Charming Co-Worker: Holiday RomCom Standalone
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He walks us down the hall and into the bedroom when I point to which one is mine, where he lays me on the bed and stares down at me sprawled there. He speaks over his shoulder, “Mittens, if you’re in here, I strongly suggest you find a new spot for the night. Our girl is about to get loud.”
The cat scampers from under my bed and to the living room. I laugh but then stop when Hunter runs his fingers down my legs. How he caresses my thighs and calves already has me lifting my lower back off the bed in pure greediness.
Now, I know exactly what his touch feels like, what he’s going to do to my body, and the anticipation is killing me. Our first time was so amazing; I can’t imagine what the future times we’re together will bring as we get to know each other’s bodies more.
His eyes bore into mine—lust, desire, and need spilling from every millimeter.
“I want you so bad right now,” he says with bated breath.
The way his chest rises and falls gives me so much fuel to be the woman I’ve always hoped to be. The woman who isn’t afraid to take what she desires, to give pleasure to a guy because she wants to see his knees go weak from her very touch.
“Then, take me already.” I lean up and grab his waist, dropping his shorts to the floor. He’s bare underneath, his cock hard and thick, standing at attention, ready for me to do as I wish.
When I hold it in my hand, his head falls back as his breath hitches. When I wrap my mouth around it, his fingers instantly fist my hair as he braces himself. Hearing his groan fuels me even more, and when I run my tongue around his tip and down his shaft, I feel his legs tremble against my body.
“Oh God, Katie,” he bites out through gritted teeth, so I take him deeper, wanting to hear what I’m doing to him more.
He rewards me by tightening his ass and gripping my hair harder.
I’m doing this. I’m making him lose control. It’s the most empowering feeling I’ve ever imagined.
I run my hand down his balls as I suck in harder, and when he gasps, he yanks himself out of my mouth, breathing so deeply that I shake with excitement.
“I’m not ready to come yet. We’re just getting started.” He tilts my body down, removing my pants and yanking them off completely.
My panties are soaked, and when he runs his finger around my clit, his lips tilt up in a grin.
“You liked sucking me like that, didn’t you?”
I nod. “I’ve never felt so sexy in my life.”
“Katie,” he whispers, “you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, whether you’re sitting at your desk or sucking my cock. I’ve never been able to get the first image out of my mind. Now that I have the second, I don’t know how I’ll be able to function.”
I grab his arms, pulling him toward me, kissing his lips with a passion that’s ripping through me so intensely that I don’t know what else to do but attack him in every way.
He removes my shirt and bra, leaning down to press his naked chest against mine. He swipes a condom from his wallet and unravels it down his shaft. As soon as it’s secure, I wrap my legs around his back, guiding him to enter me and not waiting a second longer.
When he does, my entire world goes dark. All I feel is him inside me, filling me beyond the brim. His movements bring light back to my world and fireworks to my insides.
Every breath, every thrust, every kiss is the death of me before I come back again, only to fall back even further than I thought I already had.
My body ignites in ways I didn’t think possible, and I’m greedy, wanting more now that I know what’s coming.
Our bodies are riding with the motions, lost at sea to the waves as they crash together. Just when I feel like I can’t breathe, his lips land on my neck, and I gasp for life once more.
His arms wrap around my back, holding me tighter, as he slams into me with force, like he’s going to die if he doesn’t grip me just a little more.
I scream in absolute ecstasy as my body explodes around him, frozen as I clench around his cock and grip on to his back, holding on for dear life.
A few more thrusts, and Hunter is grunting his release, kissing my lips as his body relaxes against mine.
His slow kisses bring us back to life as our breathing subsides.
“Hunter,” I whisper.
He inhales deeply. “I know, Katie. I feel it too.”
The sun beating through my blinds wakes me up earlier than usual. I look at the clock and see I still have a half hour until I need to shower. When I hear a voice in my living room, I know what woke me up.
Sliding on a bathrobe, I walk to the hallway and peek into my kitchen. Hunter is standing at the counter with a cup of coffee from the Keurig, and Mittens is standing on the countertop next to him, being petted by a gorgeous six-foot-tall television producer.
“Thanks for giving us some space last night. I’ll pay you back with some catnip. I heard that’s like weed for cats. Just don’t go smoking and driving, okay?” Hunter laughs at his own corny joke, and I find myself snickering as well.
When Hunter sees I’m here, he stands up tall and regains his very cool demeanor that he likes to walk around with.
I take a step out of the shadows of the hallway. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”
“I was just making friends with your cat.”
Leaning against the wall, I watch as Mittens lets Hunter pat his head and purrs against his palm. “That’s good. He doesn’t like anyone.”
“Yeah, well, the men in your life have to get along, so I need to make sure I stay on his good side.” Hunter pats Mittens one more time and then walks over to me. “I’m running home to change.” He kisses me, and I grip his arms to steady myself. When he pulls away, he kisses my forehead and then says, “I’ll see you at the office, kid.”
With a wink, he’s out the door. I stand there in disbelief of what we’ve become, taking a minute to gather myself before I head to the shower myself.
Chapter Fourteen
Saks Fifth Avenue is the most prestigious department store in all of New York City. Standing in the middle of the women’s formalwear department with a business card in my hand, I can’t believe that I’m about to pick out a dress here.
A quick glance at a nearby price tag shows it is way out of my range. If I thought a big splurge was the green dress I bought for the Empire Media holiday party, then I was sorely mistaken. The dress I’m staring at has a price so high that there is a comma in it.
“Can I help you?” a saleswoman in a smartly dressed skirt suit asks.
“Yes,” I respond. “I’m looking for Jasmine.”
“You’re in luck. That’s me.” She points to the card in my hand, the one that has her name written on the back of it. “You must be Branson Ford’s assistant. He told me you’d be stopping by. I pulled a few things for you.”
I let out a sigh. “Do you have anything that’s under three hundred dollars? I know he said he’d pay for it, but I feel really uncomfortable—”
“Don’t worry,” she says with a smile. “I chose a few things that are modestly priced and yet will work perfectly for the function you’re going to. If you’re concerned about money, between you and me, Mr. Ford can afford it.” She winks.
I swing my head from side to side. “I take it, he does this sort of thing often. Buys dresses for women? We’re not—”
“None of my business.” She puts her hands up in the air. “I don’t ask. I won’t tell. All I’m here to do is make sure you look fabulous.”
I open my mouth to defend the situation. “I know it’s not, but really, I’m his assistant, and this most definitely is not what you think. This event is all work.”
Even though Jasmine doesn’t seem to care about my statement, I don’t want this woman to think I’m some harlot, soliciting romantic favors in return for a promotion or pretty dresses.
Yes, I absolutely do care about what other people think of me. Even people who I probably will never see again in my life.
Jasmine walks toward the dressing ro
om, and I follow. There are several clothing racks on wheels, one of which seems to be the one she’s looking for. She pulls it out, and there are seven dresses on hangers, all of different colors.
She holds up the first. It’s a bright red gown with a sweetheart neck and sequins all over. The color is beautiful, but it is very showy for my taste.
I try it on because I don’t want to be rude. When it’s on, she compliments me profusely.
“That color pops against your fair skin, making it glow. This is a contender.”
She unzips me, and I walk back to the dressing room to change into the second dress. It’s a sapphire number with an asymmetrical neckline and a large bow on the hip.
“Blue is the new black. It’s the most flattering color on virtually everyone. The statement neckline will really impress the guests at the party,” she declares when I step out of the dressing room.
When I see my reflection in the mirror, I instantly feel like a prom queen from the ’90s.
The third and fourth dresses are beautiful. One is a sexy black velvet gown that hugs my curves. The next is a gold dress with a high slit that forces me to make the Angelina Jolie leg pose.
From showy to sexy, they are all very nice, but it’s not until I slide the fifth dress on that I feel like me.
“This is the one,” Jasmine states.
And I have to agree with her.
It’s a burgundy satin gown with a deep V-neck and spaghetti straps. The dress cinches at the waist and falls in a long A-line, pooling on the ground. The best part is, it has pockets.
I look in the mirror and admire the way the dress fits me. Thanks to my modest-sized breasts, the plunging neckline is just sexy enough without being risqué. And I can even sneak my lip gloss in my pocket, so I’m never without.
The price tag is hanging from the side of the dress. My shoulders fall when I see it is definitely more than three hundred dollars.
“You said these were modestly priced,” I say to her. “I’m sure you have less expensive gowns here.”
Jasmine grimaces. “We do, but Mr. Ford came in here with a price point in mind. The event you’re attending has a dress code that needs to be adhered to.”
I blow a deep breath out my lips as I turn back to the mirror. I want to make the best impression even if that does mean looking the part. I’m aware that my mind and looks are not one and the same, but I know how business games are played. If you look successful, people will assume you’re the essence of success.
“I’ll take it. But I insist on putting three hundred of my own money toward this dress and the rest on Branson’s card.” Thank God I just got paid. My bank account didn’t need to take the hit on purchasing yet another dress, but it’s a matter of principle for me.
Jasmine seems content with my request. “If that’s what you wish. I’ll ring you up.”
The dress needs some minor alterations, so they take it to be picked up later, and then I leave, deciding to brave the cold late-December chill and walk to work.
There’s a food truck on the street, so I walk up to the cart and take a five out of my wallet for a hot chocolate. As I wait for it, I see a homeless man freezing on the sidewalk with a blanket over him. Turning back to the vendor, I ask him to make that two cocoas and walk the other to the man shivering in the cold who smiles at my gift, thanking me as I walk away.
When I get to the office, I hang my coat up and am about to sit at my desk when Branson calls me into his office.
He’s looking down at his computer keyboard as he speaks, “You’ve been gone a long time. I’ve been waiting for the Nielsen report from you. The shareholders meeting is coming up, and we have two failing shows that need revival, or we’re going to have to cancel them.”
I grab the report and then run it over to him. “I didn’t know you were here. I had you scheduled for a long lunch.”
“Well, I’m here and very much in need of an assistant.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to Saks. I just didn’t want to wait any longer because the event is in two days.”
Branson’s head pops up. The frazzled demeanor he just had leaves his expression. “Were you happy?”
I blanch, confused. “Excuse me?”
“Were you happy? With what you picked out?”
“Oh. Yes. I was very pleased. Jasmine did a wonderful job with helping me choose one. You must know that I refuse to let you pay for it. I’m paying you back. For the entire thing.”
“Nonsense.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his foot over his knee. He always looks so handsome when he does this. Like a king on his throne. “I will not take your money, Katherine.”
“I know what you’re saying, but—”
“End of story.” He rises from his chair, dismissing the conversation. “Now, why don’t you and I order lunch in and go over these reports for the shareholders meeting?”
“Order lunch in?” I don’t mean to ask it like a question. I’m just surprised.
Branson and I have never had a working lunch. Not one where we sit in his office and go over reports while having a meal.
He raises his brow, as if he doesn’t understand my objection. I turn around and walk to my desk.
It’s Tuesday, and Branson likes to eat Indian food on Tuesdays, so I place the order. I compile every last bit of research I think he’ll want to go over before his shareholders meeting, the one I’m supposed to give a presentation to next week, and print the data.
When lunch arrives, I walk it into Branson’s office. To my surprise, he moves to the sofa area and sets our food out on the coffee table. The papers are laid out before us.
This is the Branson I like. The one who gives me his attention and asks insightful questions. He listens to me as I explain patterns in the demographic viewings and takes in my suggestions. He gives advice when he thinks I’m off the mark and challenges me to think outside of the box.
This is why I pined for him all those months. He’s so very handsome and smart, and yes, that accent is still so wonderful.
Yet, while I still find him to be the most eligible man in the city, he’s not the man I want anymore.
His pen drops to the ground. He holds his tie close to his chest as he leans down to pick it up. He stays down there a few seconds too long. I glance over and see he’s staring at my feet, and I wonder why.
“Do your socks say, My puns are grate?” he asks, looking at my hideous cheese-grater socks I got from Hunter’s family Christmas party.
I giggle into the back of my hand. “It’s an inside joke.”
Branson dazzles me with his smile. “Care to make it an outside one?”
I smash my lips together and shake my head. “No,” I answer. Not to be rude. Just because I’m not ready to share my jokes with Hunter with the world. They’re personal and ours.
My feelings for Hunter are so strong and developed in such a short amount of time. He’s fun and romantic, spontaneous and intense.
They’re also new.
Too new.
I don’t know how to process them.
Branson’s thick brows are pushed together. His mouth is pursed as he looks at me, pensive.
“May I be forward with you?” he asks.
I sit up straight and give him my rapt attention. “Of course.”
He angles his body toward me, so we’re face-to-face. “Your relationship with Hunter,” he starts, “I know it might seem serious now, but it won’t last.”
My eyes widen at his comment.
He continues anyway, “I’ve been around him outside of the office enough to know that he is prone to falling into relationships rather easily. He enjoys the chase, if you know what I mean. It would benefit you to keep him at a distance until his intentions become clear.”
I’m not entirely sure what to do with this well-meaning advice, but I am certain Branson doesn’t know Hunter the way I do.
“Thank you for the advice, but Hunter isn’t that type of man,” I defend.
Hunter doesn’t fall in love, I want to tell him. He only believes in true love in its most selfless form.
That said, I can’t deny what Branson is saying. Hunter does date a lot. I can’t fault him for that, but—if I’m wise—I would keep that notion in the back of my head before I fall too deep and my heart breaks.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m a strong woman with a good head on my shoulders,” I tell him as I put the empty lunch containers in the paper bag.
“You wear your heart on your sleeve, Katherine. It’s one of the things I adore most about you.”
I halt at his comment. He adores me.
His mouth tugs to the side as he leans forward, his face just inches from mine as he declares, “You deserve to be with a gentleman. Always remember that.”
The aroma of peppermint from a fine Englishman wafts off of him and makes me dizzy.
Branson stands up and walks to his desk. He straightens his tie and waits as I discard the trash and then gather the papers.
“Leave them. We can go over them some more before you go home for the day.”
I nod my head and step out of the office. At my desk, I run my hand over my head and wonder why I’m suddenly feeling off center.
“Katherine”—Branson is now standing in the threshold between his office and mine—“I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.”
I shake my head. “No. You were just looking after your employee, so she doesn’t get hurt and want to leave her post.” I raise the inflection in my tone, so it sounds like a joke.
He’s not laughing. “I’m telling you as a man who doesn’t want a woman to have her heart broken. Besides, soon, you’ll be moving on, and you won’t be my employee any longer.”
He stands there for a beat, his words lingering in the air, like a heavy weight barreling down on my subconscious.