I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“I hear you wrote a book?” Jennifer says.
“Let’s just try to concentrate on work, OK, Jennifer?” I smile at her, but it’s forced. I want to rip her hair out right now.
“Sorry,” Jennifer says. “I’m not trying to be mean. I had a few office affairs in my time as well. In fact, Joe and I got married last year.”
“Joe? Joe Fuller in accounting?” I’ve seen them together a lot, and I figured it was another one of her flings. But married?
“Yeah, he’s not as flashy as Doug over in Studio Eleven production, but he’s perfect for me. And I guess that’s all that matters.”
I stare at my screen, quiet for a few seconds. “Everyone knows?” I ask, looking over at her.
She nods with a sympathetic smile. “Everyone. It was pretty apparent that you two had chemistry. And for what it’s worth, I think everyone feels bad that it didn’t last.” She huffs out a small laugh. “Well, except Ellen, I think. She’s got some grand delusion that she and McAllister Stonewall are meant to be together.”
“Ellen?” I roll my eyes. She’s like ten years older than him.
“Just ignore her.” Jennifer places a hand on my shoulder. “And don’t tell her any details. I’ve been working with her for many years and she’s a conniving bitch. She will spread rumors faster than you can blink. She outed me once too. But that was with Joe, and we were already engaged, so no one cared. Besides, Joe and I are in completely different departments.”
“Yeah,” I say. “How did I not know any of this?”
Jennifer shrugs. “You’ve been down at the airport for what? Seven years? How would you know anything?”
“True. I have to admit, I kind of like it up here. It’s nice to be around people. In all the hustle and bustle.”
“Sucks that you’re leaving. You could always change your mind, you know. Even if McAllister doesn’t want you here, Stonewall Senior will.”
“No,” I say, sighing out the word. “I did write a book and I’m going to publish it one of these days. That’s why I’m leaving. I just need to move on, you know? I’ve been here since college. It’s time.”
“Well, I don’t want your job, Ellie. Mr. Stonewall told me to fill in for you, but I honestly don’t know how I can. I have my job too. And maybe it’s not as exciting as what you do, but I like it. I’m used to it. And I’m good at it. I’m going to mess up everything when you leave.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, smiling. “I’ll show you everything. And if you have time this week, I’ll even let you come with me.”
“That would be great,” Jennifer says. “I’ll make some time.”
Jennifer does accompany me, and I do get all the scheduling information to her before the week is over. But even though I’ve accomplished everything Mac told me to this week, I feel let down.
It’s Friday morning and this is the first day Mac even came into the office. I can hear him talking on the phone in his office right now. It’s killing me.
I want nothing more than to burst in there and tell him off.
In fact, I’ve envisioned it all week. I picture myself walking in there, slamming that connecting door, and just laying into him.
And then I completely lose touch with reality, because I picture him pushing me up against a wall and kissing me as his hand slips up my dress.
Yes. I wore a dress today even though it’s casual Friday.
The dress, in fact. The two-thousand-dollar Victoria Beckham pencil dress.
And I didn’t unzip the bottom. On purpose. I want to parade my wiggling ass around in front of him and drive him crazy. Make him wish he’d never talked to me that way. Make him beg me to take him back.
Jesus Christ. Why am I so delusional?
I look down at my desk and frown at the two phones laid out there. I’ve been dragging Heath’s phone around with me all week, unable to erase the stuff I put in there. Unable to even open up the messages and look at all the stupid, stupid things I wrote. Unable to let go of that dream.
Mac thinks I’m crazy. You need professional help. What an asshole. That really hurt. It was a harmless fantasy. And no one was supposed to see those messages. If a message says undelivered, then how the hell was I supposed to figure that they’d all send in a giant batch once the phone was turned back on?
It’s not my fault McAllister Stonewall stumbled into my fantasy uninvited.
A sharp knock on the connecting door startles me back to reality.
I stand up and say, “Come in,” in a commanding voice. Good. I want to have my say and that bastard… opens the door and walks in looking like he just finished a fashion shoot for a men’s magazine cover.
“Jennifer says you’ve been—”
“Just hold on there, Mr. Not-So-Perfect,” I yell, putting up a hand and walking around the desk. The baby steps I have to take in this tight pencil dress kind of make my flash of anger less effective, but I swallow hard and lift my head, determined to stand up for myself. “You got to say all the things to me on Monday, and now it’s my turn to say…”
My words trail off because he’s looking me up and down like he might eat me alive.
I wait for his gaze to return to my face. His cerulean-blue eyes have me in their grip and I’m suddenly chilled. My nipples perk to attention in the wake of his stare.
He does not miss this.
“Your turn to say what, Miss Hatcher?”
I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “It’s not fair. Nothing you did or said to me on Monday was fair!”
“Why are you yelling?” he asks calmly.
“I’m not yelling,” I practically yell. “But I’m angry, so I’m glad you think I am. Because you should.”
“I should?” he asks.
Jesus. I sound like an idiot. “You accused me of being what? Unstable? Just because I have a healthy fantasy life? A creative imagination? A—”
“Grand delusion about my brother?” he adds in, his voice rising now as well.
“I’m not sick and I don’t need professional help! You’re the one who’s sick! You have no fantasy life beyond fucking your subordinate at work! You’re boring. Too boring for me, that’s for sure. You can’t even appreciate a dream. In fact, I feel sorry for you. Sucks to be you. So glad I’m not you!”
“Well,” he says, walking over towards me. I step back, unsure what he’s doing. But he passes by me and then slips behind my desk and takes a seat.
In my chair.
My fucking chair!
“Then I apologize about the insult. I should’ve been more professional about it.”
“Why are you sitting in my chair?”
“Why not? Does it bother you?”
“Well, yes. Yes it does. This is my office.”
“I purchased this entire office for you.”
“For me, right!” I’m still yelling. I bet Stephanie and the whole seventh floor can hear us in here. Well, me, at the very least. Ellie’s in there making another scene, they’re probably saying.
“And I wanted to take you out last weekend but you said no.”
“You were moving way too fast. Is it my fault I wanted space and you didn’t?”
“Then why lie?” He leans back in my chair, one elbow resting on the armrest, the other hand scratching his perfectly chiseled and slightly stubbled jaw. Good God, he’s handsome.
“I did not lie.”
“You led me to believe something.”
“So?”
“So I don’t like it.” He doesn’t yell, but it’s loud and it’s commanding. “And I have very good reasons for not liking it. Did you really think, after all this”—he waves to the office and then to the dress—“that I’d be a dick about you wanting to slow down?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I did.”
“That’s because you don’t know me.”
“That’s because you never told me anything about you!”
“I’m a private p
erson, Miss Hatcher. I don’t dream up fantasies and then dole out tidbits of my personal life to almost strangers who have no interest like you do.”
“I hate you,” I snap. “That was a low blow.”
“Really? So you didn’t spill your fantasies to Heath’s phone? I just imagined that?”
“He was never supposed to see them!”
“Then why send them?”
“It was like…” Fuck. “It was just a fun way to… shit, I don’t know. But I shouldn’t have to explain it. All that stuff was my private thoughts and you read them! It’s like… it’s like reading a person’s diary!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
MAC
She’s right. I take a deep breath and say it out loud. “You’re right.”
“I’m… right?” she asks, unsure of herself.
“Yes, you’re right. And I’m sorry. But I was pissed off when I finally figured out that you’d rather stay home all weekend alone than let me take you out on a nice date.”
“I just needed things to slow down, Mac. That’s all.”
“Then why lie?”
“I didn’t…” But she stops. Because she did. “I’m sorry then. I wanted to go out on the date but I felt bulldozed. You know?”
I look her up and down in that dress and shake my head.
“You don’t? Why not?”
But that’s not what I mean and she figures that out pretty fast. That fingernail she likes to chew comes up to her perfect lips and she shifts her feet, which makes her hips wiggle.
“Come here,” I say, sliding her laptop to the side and scooting her chair back to give her room. “Come here and bend over the desk.”
“Mac,” she says sharply.
“We had a whole week of space, Ellie, and I’ve had enough of it. Come here, right now, and bend over this fucking desk.”
She inches forward, her knees practically glued together in that dress, and stands in front of me.
I twirl my finger in the air and say, “Turn around and bend over.”
Ellie closes her eyes and lets out a long breath of air. She stays still for two seconds, then turns around, places her palms flat on the desk, and bends forward at the waist, resting her cheek on the wooden surface.
He ass is fucking spectacular and my hands can’t control themselves. I place both palms on each of her cheeks and rub her until she lets out a small moan.
“We’re a thing now, Ellie. OK? Can you deal?”
“OK,” she whispers.
“We’re together, we’re going away this weekend, and fuck that five-date limit. I’m going to have my way with you right here, right now.” She sucks in a small sip of air as I unzip her dress from the bottom up, slowly revealing the back of her knees, then her thighs, then her ass.
She’s wearing white mesh panties and her pink pussy is peeking right through them.
This is exactly what I pictured when I bought this dress last week. My fantasy of Eloise Hatcher might not be up to her level of dreaming, but this is it. Exactly.
I move her panties aside and slip my finger up to her folds, tracing my way around her entrance as my dick grows and my heart races. “Tell me,” I say. “I like to hear it.”
I’d like to watch her say it too, but her hair is covering her face. That’s something going on my fantasy list. I want to watch her mouth talk dirty to me as I finger the fuck out of her pussy.
“Put your finger inside me,” she whispers. “Far,” she adds.
It’s enough. For now. I twist my hand a little so I can play with her g-spot as I ease in. She buckles her back and I get a tiny glimpse of her pink mouth as she moans, “Oh!”
“Now what?” I ask. I want to keep her talking. I don’t want her to stop.
“Stand up,” she says.
I smile, but push the chair back and stand.
“Push your hips up to my ass.”
Oh, yeah. This is nice. I smile wide as I force my hips into her ass, grinding my dick against her curves. My finger slips out of her pussy and she says, “No,” but I reach around her front and slip it back in to quiet her protest.
“You like this, Ellie? You like it when I stick my fingers in your pussy?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” she says. “I missed you this week.”
Awww. Fuck. I lean down on her back and ease my knee between her legs. “Ellie,” I breathe into her neck, trying my best not to bite her ear. “I was miserable all week. I came to work today hoping we could try again. And I’m sorry I was a dick.”
“Fuck me,” she says. “Fuck me and make it all better.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I chuckle.
I stand back up and reach in to my pocket for the little foil condom packet. She looks over her shoulder at me when I rip it open and I say, “Not my brother’s this time.”
She grins and then closes her eyes. “You came prepared?”
“I came hoping, Ellie. That’s all.” I slip the condom on and grab her by the hips, then ease back and hook my fingers around her panties, dragging them down her thighs until they come to a rest around her knees. “Open your legs,” I say, placing a hand on her back and pushing her into the desk.
She obeys, her legs opening until her panties are stretched to their maximum and she can’t go any further.
I look down and take a mental picture. I’m going to jerk off later thinking about how she looks.
My free hand makes a fist around my cock and I press it against her pussy, flicking it back and forth to tease the wetness out and make me slick. And then I push into her. Hard. She gasps, her head coming up off the desk, but I grab her hair and force her down again.
I lean into her back, bite her shoulder, then whisper in her ear. “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, Eloise.”
“Please,” she whimpers. “Do it. Hard. I want it hard this time. Make me feel it. Make me remember it.”
I stand up straight, then thrust inside her, the full length of my cock disappearing as I look down and watch. Her lips part, and the slick wetness pools against the side of my shaft.
“Harder,” she begs. “Harder.”
Her wish is granted. I thrust again, then again. And each time, she lets out a moan. And each moan gets louder and more uninhibited. I know they can hear us outside this office, but I don’t care.
I push her dress out of the way and grab her hips, forcing her back against me, forcing my dick deeper and deeper inside her, until the impact of our skin-on-skin contact makes a slapping sound that echoes off the walls of her office.
We come together. And it’s sweet, and thrilling, and erotic as fuck. She doesn’t scream—not exactly. But it’s close.
And I smile.
She might be leaving next week, but she’s not getting away.
I collapse on top of her back and kiss her neck. “You’re leaving early today, Miss Hatcher. I require your attendance down on the tarmac in twenty minutes.” I step back and rip the condom off as I walk into my office. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
ELLIE
Don’t keep me waiting.
Is that hot? Or not?
I can’t tell.
McAllister Stonewall certainly has an air of superiority about him. I’m sure it comes with the territory. Billionaire’s son, trust fund, accountable to no one.
But he did apologize and he did admit he was wrong. That counts for something. I’m not sure what yet. But something.
All week I’ve been thinking about him. But why? It’s not the money. I’m not rich by any means, but I’m not poor either. I’m a saver. I live in a Tech Center apartment to save gas on a long commute and because it’s kind of a dead area. A place to work, not to live. So the apartments are new, nice, and affordable.
And I really do believe in my book. I believe in my new career. I know that my life forward involves intimate one-on-one meetings with people who need guidance. My degree might be in communications, but I minored in psychology, and I’ve had enough people te
ll me my words make a difference to them to believe in myself. I think leaving is a good idea. I think I’ll be successful.
No. Mac’s money is not the source of the nagging desire that’s been floating around inside me all week.
It’s certainly got something to do with his good looks. He’s taller than Heath. Not by much, but it’s noticeable. And while his blond hair is technically short, it’s long in all the right places. Enough to give it that messy look that drives women wild. The just-rolled-out-of-bed look. The just-ran-my-fingers-through-it look. The just-lie-back-and-enjoy-it look.
But no. It’s not the way he looks. That’s not what’s got my attention.
I do like his bossiness. Which walks that fine line just between rude and fuck-hot. It’s definitely a contributor.
I guess it’s all of that put together that makes him seem so… perfect. Maybe too perfect?
The thing that really nags at me though—the thing that has been nagging at me since the day I first looked at him a little closer—is this missing past business. There’s something wrong with that. Like he was erased. How powerful does one have to be to erase themselves from the internet?
It can’t be done even if it appears it has been done.
The power, I realize. I like his power. I like the way he talks to me. The way he assumes I will just obey his commands. The way he holds me still when I feel like things are spinning out of control. The way he pulls me close.
Maybe this is just some stupid end-of-job fling. It probably is. But it’s fun. Like he said. It’s fun.
I have to contort myself to get my dress straightened out. The zipper is almost impossible to reach and while I don’t need to pull it all the way down to my knees again—mission accomplished there—I do need it to cover my round ass.
I chuckle a little at the thought. How I must have looked to Mac as I was bent over the desk, the dress unzipped to my waist, my white panties not enough to prevent him from getting a good look at the desire spilling out from between my legs.
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