a new job. Well, James is going to get an earful at dinner Sunday night. Maybe he might have some advice for me. I’m sure he deals with assholes all the time.
The last thing I want is champagne so I stick it in the fridge, shed my work clothes and slide on a comfy t-shirt and boxer shorts. Then, I decide to message Andy. If anyone can make me feel better, it’s him.
“My first day was a total nightmare. My boss is the biggest jerk in the world. Hope your day was better.” I hit send.
Well, kind of a jerk, I decide. It was nice of him to bring me lunch. He probably just felt bad, though, because no one ever told me when I could go.
I did feel bad about forwarding that email to everyone at Carson Industries. It made him so upset. Honestly, I don’t even know what it said. I thought I had forwarded some research. I’ll have to look in the morning.
My phone dings and I see a reply from Andy. “I’m sorry to hear that. But, if it makes you feel any better, my day was terrible, too. Sounds like we need to vent. Or, have a couple espresso martinis.”
God, I like this guy. How is it even possible to feel something for someone I’ve never met? He’s funny, interesting and gorgeous.
I’m starting to think I want to meet him.
But, that might be a huge mistake.
Things feel safe right now. And, fun and flirty. In all of our messaging, he has been nothing but a total gentleman and I get the feeling that he is a little bit hesitant to meet, too.
I send him an emoji of a martini and write, “Cheers!”
He sends one right back. Then, “Seriously, though, sorry your day didn’t go well. Starting a new job isn’t easy. Maybe your boss was having a bad day, too, and things will be better tomorrow.”
I don’t know. I get the feeling that Drew Carson is just a first-class asshole. Especially after Becca’s comment about him being an intense beast. Oh, and let’s not forget the Devil part. Half of me really wants to sleep in and say screw it. Just quit. But, then I think about how Laurel’s Dad helped me get the interview and that maybe Andy is right.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
I kind of got the hang of the phone now so at least that’s something positive. It only took me all day, but by three o’clock, I didn’t drop a single call.
And, I know that when someone is being evasive over the phone that they’re probably a salesman and not someone Drew wants to talk to. And, now I can officially say I know what toner is and that it’s my job to order it. Not Drew’s.
“I hope you're right,” I tell Andy. We write back and forth for a little while longer, but I’m tired. I wish him good night.
“Sweet dreams, Leigh,” he writes back.
I feel my heart flutter and decide that I definitely want to meet Andy.
Chapter Fourteen
Drew
After messaging back and forth with Leigh, I set my phone down on the table, lean back on the couch and link my hands behind my head. I look up through the retractable, glass skylight that’s now closed because the night is cool, and watch the stars shimmer above. I feel better after talking t
o her.
Leigh seems sweet, smart and, of course, she is beautiful. A part of me wants to meet her. Badly. But, what if she recognizes me? Her whole demeanor will probably change and she will turn into all of the other women I’ve dated.
Needy, possessive and dramatic.
The relationships always turn toxic when they eventually grow insecure and demand all of my attention. I need someone who is independent and who has her own life. A woman who has her shit together.
Since my marriage to Tabitha, I haven’t committed to anyone. It’s just easier to play the field and keep things light. No promises.
But, lately, I keep wondering if what I’m doing—keeping all these women at arm’s length—is the root of the whole problem. Should I try to start a real relationship instead of running from it? Can I even find happiness?
Truthfully, I’m not even sure love exists. Fate, soulmates and all that crap is laughable. I’ve always been a believer in lust, infatuation and desire. Looking back, I’m not even sure I was in love with Tabitha and she was my wife.
I’m a horrible person.
But, at least I’m honest. I guess that’s something. And, if I’m being honest with myself, there are two potential candidates I’d like to get to know a whole lot better. Leigh and Ashley.
Unfortunately, Ashley is off limits. So, that leaves Leigh.
But, I keep thinking about Ashley. I can’t help it. She doesn’t seem impressed by me at all. While every other female falls all over me, Ashley doesn’t blink an eye over my company, my billions, my anything. In fact, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough after I confronted her about the email.
My eyes slide shut and I remember the way her body backed up into mine. She smelled so damn good and felt even better. My logical side knows I shouldn’t have hired her, but the more perverse side of me is damn glad I did.
I run a hand through my hair and instantly wonder if I should call my hair stylist to come over and cut it. God, why am I obsessing? But, if I do that then everyone in the office will know it’s because of Tabitha’s bitchy comment. The last thing I want my employees to think is I’m still under Tabitha’s thumb and do whatever she says.
No, forget it. Maybe I’ll just let it grow out another week then trim it right before the charity auction. I rub my chin, now bristly with growth to help hide the bruise courtesy of that asshole James Douglas. I kind of like having a little scruff on my face. It helps cover the smile lines and makes me feel younger. Tabitha, of course, hates it. If I didn’t shave every day while we were married, she would make some derogatory comment. Either I looked like a yeti or Paul Bunyon or, worst of all, extremely unprofessional and not like the CEO of a successful company that people would want to do business with.
I should just let a full beard grow in and to hell with it.
But, I honestly don’t care what Tabitha thinks anymore. I wonder if Ashley likes facial hair on a man?
I also wonder if Ashley has a boyfriend. She doesn’t wear a ring so I assume she’s not engaged or married. She’s just too hot to be single. Someone’s warming her bed and the thought makes me feel a flare of jealousy.
I can’t remember the last time I felt envious of anyone. It’s a completely foreign emotion and I don’t like it.
My thoughts turn dark and I imagine her naked, crawling into bed with some twenty-something guy who probably shoots his wad in less than a minute. She should be with an older man who is experienced and takes his time with her. Someone who can make her come long and hard. Someone who can blow her mind and teach her something new.
Someone like me.
If Ashley Monroe were in my bed, I would kiss her from head to toe and savor the trip down her smooth, delectable body. My tongue would do things to her that she can’t even imagine right now. Then after I licked and sucked her into oblivion, I’d introduce her to my fingers. My hands are fairly large and my long fingers can reach secret, sensitive places. I’d make her squirm as my fingers dipped, swirled and stroked all the right hidden spots.
Finally, I’d lift those hips and sink inside her tight, wet core. I can hold out longer than most so she wouldn’t know what hit her. Stroke after stroke, she’d be begging me for more. And, I’d give it to her so hot and hard that she’d be wet for days. I can hear her scream, feel her body tremble in orgasm and I groan.
I don’t remember the last time a woman made me this hard. Jesus, I’m like steel.
Talk about unprofessional.
I shake my head, trying to clear it of all these forbidden thoughts, and know the only thing that’s going to help is a cold shower.
The next morning, I’m on a video conference call, attempting to secure an item for the charity auction, and trying like hell not to pay attention to Ashley who looks even better today than she did yesterday. I’m not even sure how the hell it’s possible, but I know it’s true because I keep shifting in my seat, trying to ignore the hot, heavy pull in my groin area. Goddamit, I’m uncomfortable.
When she bites the end of her pen, my nostrils flare and I almost groan.
“Drew?’
I flick my attention back to the monitor. “Yes?” I have no idea what’s been said the last two minutes and I’ve just been busted.
“Are you okay? You seem a million miles away.”
“Fine. Sorry, just a lot on my mind. You were saying?”
“I was saying that if we donate the trip to Cabo, we’d like to have our name at the top of the program. Can you arrange that?”
Seriously? I think. I feel like I’m pulling teeth for this lousy trip and who even cares about fucking Cabo? It’s become so dangerous that it’s advised to remain on hotel property at all times and avoid the locals because of all the recent muggings.
“I can’t make any promises, but I will do my best,” I say with a charming smile. Inside, I roll my eyes. Not gonna happen.
“Well, it’s for a good cause so what the hell. I’ll have my assistant make up a basket with all of the details for the auction.”
“Appreciate it, Scott. It’s going to get a lot of bids.”
We disconnect and I glance through the window, but Ashley isn’t there. Curious where she went, I stand up and walk out. Two steps out the door, I stop mid-stride and my gaze lowers to find her in a most compromising position.
Down on all fours, ass in the air, short skirt barely covering it, she searches for something on the floor. My heated gaze moves down the curve of her tempting derrière, creamy thighs, exquisite calves and pauses on the shiny, patent leather heels right below those dainty ankles.
My mouth goes dry. I enjoy the view for a few more seconds then clear my throat.
Ashley jumps, looks at me over her shoulder and gives me a half-smile.
And, it takes everything in me not to walk over, yank her up into my arms and crush my mouth against hers.
I release a shaky breath. “I need some things done. Today. By you.” Christ, one look at her backside and I lose my ability to communicate. This is ridiculous.
Once again, my frustration gets the better of me and I feel my temper slip.
“Of course,” she says and reaches for the edge of her desk. She pulls herself up and twists prettily so everything I want to see and touch and have with my mouth stays hidden.
My pulse throbs and I can’t even remember what I want her to do. She holds a pen, poised over a sheet of paper, and looks up at me with inquisitive eyes. They’re very blue today like a calm, tropical sea. I want to sink into their depths.
“What do you need?” she asks.
I snap back to the present and strain to ignore the heat pooling in my trousers. This can’t be good, I think, getting aroused every time I look at this girl. All this sexual tension with no release has to be unhealthy. Not to mention damn uncomfortable.
I need you to lay back on your desk and spread your legs, honey.
I swipe a hand over my face and start to get angry. I don’t want her answering my calls, I want her underneath me. And,
on top of me. And, riding me hard.
There’s nothing left to do but take it out on her. I mean, she’s the reason I’m getting so pissed off. I start to rattle off a bunch of shit and don’t even remember half of what I’m telling her to do. Pick up my lunch and drycleaning (even though I’m not sure I have anything there to be picked up), set up a 3pm call with Dan, remind me to connect you with Tabitha about the charity event, call and secure the rest of the auction items, confirm my dinner tonight with Channing at the club, call Tara and have her come to my house next Tuesday…
My voice starts to rise and, before I know it, I’m shouting orders like a drill sergeant. “And, order more peanut butter granola bars and there better still be lime sparkling water left in the goddamn kitchen.”
I’m out of breath, face flushed and feel like an utter ass.
Her pen flies across the page and then she frowns. “Tara is…?”
“She cuts my hair,” I snap. When her gaze slides up and she checks out my shaggy-ass hair, I run a self-conscious hand through it. “What?” I ask, my voice low and challenging. Go ahead, tell me it looks awful. Just like Tabitha.
She licks her lips, debating whether to answer. Then, in a soft voice, she says, “I like your hair.”
The pooling heat is now a full-blown erection and I turn and stalk back into my office before I embarrass myself. I slam the door so hard it rattles in its frame, grab the remote on my desk and shut the blinds. I don’t want to look at her for the rest of the day.
Then, I go into my private bathroom and shut myself inside.
I take a few deep breaths, splash some cold water on my face and decide to go to the gym on my lunch and work out until I drop. Or, at least until I can erase the image of Ashley on her hands and knees in front of me, sucking me dry.
There’s only one way to deal with the situation, I think. I need to get laid. Immediately.
Ashley is not an option so I grab my phone, pull up the dating app and send a message off to Leigh.
