One of his hands lifts to my jaw and pushes slightly back into my hair while the other moves down to the knee I have him hooked with. His hands are firm and soft all at the same time, and I can feel a hunger building that kissing alone cannot satiate. I move my hands to the buttons of his shirt and begin to undo them. I’m finally sliding the shirt off when his mouth finds my jaw and works its way down my neck, nibbling softly in a way I find maddening. He still has a white tank top on, but I can feel his firm body beneath when I slide my hands down his abdomen and find his belt.
I start to work on the buckle as he leans me back and slides one of the straps of my dress down my shoulder, fingers dipping into my bra. Now it’s his turn to groan. He uncovers my breast and teases them with his lips. The gentle kissing intensifies when I free him from his pants, and he breaks away with a little nibble that I know I’ll feel long after we part. This feels too good, and I need to be on with it so that I can be free of his intoxicating presence.
His hands find my black lace panties, and he slides them down my legs, his lips kissing my inner thighs. Normally, I’d be thrilled with this, but things already feel too intimate with Mr. Delphic, so I drag him back up to my mouth to let him know it’s time, and I hear the foil packet rip open. I’ve forgotten how good this feels. My entire body is beginning to feel electric. I push him backward, turn away from him, and bend over the desk. He runs his hands gently over the flesh of my exposed ass before he guides us back together and takes a firm grip on my hips. The contact gets me so high I see stars. I brace one hand on the cold desk and stretch the other back to cover his hand on my hips. Our breathing quickens with the rhythm, and I can’t keep myself from crying out in pleasure when I feel his release.
Mr. Delphic discards our protection into the trash can and spins me around to face him. His eyes are doing something to me, and I need to get the hell out of this room before I lose my senses.
He leans in to kiss my lips, and I quickly turn my head. I plant a kiss on his cheek and say, “Thanks, stud,” as I make my way toward the back door.
Ugh, what am I, auditioning for the cast of Grease? I hate myself right now.
“Wait, I didn’t get your number,” he calls after me.
The alley is dark, and I am a ghost in the night, vowing never to come back to this bar and its strange magic.
Chapter 6
Monday morning seems to take forever to arrive, especially because I spent most of Sunday trying not to think about the amazing night before. I’m so desperate for the distraction of work that I leave home an hour before I need to and decide to pick up coffee on the way. I buy my driver a latte as well, to make up for the detour, and we still arrive at KSC 30 minutes early.
I need to get my security badge activated and allow myself time to settle in before meeting the team I will work with, so I’m glad for the extra time. Sarah is back at the front desk, and she’s kind enough to show me to my office on the fifth floor.
“Your first staff meeting will be at nine in the room where you were interviewed, but I assume Booker will come and introduce himself beforehand. He’s nice like that and won’t want you to have to walk in without knowing someone,” she tells me. I’m not sure who Booker is, but the way Sarah says his name, like she’s caressing it with her tongue, tells me she’s into him. Office romances are a terrible idea. It reminds me of how badly Sean responded when Jennifer dumped him for another supervisor at my last job. When I left, they still hadn’t proven he was the one responsible for the terrible incident that followed, but we all knew he was.
Sarah turns back toward the elevator, and I’m pleasantly surprised by the fact that my office isn’t made entirely of glass. The plate on the door reads:
Caspian Smith
Auto Insurance SME
I’ve never been called the subject matter expert of anything before, so I feel a sense of accomplishment at the sight of my title. I take a moment to slide my fingers over the plate before stepping in. I prop my little Buddha bookend down in front of the door to keep it open and take a seat at my desk. The office is roomy, and unlike the interview fishbowl, the walls of windows facing both the interior and exterior of the building have blinds for privacy. I have two typical office chairs in front of my desk and a small loveseat against the wall near the door. This is more than I expected, and I’m struck by a wave of gratitude. I’m very fortunate that this opportunity presented itself.
I’ve already registered my fingerprint downstairs at security and had my badge encrypted with my information, so all I need to do to log on to my computer is slide my finger onto the sensor. My systems open and prompt me to add a backup password. This is going to be an amazing upgrade compared to having to type 17 passwords each day to do my job. I wonder why every company doesn’t make this switch.
The computer is hardwired into the network, so it seems like it wouldn’t be any less secure, but I know nothing about IT. Perhaps I should be concerned that more and more companies have my fingerprints. If I were a bigger conspiracy theorist, I’d think it was the government’s ploy to secretly identify everyone. I’ve seen Snowden, so I probably should be more concerned, but I’m not one of those people living on the fringe of society attempting to go unnoticed.
The sound of people putzing into the office brings me out of my head, and I glance at the clock in the lower-right-hand corner of my monitor. Since it’s still only 8 a.m., I decide to take this time to test out my furniture. The office chairs are a little firm, but they have enough padding to be comfortable for 20 to 30 minutes, which is the longest I’d want anyone to sit inside my office anyway. Next, I move to the couch, and I have conflicting emotions at the discovery that it is quite comfortable. I kick my legs up and know that I could definitely close my door and relax in here if I were having a stressful day. Unfortunately, it means that others could sit and relax in here as well. I’ll need to make it inaccessible without looking intentional or cluttered.
I could spill something on it so that it needs to be removed.
It’s not that I don’t like people or working on a team, I just prefer to do it in someone else’s space, so I can choose when to leave. It’s really difficult to kick people out of your office or home without looking like a jerk, and I tend to be very blunt, which others interpret as bitchy. I also have a tendency to need to be alone the minute the urge hits me. When I get up to leave a party, I say goodbye to whomever is nearest and walk out the door. I’m not going to walk around for another 20 minutes telling everyone I’m about to leave. What the hell is that anyway? Goodbye is literally one word, two syllables. Say it and step aside.
I move back to my chair, take a mouthful of my iced caramel coffee, and promptly spit it all over my computer screen and desk when Mr. Delphic steps into my office.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I demand, scrambling to get some cleaning wipes from my tote. I’m confused, and I feel my temperature rising. My body has a ridiculously annoying autonomous response to embarrassment or anxiety—I immediately flush bright red. When I was a child, I wondered if my parents thought I was guilty of something when it happened. It seems like something a guilty person would do. I’ve worked really hard to control this response, but if I’m caught off guard, there is no controlling it.
“It’s nice to see you again, too. Though, I’m guessing your name isn’t Alexis?” he says, tapping the sign on my open door with his first two fingers.
Who points like that? It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.
“I’m obviously not going to tell some guy I hooked up with in a bar my real name. Why are you here? How are you here?” I run through our interactions Saturday night in my mind and can’t remember telling him anything about myself. I’m not sure I said more than three sentences.
He offers me his hand with a smile. “That’s fair. However, we hadn’t slept together yet. How about we get on with some proper introductions? I’m Booker, the Auto Body Repair Consultant. We’ll be working together on this
project.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. My mind is flying, and I’m sure I look unhinged. Anger is beginning to bubble in my blood as I start to put it all together. Panic is overwhelming me, and I can feel the flush deepen. I can tell without looking that even my toes are crimson.
“Did you know?” I ask him quietly, and his face falls with his hand.
“Of course not. Did you?”
My mind races on. He’s lying. He must be. He saw me in the interview room and recognized me at the bar. I could quit right now. But I want this job. I could beat him until he agrees to be the one to go. My arms are strong, and thanks to my brother, I know how to throw a punch.
The thought of Josh brings a pang of loneliness too close to the surface, and I shove it back down before I lose my shit and cry in front of this asshole.
How many people did he tell?
I imagine him bragging to the office, and my blood is boiling. I’ve never been part of a workplace scandal, and I’m not sure I can handle it.
Across the entire floor, email inboxes chime in unison. I click the pop-up to open the message, and photos of a naked woman fill my screen. It takes a moment for me to recognize the face. Jennifer’s face.
I frantically click X’s, but the images keep popping up. The same four photos over and over. I look up to find my coworkers consumed by the same frantic clicking.
Reluctantly, I turn to Jennifer. The mask of horror on her face makes her nearly unrecognizable. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
“Unplug your computers everyone. No one open anything else,” I instruct.
Jennifer’s sobs fill the air. I hear the door close behind her as I yank the plug from the wall.
I will not be the Jennifer of KSC. He has to go. I could strangle him.
I heard somewhere that it takes several minutes of uninterrupted pressure to actually choke someone, and I know that these hands probably aren’t strong enough to maintain that despite the rage they would be fueled by.
I realize I’m out of control and need to manage this situation. I reach deep inside myself and find the most important mask I ever created. It’s been 20 years since I created her, but she fits like a glove. Her name is Caspian, she is impenetrable, and everything is fine.
Propping myself against the edge of my desk, I attempt to look casual and indifferent, though I feel my rage simmering below the surface. When I manage to speak, my face is stone and my voice, the same. “I’m Caspian. I’m meeting the rest of the team at nine, correct?”
“Yes,” he says, taking a seat on the sofa. Damn it! His charcoal slacks hug his hips nicely as he sits, and the white button-down shirt makes his skin look even more warm and glowing than it did Saturday. Double damn! “Would you like to talk about this?” he asks, and then adds, “You left pretty quickly the other night. Did I do or say something to upset you?”
“There isn’t anything to talk about. Saturday you had fun with Alexis, whom you will never see again. Today you work with me.”
“I didn’t know,” he begins, and the look on his face is something I cannot deal with. It looks like he’s actually ... disappointed? Sad?
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “It doesn’t matter, and I couldn’t care less. Who I am outside of this office has nothing to do with who I am inside of it. Does the entire team know?” I’m annoyed at myself for asking, but I need to know what I’m walking into.
“I don’t make it a habit to mix business with pleasure.”
“Good. And for the record, Caspian is all business. Understand?”
“Loud and clear,” Booker answers, avoiding my eyes as he stands up from the couch. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” He walks out of my office without another word.
An incoming text message prevents me from analyzing the situation further.
Ceil: U at work yet?
Me: Yes. Where’s your office? Need to talk.
Ceil: 3rd fl across from elevator.
I grab my coffee, a portfolio, and a pen and make my way back to the elevators. Two floors down I find Ceil’s office. It looks a lot like mine, but she’s made it warm and inviting. There is a yellow knitted throw on the sofa, a small pillow with bright orange paisleys on it, and a leafy plant in the corner.
“You will not believe the morning I’ve had,” I tell her. What will Ceil think of me when she finds out what I’ve done?
She looks at the clock before answering, “It’s not even nine, how bad could it be?”
“Well, let’s start with the guy I hooked up with on Saturday walking into my office this morning. He works here.”
“The hot guy from the bar?” Ceil gasps. “No way!”
“And he doesn’t just work here. He is on the same effing team I’m supposed to work with,” I tell her, throwing myself onto her couch dramatically. If I stare at the ceiling, I won’t have to see her disapproval.
I’m shocked when she laughs out loud. “That is priceless. Who is it?”
“Booker,” I tell her reluctantly.
“Holy shit! You said the guy was hot, but sister, that man is smokin’! You didn’t ask where he worked or anything on Saturday?” she asks, and then quickly adds, “I’m not judging, that sounded bad. I’m sorry. It’s just ... if I had some of that, I might want a second helping.”
“I’m not offended. And yeah, I definitely noticed he was hot. But I don’t do relationships, so to be honest, I didn’t even bother to ask his name. I can’t shake this feeling that he saw me in the interview room and recognized me at the bar. I would have no way of knowing. I mean, he could ruin my career here before it even starts.”
“If you didn’t know who he was, it’s pretty likely that he didn’t know who you were. Booker is friendly with everyone, but I don’t think he flirts with people at work. He seems kind of private, so I doubt he would even tell anyone here about it.”
“Either way, I was a bitch to him just now, so that’s great. Isolate and attack the office nice guy on the first day; sounds like the beginning of every successful career,” I say sarcastically.
“Eh, if he really is a nice guy, he’ll let it go. I wouldn’t think about it anymore. What is your office like?” she asks in an attempt to change the subject for me.
“It’s like yours, except cold,” I tell her.
“You should have a thermostat you can adjust for that,” she tells me with a wink. “What floor are you on?”
“Fifth,” I say glancing at my watch. “I’d better get going. I meet the rest of the team at nine in the fishbowl.”
“Okay, good luck. Lunch today?” she asks.
“Hell yeah.” After the morning I’m having, lunch with a friend sounds like heaven.
Chapter 7
When I arrive at the meeting five minutes early, everyone appears to already be there chatting. The room goes still with my approach. Glass walls, guys. I’m relieved that I’ll only have to introduce myself once. The team has been working together on this project for several weeks, so they’re familiar with each other already. KSC decided they needed an SME for insurance a couple weeks into the project, and that’s how I was added. I can see that I am the youngest person on the team and decide to start with background to avoid being put under fire.
I take a seat at the end of the table closest to one of the two exits and begin.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m Caspian Smith, your insurance SME. I’ve been working in the field for eight years and hold licenses in many of the states this project will cover. I have a BSBM and a CPCU.”
Booker introduces himself next. “Booker Call, auto body repair SME, 20 years in the collision industry, give or take, BSBM,” he says stiffly, and the rest follow suit.
Tyler Fellow is data analytics, 6 years, graduated from ASU. John Canter is our JD, 20 years, graduated from a university I haven’t heard of. And finally, Steve Beeks is financial 25 years, a CPA, and has a master’s in finance from UCLA.
“Who would like to get me up to spe
ed on where you are in the process?”
Everyone looks to Booker, but when he says nothing, Tyler jumps right in, explaining what the clients are looking for, the research they’ve completed, and the holes they need me to fill in. This is a big contract with multiple clients and many moving parts. John hands me some of the contracts they have already drafted and asks that I review them for conflicts with insurance regulation and policy.
Career Caspian is firmly in her wheelhouse now. Most people’s eyes gloss over when they hear someone talking about insurance, but I’m not like most people. I love insurance. I love learning about the coverages, the laws, the losses, how rates are calculated, all of it. Insurance laws are state specific, and policies are company specific. An insurance carrier writes a policy and then conforms it to each state’s laws. Each insurance carrier can write their policy a different way as long as it conforms to specific laws in the state. Learning about how a company balances profitability, their advertising budget, and competitive rating is enrapturing.
My passion for insurance laws and regulations is unparalleled and is the precise reason I told Dave he wouldn’t find a better candidate for this project.
When our meeting is complete and I have documents to review from everyone, we all stand and make our way out of the conference room. Tyler is next to me almost as soon as I’m out of the office. He’s as tall as Booker, and his gait allows him to easily match my own.
“You’ll have to ignore Booker today. I’m not sure what happened, but he’s been in a terrible mood since he got here. He’s usually kind of our lead on this, and he’s a really nice guy.”
“I’m sure we’ll all get along fine,” I tell him with a smile. I’m relieved he doesn’t know. Maybe I jumped the gun with Booker. Well, obviously I jumped a few things.
The Broken One (The One Series Book 1) Page 3