by Ella Brooke
A chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ turns my attention back to the table. Brent has just returned from the kitchen or wherever, ferrying a huge cake alight with sparklers, easily two feet by three feet long, the decoration spelling out Congratulations Grads! It’s a very sweet gesture. I’m starting to realize that Brent Baxter is not only generous, but sentimental and thoughtful as well. A true gentleman. Who can claim to know many of those in this day and age?
“Ryan, why don’t you do the honors?” Brent asks, waving Ryan to the head of the table to cut the enormous cake.
“See? When the master calls,” Ryan says, removing his arm and rising from his chair. “You obey.”
Obey? Funny choice of words. Ryan walks over to join his father, and the sight of them side by side gives me the oddest sensation, like a chill from a sudden gust of wind. So alike, yet so different. Both attractive in their own ways, and I’m caught between them. It’s clear Brent is proud of his son, even if Ryan hasn’t followed in his footsteps. I get the feeling my life is being carved up just like the giant cake before us. It seems I won’t be able to completely get away from the Baxter men, even if I do break up with Ryan.
I hope we can leave soon; vacation is over, and real life is about to begin. Brent is right. It’s time to think about my own career and future. I’m determined to make the most of this opportunity, no matter whose ego gets bruised.
Ulterior Motives
Brent
I’ll admit it. I’ve not always been proud of the things I’ve done in my career. I wasn’t above making a questionable or risky deal or two in order to boost profits. My clients have always benefitted, and I’ve built an incredible business that’s afforded me the kind of lifestyle most people only dream about.
As much as I like helping myself, helping others is a by-product of my success. Diana always said helping others is in my nature and is what attracted her to me, but it wouldn’t have mattered what I did for a living back then. She and I were love at first sight.
I miss her terribly, and though I haven’t exactly been a saint this past three years, I realize that all the women I’ve been with were only an attempt at filling that gaping hole in my heart. I used them like meds to ease the pain . . . and I wonder if I’m not doing the same thing to Cassidy Keaton.
It’s been two weeks since she accepted my job offer and gave her notice at the restaurant. She’s about to show up for her first day today. In retrospect, I should have asked Ryan his opinion before offering to hire her. However, I’ve barely seen or spoken to him since that day at the lake, and he didn’t appear to object at the time. Still, I wonder if this is a bad idea. Not only does it smack of favoritism, but also of caving in to my own selfish desires. It may be in my nature to help, but its also in my nature to win. To take what I want.
And right or wrong, I want her.
My receptionist pings me to say that Miss Keaton has arrived and is waiting in the outer office. It’s not yet eight o’clock. An eager beaver. I like that. I message back to send her in. Whatever my ambiguous intentions are, it’s too late to have second thoughts now. I stand from behind my desk and check my tie as my office door begins to open. I’ll just meet with her briefly, outline her job duties, and get on with my day, then I’ll—holy shit.
She’s there in the doorway, her long blond locks tumbling in soft curls over the shoulders of her aqua-blue blouse. The silky material drapes beautifully over her shapely torso, the V-neckline revealing a tantalizing hint of cleavage. The high-waisted pencil skirt in a smooth gray fabric hugs her rounded hips and ass like a second skin. Long, toned legs begin just below the hemline, culminating in three-inch black patent pumps.
“Good morning, Mr. Baxter,” she says quietly, pinning me in place with her clear, blue-eyed gaze, accentuated by the color of her blouse. God, she’s a stunner. “I hope I’m not too early.”
Maybe not early enough, my bastard mind quips. A picture of her arriving at six a.m. flashes through my brain. She locks the door and saunters over to sit her lovely ass on my desk, her legs parted provocatively. “Why have you called me here so early, Mr. Baxter?” she says, a knowing smile curving her perfect pouty lips that glisten with red lipstick.
“It’s quite alright,” I hear myself say. “But there’s no clock to punch here. Please, have a seat.” She nods and walks toward my desk in those killer heels that call attention to the flexing muscles of her calves. As her exquisitely shaped rear perches on the edge of the plush, cushioned chair opposite me, I can’t help but wish it was my face she’s sitting on. I’d be licking her sweet pussy like a thirsty dog.
I quickly lower myself into my own chair to hide my treacherous body’s involuntary reaction. I’ve got a hard-on she could hang her coat on. “Let’s go over your general duties, shall we?”
“Of course,” Cassie says. “Whom will I be working with?”
Her question takes me aback. Was the term personal assistant not clear? “You’ll be working exclusively for me. You’ll have that desk,” I say, gesturing to the vacant workstation in one corner of my spacious office. I can’t be hollering into the reception area for my assistant every time I need something done. Proximity is key.
Cassie glances over at the sleek, contemporary desk and furnishings, her eyes widening. “Oh,” she murmurs, the warm breathiness of her voice arousing me further. I’d love to hear that soft sound coming from the pillow next to me. “I didn’t realize . . .” she turns her gaze back to me. “You didn’t say the position was directly with you.”
She’s right. I didn’t. “Uh, yes. Perhaps I was unclear about that. Is it a problem?”
Her pretty red lips press together for a second. “Not at all,” she says. “I’m sure I’ll learn a great deal.”
So am I. I clear my throat and reach for a folder on my desk, sliding it toward her. “Here’s the job description, a list of daily tasks, your offer letter and sign-on package. You can fill out the forms at your convenience and return them to HR.”
“I will,” she says, taking the folder and placing it in her lap. She looks up at me expectantly for her next task. Fuck, I am in so much trouble. My aching cock wants nothing more than to nail her to the wall.
“For the most part, you’ll be doing administrative work, but you should be prepared to multi-task, as priorities frequently shift. You’ll take my incoming calls when I’m not here and manage my calendar. Your log-in credentials are also in the folder.”
She flips open the cover and takes a look. “Yes, I see that.”
“For now, just familiarize yourself with the computer system,” I say.
“Certainly,” she answers.
So far so good. She seems very cool and capable; and I remind myself that she’ll likely be discussing her day-to-day activities with my son, so I had better be very careful of what I ask of her. “I usually have lunch brought in, so you’ll need to confirm the menu and delivery time with the commissary downstairs.”
“For sure. Will anyone be joining you for lunch?” she asks.
A logical question. I typically lunch alone, but now that she’s here, perhaps it could be for two. No. That would be inappropriate. “No, just me,” I say with a smile. “You’re free to go to lunch wherever you like.”
“Thank you. There’s a few little places I’ve always wanted to try near here,” she says.
“Yes, there are certainly some great restaurants around.” I lean back in my chair. “I think that’s enough for now, we can meet up after lunch to review the rest.”
“Okay, Mr. Baxter,” she says, closing the folder and meeting my eyes. Fuck, they’re beautiful. She seems reluctant to leave her seat.
“You have a question?” I say.
“No, I just want you to know that I really appreciate this opportunity, and I’ll do my very best.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“And that I don’t expect any special privileges, you know, because of the circumstances.”
“Not at all. I needed an
assistant, you needed a better job. Everybody wins.” I think I know what she’s getting at. She doesn’t want the fact that she’s Ryan’s girlfriend to be the only reason I hired her. “I hope you enjoyed your time at the lake,” I add. “You must have been busy the last few weeks; I didn’t see you around our place in the city lately. I thought Ryan would have brought you around a time or two.”
Suddenly her demeanour changes. She drops her gaze and shifts nervously in her seat. “Oh, no . . . we didn’t . . .” she breaks off, then gets to her feet. “I guess Ryan hasn’t told you then. I meant the circumstances . . .” she swallows and tilts her head in that fetching way that drives me crazy.
“What circumstances?”
Cassie takes a deep breath and straightens her posture, lifting her chin determinedly. “That Ryan and I aren’t seeing each other anymore. We broke up shortly after the trip to your lake house. I’m sorry. I thought you knew. If you’d prefer me not to work here, I’ll understand.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Ryan never said a word. I feel bad for both of them, yet it bothers me that she’d think I’d renege on my job offer just because of that. It also bothers me that I’m so disconnected from my son’s life. I could tell he was truly smitten with the girl. Awkward doesn’t begin to describe the situation; her working for me so soon after splitting up.
I rise from behind my desk, my erection finally standing down from full alert. “Thank you for telling me,” I say quietly, guilt beginning to course through my veins. “I’m sorry to hear that; I guess I haven’t really been available these last few weeks. He never mentioned this.”
Cassie stands rigid, waiting for judgment to be passed upon her. It’s not her fault. I have no idea what caused the breakup, but I can’t steal away her chances for a better future as a result. I’m a man of my word. “The job offer stands firm,” I say. “If you still want it. You mustn’t feel obligated, if it makes you uncomfortable in any way,”
“No,” she says firmly. “I’m fine. I’m very happy to be here, Mr. Baxter. I’ll get started right away.” She flashes a confident smile and moves toward her new desk.
“It’s Brent . . .” I say, my voice trailing after her.
She steps up to the desk and turns to face me. “Yes, I know.” With that, she pulls out the padded office chair and sits down in front of the computer. I don’t know if that means she’ll call me by my first name, or refuse to. Doesn’t matter. Whether Brent or Mr. Baxter, my name on her lips will sound like poetry to me.
I tear my vision away from her luscious form and return to my work. Ryan may or may not have a problem with his ex-girlfriend working here, but I sure as fuck do. Knowing she’s single changes the whole playing field. It’s a dangerous game, to be sure. But when it comes to games, I only know one way to play—and that’s to win.
A Whole New Level
Cassie
“Let’s just say I’m glad it’s almost five o’clock on a Friday,” I say with an exhausted sigh.
“It’s that bad? Do you think it will get better?” Candice’s jovial but concerned voice comes over the phone.
“I’m sure it will, I’m just still learning everything, and going crazy with out-of-office errands. I thought being on my feet all day at Marco’s was bad, but this job is a whole new level. I’ve barely been able to sit down at my desk for more than a half-hour.”
“Jeez, he sounds like a slave driver. Is it weird, working for your ex’s old man?”
“It was kind of tense at first; he didn’t know me and Ryan broke up. The jerk didn’t even bother to mention it. Just goes to prove I made the right decision, I guess.”
“Or maybe he was too hurt to talk about it. Ryan really liked you, Cass.”
I let out another tired breath. “Maybe so. But I just couldn’t return his feelings. I never planned to hurt him.”
“I know. I’m sorry I’ve been away. I should have been there for you when it happened.”
“Hey, you’ve got your own shit to worry about, never mind me. Will I see you later on?”
“Depends what time you get home. I’ve got a shift at the bar tonight.”
I check the time on the phone display. “Okay. I better go; one more thing to drop off and I’ll be heading home. Can’t wait to get these shoes off and soak my feet.”
“Okay girl. Hang in there. Hey, does this mean Ryan’s available?” she jokes.
“Oh, a real shoulder to cry on, you are.”
“Call me an opportunist.”
“Fill your boots, Miss Opportunity,” I say with a laugh. “See you later.”
Candice really is a piece of work, but I don’t know what I’d do without her. I disconnect the call and hurry to the elevators. I’ve just picked up a pair of opera tickets from the Met box office and need to get them on Brent’s desk before quitting time.
Since Candice has been away visiting family since school got out, I never told my roomie just how it went down when I gave Ryan the shove. It wasn’t pretty. I try to wipe the memory of the look on his face from my mind. He may have been hurt, but his reaction was more like anger. Humiliation, really. “You’re fucking breaking up with me?” he’d said, like no girl on planet Earth should have the nerve to do such a thing. Arrogant twit. “I just don’t feel the same way I did before,” I said. “And you have your law career ahead of you. I don’t want to stand in your way.”
Lame and cliché, perhaps, but it’s true. Once Ryan starts his own practice, he’d never have time for me; and the bohemian artist-type wouldn’t be the kind of arm candy he’d want at his high-society do’s. Ryan Baxter will be just fine without me. We didn’t even talk about my working at Baxter Securities; the argument left us both upset, so I wasn’t about to bring up the subject. I haven’t spoken to Ryan since that night, and obviously he hasn’t spoken to his father about it, either.
As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, I open the envelope in my hands to check if everything is in order. Inside are two tickets for tonight’s performance of La Traviata, with private loge seating to boot. I run my thumb over their smooth, glossy surface, admiring the graphic design, but even more so envying the kind of people who could afford such an extravagance.
While Ryan never minded spending money on me, the places we went to weren’t cultured, refined events like the opera. Drag races and rock concerts were more his style. I never complained, but the artist in me craved more existential, cerebral entertainment. I sigh as I close the envelope again. I’ve always wanted to attend a lavish opera production, and La Traviata is one of the most sensual and dramatic opera works. I hope whoever Brent is taking with him appreciates it.
I arrive at the office just a few minutes before five, relieved to see Mr. Baxter hasn’t left yet and is still at his desk, engaged in a phone conversation. Perhaps I can just drop the tickets on his desk and sneak out before he hangs up; he might just have one more errand for me to perform, and I’m so done for today. I’ve never been so busy in my life, not even during the lunch rush at Marco’s.
Picking up his daily coffee order, lunches, dry cleaning, and wall art for the office were all on top of any actual desk work I had to do. My feet are absolutely killing me. My first paycheck will definitely be going toward more sensible footwear. I’ll have to suffer until then. I can’t exactly come to the office in my cross-trainers.
I approach his desk and slide the envelope discreetly across. I try not to look at his face, for two reasons. One, so I can make a clean getaway from work. Two, because I’ve been surreptitiously staring at that face all week. Something about Brent Baxter makes him more attractive by the day. My shower fantasies have been recurring with alarming frequency.
Instead, I fix my gaze on his arm and the glittering cufflink holding the crisp white cuffs of his expensive dress shirt together. The suit he’s wearing is in impeccable taste, the fabric a rich dark blue with oh-so-subtle pinstripes. The man oozes money, confidence, and sex appeal. I can’t believe he’s still a widower. Surely so
me society vixen has him in her sights?
His hands are beautiful too; slim but not delicate. No beefy sausage fingers here. Perfectly manicured and tanned. I picture them skimming the curves of my body, cupping my breasts in his palms. Caressing the skin of my inner thighs in slow, sexy circles and traveling upward to a secret, forbidden destination.
“Cassie?” he says, jolting me from my trance-like state. Busted. He’s finished his call and caught me hovering over his desk like a mindless idiot. My chin snaps up at his voice.
“Oh. Yes, uh . . . here are your tickets for tonight, Mr. Baxter. Have a wonderful time. Will there be anything else before I leave?” I ask, retreating a step so he won’t notice the red flush creeping onto my face.
He picks up the envelope and holds it in those sweet yet masculine hands of his. “Well, yes, actually. I know you’ve had a busy week, and I truly appreciate your hard work, but if you’re not too tired . . .” He trains his lovely hazel eyes on me, and I’m sure I’m going to melt under their smoldering intensity. I know I’ll do anything he says. “Don’t laugh, but my date for tonight has just cancelled.”
I blink, processing what he’s just said. Laugh at him? Why would I do that? “Oh . . . I’m sorry to hear that. It’s . . . certainly nothing to laugh about,” I reply, not sure what else to say. “That sucks, actually,” I add.
Now he’s the one laughing. “Well said. It sucks,” he admits.
“How can I help?” I ask, hoping it’s something I can polish off in under five minutes and get the hell out of here.