by May Sage
Shy Girls Write It Better
May Sage
Edited by
Lisa Bing
Edited by
Tracy Vincent
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Next
Little Morning Star
The Playgirls
Cinderella
Chapter 1
Cassie felt like a James Bond Girl minus the grace and the fake boobs as her fingers flew on the keyboard, typing the super-secret words no one could ever see.
Hearing steps behind her, she minimized the document she was working on, opening up a spreadsheet as quickly as she could – given the antediluvian system she was working with, that could take a while. Thankfully, the incriminating window consented to disappear in time. It just wouldn’t do for one of her colleagues to glance over her shoulder and read the word cock.
It wasn’t her fault – not really. If her boss sent anything even remotely challenging her way, she wouldn’t feel bored to tears by eleven every morning. At the start of her employment at Harris Toys, she’d done her very best, always eagerly asking for more projects, but each time, Michelle Davis, her direct superior, just sent her on a coffee run or an equally boring task. There was nothing wrong with being treated like a secretary; when you were one.
Cassie was an accountant with a double major in business; after working her way through college and amassing more experience than your average thirty-year-old, she received a good dozen job offers right out of school.
She accepted Harris Toys’ offer because, come on, it was Harris Toys. Not only did the company specialize in really cool children toys, half of which were crafted for the use of kids with special needs, but it also generously gave to just about any cause that seemed worthy these days. That was the kind of company you could boast about at a high school reunion. But not when you were a glorified secretary-occasionally-doing-payroll.
As it became clear that Michelle refused to let her do her job, Cassie resorted to two equally underhanded behaviors. Firstly, she’d started to schedule her occasional trip to her boss’s desk when Michelle’s own superior was within ear shot, to make it clear that she wasn’t the slacker Michelle was trying to show she was.
She was all smiles as she said things such as, “Is there anything I can do for you, Michelle? I’m done with the last expense report.”
Because Cassie was shy – terminally so – people mistakenly believed they could walk all over her. Not happening.
Her second coping mechanism, when she had nothing else to do, consisted in plugging in her USB stick, opening up her last document, and writing the naughty books she’d never had the time to focus on until now.
After adhering to the routine for over seven months, she had three books under her belt and the hearing of your average Alsatian, as catching approaching steps had become her biggest challenge in her cubicle.
Lifting her head to see who the newcomer could possibly be, she dropped it right back to her keyboard quicker than usual, hunching her back to disappear behind her screen.
Patrick Johnson, the CFO, Michelle’s boss, came down at least twice a week, so she’d gotten as used to him as she could – although Cassie would never feel comfortable with a man like him: tall, broad, with a killer smile and too much charisma. She preferred them to stay where they belonged: in fictitious romance.
Still, she could deal with Trick. He was one of the nice ones; he remembered her name and asked how she was until she felt comfortable enough to return the greeting.
The problem was that Trick hadn’t come alone today. Oh, no. He’d brought his best friend, the founder and CEO of Harris Toys, Carter Harris.
Given the fact that she was working for him, Cassie had seen him a few times; on her first day, for one, and maybe once or twice in the elevator. Okay, seven times. Yes, she’d been close to hyperventilating at each damn occasion.
Trick was an upgrade on the All American guy, light brown hair, with amber eyes and a ready smile, while Carter was his exact opposite. Dark wavy hair he styled like Superman and cold grey eyes always penetrating whatever they landed on. Everyone in the room held their breaths and not only because he was signing the paychecks. Well, not literally; Cassie was the one who signed them off.
He was the kind of person who effortlessly dominated whatever space he entered.
She risked a peek up from her screen and regretted it immediately: he’d just been looking in her corner – her movement brought his attention to her. Shit.
That’s when, in her mind, she confidently got up, walked straight up to him and grabbed his jacket, kissing him deeply right then and there like they were alone in the world. If it had been one of her books, her protagonist would have just done that. In reality, though, she kept her ass firmly planted on her chair, and blushed like there was no tomorrow.
To her surprise, the corner of Carter Harris’ mouth curled up, although he soon turned to look at everyone else in the room.
“Morning,” his deep voice greeted them. “Don’t mind us – maintenance is redoing the carpet in the three upper floors; we’ll just borrow some of your space for a couple of days.”
Yeah, sure. No worries. Great news.
She was dead. Her nerves would not survive “a couple of days” of seeing Carter Fucking Harris for eight hours straight. With a bit of luck, he’d choose the office behind her back, and she could always do without using the coffee machine nestled against it; that meant she’d only spot him when he came in and left…
Her hopes were dashed as the man carelessly waltzed in the large office right in front of her; as the walls were entirely made of glass, he might as well have been in the same room.
Great. Better get a heart surgeon on speed-dial.
He walked in and made himself at home, placing his cool MacBook on his desk as he talked with Trick, who nodded a lot, without lifting his head from his phone.
Cassie just observed them, hypnotized; so when his gaze offhandedly landed on her, he caught her right in the middle of her ogling.
Perfect. The week was starting out beautifully. She’d get fired for slacking on the job and die of a heart attack by Wednesday.
To her absolute shock, and terror, her boss’s boss’s boss – although she might have missed a boss or two in between – smiled directly at her, a winked, before returning to his computer.
Okay, okay. She could skip the panic attack. Quite obviously, she was dreaming the whole thing; there was no way that Carter Fucking Harris was winking at her, frumpy little Cassie Franklin.
Right?
Chapter 2
Carter wasn’t sure whether he was amused or irritated by the unforeseen inconvenience that the slender blonde who had taken cover behind her desktop represented. She was a distraction he just didn’t have the time for right then.
It wasn’t her fault, but the girl was adorable. She always made him want to ruffle her hair or pinch her rosy cheeks, which would have been entirely inappropriate, because she was an employee.
Cassandra Franklin – went by Cassie, born 21st of June 1991, valedictorian of her high school, graduated with honors from NYU. Youngest of two sisters, both parents were still alive, still together and they all met up for brunch every Sunday.
Yes, he’d had her checked one year and seven months
ago after she’d fallen on her ass right in front of him on her way to her interview.
He recalled the incident and smiled, shaking his head. She’d worn a polka dot blouse and patent shoes, with a headband. Seriously, a headband. All she needed to make the image of shy little schoolgirl perfect would have been a lollipop.
His gaze had dropped to her Barbie pink lips and suddenly he wanted her to suck on a lollipop.
Those were pretty lips. His interest piqued, he looked a little closer, catching the long legs under the bloodstained, ruined pantyhose, and the generous curve of her breast that the silken fabric of her top failed to entirely disguise…
He looked away. The girl was far too young to incite that sort of reaction from him. Eighteen, nineteen maybe. He couldn’t really tell, but she seemed far more innocent than the sophisticated women he frequented.
He heard her muttering about two left feet and found himself giving her a hand.
“Hi sweetheart,” he said, to his surprise.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who called women sweetheart, or babe, or anything of that kind. But she was a sweetheart, that much was obvious. Mistaking her for one of his employee’s teenage daughters, he asked, “You’re meeting someone?”
“Yes,” she’d replied, before her head snapped up and took him in.
First, her jaw hit her floor, then her cheeks turned tomato red, and her big does eyes went down to her little feet.
“Yes, I… I’m here to see Ms. Cooper? I have an interview.”
He wiggled an eyebrow; so she wasn’t quite as young as he’d thought then. Good. That meant he could look down again, and properly appreciate the lips.
He liked that the upper lip was plumper than the lower one, giving her pout an irresistible and unique flair, but the pink gloss had to go. He wished he could wipe it off her face, and replace it with a cherry red lipstick.
“You want to intern here,” he guessed, and for some reason, that made her laugh.
“I’m twenty-three, and have two degrees, so no. I’d greatly prefer to be gainfully employed.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. Twenty-three; eight years younger than him. That didn’t seem bad at all…
“Don’t worry, though, I’m not offended,” she said, smiling, without lifting her eyes up to meet his. How infuriating. “I’m well aware that I look young.”
Carter smiled and showed her to the elevator, resolving to have her background check done right there and then. There was a good chance that she was an industrial spy. No one was so perfectly innocent and sweet. No one.
Except Cassie Franklin, apparently, he had to conclude a few hours later after running through the report he’d asked for. There was no dirt on her, none. And yes, she had been a girl scout, there was a picture of a mini version of her selling cookies in pigtails to prove it.
Carter didn’t often think of her, in all honesty; adorable and ditzy wasn’t exactly his type, and she wasn’t high up enough in the food chain to have any reason to make it to his floor, but each time he saw her, he couldn’t help smiling. God, she was cute, and helpless, too. More often than not, she bumped into any available surface and tripped over her own feet.
Glancing at her through the transparent walls of his temporary office, and catching her watching him and Trick, then panic and blush like the darling she was, he smiled again. It was like observing a kitten. He thought he’d miss his incomparable view of the city from his office, but now he was looking forward to a few days enjoying the change of scenery…
There was no questioning why she squirmed. Her panic was a little excessive, but most women he met generally acted the same way – intimidated; some, by the depth of his pockets, others by his appearance. According to the trashy magazines that featured him every other day, he was hot. According to Forbes, he was rich.
Carter wondered what little Cassie was frightened of, his money or his looks?
His smile widened as she got to her feet, grabbed a pile of papers from the printer, stuffed it into a folder and went out as quickly as her feet could carry her. Stopping himself from chuckling when she stumbled at the door was almost impossible.
She was running away from him, there was no mistaking it.
He liked that; perhaps too much. Little mice should know that when they ran away, cats couldn’t help themselves from wanting to chase.
He wouldn’t, though. The girl was an employee. His company didn’t have any fraternization policy, and relationships between coworkers weren’t frowned upon, as long as everyone kept their personal shit at home. The issue was that he didn’t want a relationship – not now, possibly not ever. He just didn’t have the time for it. Besides, Carter was the CEO – that was a completely different ballgame. He could look at a pair of legs the wrong way and be slapped with a million dollars worth of legal fees for sexual harassment.
Yes, this was an excuse. Yes, he was sticking to it.
“Carter, have you even looked at the figure I’ve just sent you?” Trick asked him.
He had. In fact, he’d read the figure in front of him three times.
“Yes. Yes, I have.”
“And you’re not ordering fireworks because…”
Carter forced himself to concentrate on the numbers from their latest launch.
Saying that it looked good was an understatement. They’d killed it, demolishing the target he’d set on the first day.
“It really is amazing. Well done. The bonuses are going to be pretty good this year.”
His friend was still looking at him in a strange manner, so he asked, “What?”
“You look happy. I mean, Christmas morning, I’ve gobbled the canary kinda happy. I don’t know if I should get the champagne or call your doctor.”
“Come on, Trick. I smile all the time.”
“Sure,” the CFO admitted with a shrug. “You show your teeth and pull your lips up, but man, you’re beaming right now. Did you get lucky last night? Because if that’s it, I’m hiring someone to keep you in that kinda mood every day.”
Carter just rolled his eyes. He most definitely didn’t need to call upon a professional to fill his bed. Whenever he attended an event, he took his date home, and for any other day, he had an agreement in place with the kind of girl any man would dream about.
Tara was tall, with a perfect ass, and designer tits. Her face had gone under the scalpel enough times to remove every imperfection. She was the ultimate sexual fantasy made flesh.
“Come on, fess up, man. Twenty minutes ago, you almost beheaded the contractor for failing to finish the carpet over the weekend, now you’re giving the Joker a run for his money. What’s making you all cheery?”
Carter didn’t say anything; he wasn’t that stupid. If Trick ever suspected his misplaced fondness for a certain lowly employee, he would never leave it alone. There was also a strong probability that he might share the information with his mother, and then life wouldn’t be worth living.
Lara Harris wanted grandchildren. Badly.
“I just remembered something highly amusing. Now, if you please, I don’t think I can survive another minute without coffee. Is there a break room around here?”
He hadn’t done it on purpose, but when he opened the door to find Cassie sitting down with her sandwich, a pair of rectangular glasses on top of her perky nose, he had to chuckle to himself.
Trick looked at him suspiciously, following the direction of his gaze. To get him off his case, Carter launched into a series of questions about their latest deal.
They’d talked about getting into robots ages ago, but nothing they came up with was nearly as inventive as Slade Technologies’ stuff. William Slade had zero intentions to start designing toys, so Carter had seen an opportunity for a joint venture. They’d shaken on the particulars a few days back; it was still new, fresh and exciting.
Carter hadn’t attended the last set of meetings, entrusting it to Trick. There was only so much time he could spend going around in circles about tiny little deta
ils – after a while, he liked to hide in the creative department and brainstorm with the lucky buggers who got to stay in the fun part of the building every day.
“He just had one amendment: he wants a prototype for his daughter.”
That surprised him. He’d known William Slade for a while, they frequented the same circle, the same club, and he’d never heard of any children.
Then again, he wouldn’t be the first billionaire to keep his family protected, out of the limelight. Carter knew he would more than likely do the same in his place.
“Slade has a daughter?”
He smiled, imagining the cold, smart, focused man he knew playing hide and seek.
“Yes, apparently. That was a new one on me, too. Should have seen the guy’s face when he talked about her, though. He smiled nearly as much as you have this morning. Anyway, didn’t you get the file? Slade signed the contract, I got it sent to you via courier Saturday morning.”
Carter frowned; he’d been out sailing over the weekend.
Knowing how efficient his housekeeper was, he opened up his computer bag, and found a thick brown folder he hadn’t put in there.
“You can always count on Mrs. Ferrar to save the day,” he said, opening it up and glancing through it until he got to the signatures on the last page.
He’d check through it later, but there was ink on the dotted lines, which was always a good sign.
“How the fuck is that supposed to work? It’s not a coffee machine, that’s a damn spaceship,” Trick grumbled, interrupting his brief inspection.
Carter rolled his eyes and confidently turned his attention to the coffee maker.
He stared dumbly. Damn, the thing even looked like a spaceship. There were too many buttons and just about zero directions written anywhere.
“There must be instructions somewhere,” Trick reasoned, opening cupboards and drawers as Carter gritted his teeth, unreasonably aggravated by the uncooperative piece of equipment.