by S. E. Lund
"No, Steph. Don't laugh. This is serious. He's really," I said and hesitated, hating the words I'd have to tell her.
"He's really what?" she said, her voice impatient. "Quit with the teasing. Who is he?"
"He's my boss." I cringed when I said it, because the thought that I had almost had sex unknowingly with my new boss was the very last thing I should ever have done.
"Your boss? I thought this Sharon lady was your boss."
"She's my supervisor, but he's the boss. He's the big boss. As in, Joshua Macintyre Jr, CEO of Macintyre Broadcasting Corporation."
"MBC? The CEO? Oh, my God, Ella. Seriously?" I heard her typing on a keyboard. "I'm searching now for Joshua Macintyre. Annnnnd..." she said and then I heard a gasp.
"Oh, my God, Ella. He's a freaking hunk. You actually thought he was a bicycle courier? How could you ever imagine that? I mean, Armani model yes, but bicycle courier?"
"He was wearing a bicycle outfit, you know, with the whole tight body suit and slick helmet. What else could I think?"
"Like, maybe he was just riding his bike and he takes riding seriously? He's gorgeous."
"Yes, he is. He's a total babe. And the worst part of it is that we ended up at his apartment and he had my bra off and was just about to take off more when his drunk ex-fiancée walked in and caught us."
"Shut the front door," she said, laughing. "Are you shitting me? This is one of your erotic stories, right?"
"No, I'm not kidding. It really happened. We were all hot and heavy and I looked up and saw this blonde woman standing in the doorway, crying. Needless to say, it spoiled the vibe I was trying to create what with his face between my boobs."
"No kidding. Look, kiddo. When I told you to live it up, I had no idea you'd take me so seriously. He's the actual CEO of MBC? Are you sure he wasn't tricking you or something? You are very naive..."
"No, seriously. He's the big boss in all his impeccable Armani-suited-hunkiness and I saw him actually sitting behind the biggest desk you've ever seen."
"He's the one with the perfect mouth and blue-gray eyes? The sexy longish hair that flops in his eyes? The perfectly trimmed beard? The devastatingly square jaw? And you were kissing that mouth?"
"I was. That mouth was licking my tattoo just when I saw the ex-fiancée gawking at us in the bedroom doorway."
"Oh, my God. Ella. What a story."
"I know, I know. I told him I couldn't see him again."
"What? Why?"
"He's my boss, Steph. I thought you'd understand."
"He's gorgeous! How could you turn that down?"
"I know, right? But he's my boss. Anyway, he texted me with an invitation to go out for supper for the best meatballs in the world and try to set some ground rules, but I turned him down."
"You're turning down meatballs? He wants to lay down ground rules? You mean, finish what you started, right?"
"Yes, but Steph, I can't. It would be what Jerkface did to me."
We both had been hurt by office romances but it seemed the two of us were just interested in being together, and the rest of it didn't matter all that much.
"You're turning down one of the richest hunks in all of the USA?"
"Yes," I said, pouting at the tone of her voice. "He's my boss."
"You've said that three times already and each time, I still don't understand. You met and you like each other. End of story."
"It's hilarious, because I thought he was a bicycle courier. He played along for a while, amused. I even offered to pay for his health care if he needed to see a doctor for stitches. God, I offered to call his boss and provide a letter that he'd hurt himself because of me."
We laughed for a moment and I thought of how truly funny it was.
Once I got under control, I sighed. "He seemed to like me thinking he was just a bicycle courier."
"He's probably used to having dozens of young women offering themselves to him because of his money."
"And his looks," I added.
"Yes. The being a total hunk part doesn't hurt but make the millions seem even more enticing. He was probably happy that you liked him for himself, rather than his money. You know, poor little rich boy nobody can really see because they have dollar signs in their eyes."
"I suppose so. Thing is, I would have kept seeing him if he was just a bicycle courier."
"You are such a stickler. And that's prejudiced, by the way."
"I even asked him if he knew any Mr. Big types he could introduce me to."
"Oh, my God, that's just too good. He was the actual Mr. Big."
"I know, I know...Why did he have to be my boss?"
"What's he like?"
"He was so nice. Offered to help me. Handed me money and a cell. Took me out for supper and drinks. Sent shivers down my spine before we were rudely interrupted."
"The shivers down your spine part. Spill, sister."
"He kisses good." I smiled, knowing that would drive Steph wild.
"He kisses good? That's all you're giving me? What about the licking the tattoo part?"
"I'll write a story about it. I feel weird telling you."
"Okay, you do that. Write a story. Except, finish it the way you wish it turned out. Maybe title it, 'He Was Just A Bicycle Courier But He Sure Spun My Tires.' Or 'Pulled my chain'. Or Blew My Horn.'"
"You're crazy..."
"You know it. Seriously, Ella. Go out for dinner with him. Have a nice meatball or three. Give him a chance. Jump his damn bones."
"I'll think about it."
"Don't think too long or there'll be someone else come along and be only too happy to take your place, sweetheart."
"Okay, okay. I'll think about it quickly. I gotta go, but thanks for listening."
"Hey, who loves you?" she said with a laugh.
"You do," I replied. "Love you back." Then I hung up, smiling at the thought of her own smile I knew would be plastered across her face.
At around seven, I checked my messages and while I was wishing that Josh had sent me yet another message, thinking that if he had I might have broken down and gone to meet him, a message popped up from Steph.
STEPH: So I take it you're right now sitting in a nice Italian restaurant in Mid-Town Manhattan across from one of the hunkiest richest publishing magnates in the world, enjoying world-famous meatballs like I said you should?
I sighed.
ELLA: Actually, I'm sitting on my bed. There's a frozen dinner in my freezer with my name on it, but I'm not really all that hungry right now...
STEPH: Oh, cry me a river. You're in Damn Manhattan, in a studio apartment in Chelsea, with a job in publishing, and a millionaire hunk wanting to lick your tattoo and a whole lot more. Get your ass down to the restaurant and have some damn meatballs, will ya???
ELLA: Okay.
STEPH: That's better. Dammit! Text me to let me know how it goes. If I don't hear from you, I hope it's because he's busy licking something other than your tattoo. And not his spoon either!
ELLA: Okay, okay. I'll go. *Smooch*
STEPH: *cracks whip*
I smiled and put my cell into my bag and left my apartment.
Chapter Sixteen
Joshua
I sent the text and waited, hoping Ella was willing to give us a chance. I didn't expect her to show up. In fact, I expected her to ignore me completely. I sat and checked my cell, then watched outside the window at the street, hoping to see her and her long brown hair come bobbing along the street.
Nothing.
I checked my watch and it was already 7:15. If she was coming, she was late, but I had to expect that since she was new in Manhattan and the trains could be delayed during rush hour.
Then I saw her.
She wore a short jean skirt, a sweater and heels and looked casually delicious, her long hair pulled back in a braid that fell over one shoulder. She opened the door to the restaurant and glanced around until her eyes finally met mine.
I think I saw the slightest bit of a smile on h
er face and that tiny quirk of her lips gave me hope. I stood and held out a chair. She remained in the entrance, as if she was rethinking her decision to join me. I saw her bite her bottom lip and so I knew she needed some extra enticement. I held up the basket of fresh bread sticks and mouthed, 'They're fantastic!' and kissed my fingers the way an Italian chef would.
This time, she smiled broadly and I felt a surge of adrenaline go through me.
She approached the table, stopping when she got to the chair I held out for her.
"Ella, thanks for coming," I said and gestured to the chair. "I know you're concerned about being with me because of who I am, but I want you to feel completely comfortable about it. What will it take to make you less concerned?"
"I don't know," she said and sat down.
I pulled out her napkin and draped it on her lap. Then I sat beside her instead of across from her so I was closer. I turned my chair so we faced each other.
"Let's be totally honest with each other from this time forward. You can ask me anything, and I'll tell you the honest truth. Anything you want. Total open book."
"Anything?" she said and sat down.
"Anything."
She smiled, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "What's your favorite porn indulgence?"
That threw me. My eyes widened at her question. "That's pretty... hard to answer, really. I mean, a man sees porn like a glutton sees a smorgasbord. It's hard to choose and pretty much anything is tasty. It's all food. Well, except the illegal stuff, but I don't go there."
She rested her chin on her hand and batted her eyelashes. "Give me one thing that you go back to over and over."
I laughed and leaned back, surprised but charmed by her forthrightness. "I should be like my father and say I don't need to look at porn because I have dozens of women willing to take part in a pas de deux with me. He made that argument to me once when he found me watching porn on the internet and I challenged him about what he watched. Except, he said he didn't look at porn because he had my mother, which made me go all gross."
"Gross? You thought your mother was gross?"
"No, I mean, I thought my parents having sex was gross. When he found me, I was eleven and thought that married people only had sex to procreate."
She nodded. "A good Catholic, are you?"
"A failed Catholic, actually."
She folded her arms and looked at me pointedly. "Your favorite go-to porn. Chop chop."
"Chop chop?" I said, stalling for time. What did I like that I felt comfortable sharing? "I like watching," I said keeping my voice as low as possible, "when a woman uses a dildo and makes herself orgasm."
She raised her eyebrows. "Voyeur, are you?"
"A bit."
"Why?" she asked, leaning closer. "What do you like about it?"
I tilted my head to the side, considering. "I like to see a woman's desire. Her need. I like to see her fulfilled."
The waitress came to our table to take a drink order, interrupting our little conversation and I hoped that was it with the intimate questions.
"Feel like some Italian red to go along with the meatballs?" I asked.
"Sure," she replied.
I turned to the waitress. "Tell your bartender to pick a red for us. We'll be having the spaghetti and meatballs."
The waitress smiled and left us.
I turned to her, trying to shift the line of questioning from my porn preferences to anything else.
"I'm glad you decided to come," I said and leaned in closer."
"Tell me more about you," she said and picked up one of the breadsticks, her lips closing over the end of it in all-too suggestive way that made my mind go to her sliding my dick into her mouth instead. Then she bit down-- hard and chewed, smiling.
She knew what she did to me. I smiled to myself. She was playful. And a bit of a tease.
I liked it.
"I'm Joshua Macintyre Jr, oldest brother of five. I'm the one who obeyed all the rules and always asked permission, while my younger siblings broke all the rules and asked for forgiveness," I said with a laugh, because it was true. "I'm the responsible one. The one everyone can count on to do the right thing."
She nodded and her gaze moved over my face. "Why do you think your fiancée cheated on you?"
That set me back a bit. "Wow." I actually physically leaned back in my chair. "Let me think." I bit my bottom lip and narrowed my eyes. "Because she never really loved me but she loved the idea of being the wife of Joshua Macintyre Jr and starting a dynasty between our two families."
"But you loved her for herself," she said and took another bite off the end of her breadstick. "There was nothing shallow in your relationship with her. She was beautiful. Tall, blonde hair, perfect skin from what I could see. Very shapely. Obviously from a wealthy family."
"I thought I loved her," I admitted. "I loved us as a couple. We were a power couple. Two big business families joined, two fortunes united. I could see it all from where I sat. Charity balls, exotic vacations, our children going to the best private schools, Ivy League colleges, inheriting the business or starting their own dynasties. But she was really in love with one of my mid-level managers from a middle-class background." I shrugged, helpless. "It was true love on their part but she couldn't marry him. He wasn't rich enough. That hurt."
"Yeah, same story on my part," she said and glanced away, her expression still pained.
"I know your pain," I said, hearing the edge of sadness in her voice. "Wounds still fresh?"
"Too fresh," she replied. "Not enough scar tissue yet. Still raw."
"Say no more. I'm in the same boat."
"We're a pair," she said and smiled. "Losers at love."
"Losers at love," I replied and held out my breadstick. We taped them together and chewed, each of us probably thinking about our cheating exes.
"Hopefully winners at life in general. We need something to make up for it."
"Have you dated anyone since you split?" I asked, interested in her romantic life.
She shook her head. "Nope. I swore off men for a full year."
"You came with me to the apartment..."
"I'm weak."
"So, you're ready to try again?"
"I was," she said softly. "Unfortunately, I ran into a really nice guy who ended up being my boss and I was pretty much ready to throw in the towel for the rest of the year because I promised myself I'd never do an office romance."
I shook my head. "Office romances aren't all that bad..."
She smiled at me, her smile warm. "My BFF told me I was being an idiot. That I was being prejudiced because I would have kept seeing you if you were only a bicycle courier."
"You liked me in spite of thinking I was just a bicycle courier putting myself through college with dreams of buying a newspaper one day."
She leaned back when the waitress brought the bottle of wine and we stopped talking while she uncorked it and poured me a sample. I nodded in approval and we were quiet while she poured us each a glass. Once she was gone, I held up my glass.
"To us. Losers at love. Winners at life."
"To us," she replied and we both took a sip.
"What do you think?" I asked when she put her glass down. "Do you approve?"
She shrugged and wagged her eyebrows. "Honestly, I wouldn't know a good wine from vinegar."
I laughed. "Well, this is a good Italian red. Dry and perfect for the world's best meatballs."
We talked for a while about her job and what it entailed. How she'd met Sharon at a conference, hitting it off during their meeting.
"So, tell me what you're writing. I'm a publisher. I might be interested."
She laughed. "Nah, I don't think so. I plan on writing a romantic comedy one day, but right now, I'm in this group of women who are all writing erotica."
"You write erotica?" I said, my body responding to the idea she was a hot little number under the innocent exterior.
"I do." She smiled and took a sip of her wine, her eyes twin
kling. She was enjoying teasing me. She had to know what it did to me to think of her writing erotica. Of me reading the erotica she wrote.
"You have to let me read some."
"Not on your life," she said and laughed. "It's for women, not men."
"Come on," I said and pouted. "You can't do that to a guy -- tell him you write erotica and then not let him read it."
"You couldn't handle it," she said.
"What do you mean? Why couldn't I handle it? Is it kinky? I can handle kinky."
"Nuh, uh. Not telling you."
"Dammit, woman. You can't do that. It's totally unfair."
She only smiled in response.
Our food arrived and I waited impatiently for her to try the meatballs, my mind thankfully diverted from thoughts of her writing erotica to her response to the meatballs. She poked one of them with her fork and opened her mouth, wrapping her lips around it. Of course, my mind went there right away and I watched as she bit down and chewed.
"Oh, God," she said, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Which, of course, made my mind go there again.
"You like?"
"Oh, these are the best," she said and ate the rest of the meatball, then twirled some spaghetti with tomato marinara sauce. She sat and ate meatball after meatball, pausing only to dip her breadstick into the sauce. "I swear, this is the best I've ever eaten. Not that I've eaten much authentic Italian, but it's definitely the best."
"Told you," I said and drank some wine, smiling. "You can trust me."
She narrowed her eyes. "Will you be mad when I tell you I'm not coming home with you tonight, despite how good the meatballs are?"
I leaned closer and looked in her eyes, trying to put on as sincere an expression as I could.
"Not mad. Sad. I was hoping you'd come back home with me tonight and finish what we started."
She leaned forward. "If you weren't my boss, I would." She smiled and poked her last meatball then took a bite. "I make it a rule not to boink the boss. I thought I'd be nice and tell you in person. Considering both of us have been burned by office romances gone bad, I'd think you'd agree."
I leaned back, resigned to the fact that she was not going to come home with me. She was not going to see where this thing between us was going to go -- on principle. Part of me was upset of course. I wanted her. The prelude to sex we had both played the previous night had been good. Really good.