Miss Behave

by Nikky Kaye

  “Okay. I’ll let you talk to Ash, and tomorrow morning you sit down with Vikas and get up to speed,” he said, reminding me that I still needed to impress the senior news editor.

  My stomach flipped. I had no experience to show, only enthusiasm. Did that count for anything?

  “Do I have to move desks?”

  “Christ, no. Stay where you are. It’s not like we’re the bullpen at the New York Times,” he chuckled. “We’re still just a website, Lizzie. Remember that.”

  A fleeting fantasy floated through my brain, of someday peppering the White House press secretary with questions in a briefing. “Yes, I’m Elizabeth Bell, Hot Mess dot com. What does the President plan to do with the outdated nuclear installations around the country?”

  I wrinkled my nose. That didn’t sound right.

  When I got back to my desk, I filled Dara in—with minimal squealing—and then texted Ash.

  “Meet me after work? I need to talk to you about something.”

  Pause. Then:

  “ur office @ 6.”

  Huh. After nearly a minute of three little animated dots on my screen, I’d been expecting an essay response—or at least a full sentence.

  I tried to focus on sorting out email for the column for the rest of the day, but I kept getting sidetracked reading news articles from our website and others.

  The first thing I needed to investigate in this gig was the gig itself. For all my talk about getting on the news desk, I hadn’t spent much time keeping up with current events.

  I could more easily report on the Kardashians than city hall. And if the news editor Vikas grilled me on national politics tomorrow… Well, let’s just say that most of my knowledge came from late night comedy.

  But this is what I wanted. This was real journalism. This was a job that my parents would be proud of, one that made the student loan I was still paying off seem worthwhile.

  “Hey, sex god.”

  My head went up at Dara’s voice. Ooooh, was I going to meet her new boyfriend?

  “Dara.”

  It was Ash. Oh god. I was going to kill my friend. Before I could get out there, I heard her compliment him on leaving me limping today.

  “My pleasure,” he replied, sounding amused.

  I shot up and glared at both of them. My face felt like it could glow in the dark from embarrassment. “Stop!”

  They looked at me, their smiles subsiding. As Ash passed Dara’s desk, he leaned down and said something in her ear that I couldn’t hear. Her eyes widened under her bangs.

  “Sorry, Lizzie,” she muttered, leaving me to wonder what he’d said to her.

  As I watched Ash cross the floor to get to me, my heartbeat sped up. The black sweater he wore stretched across his broad shoulders, and was impossibly dark compared to his faded black jeans. They hugged his thighs the way I wished I could, but not in public. His dark gaze pinned me to the spot.

  He rounded the wall and entered my cubicle. “Hi.”

  Swoon.

  “Hey, sex god,” I teased.

  I’m not going to lie. I think his quick grin made me come a little.

  I hadn’t noticed the tension around his eyes until it lessened. Maybe he was nervous about seeing me, after… after.

  “I owe you something—no, two things, actually,” he said.

  “What?”

  He glanced around, aware that our heads were still visible to the few people left in the office. Gently, he pushed me back into my chair. Then he wrapped his hands around the armrests and leaned down over me.

  His head hovered near mine. His lips were so close, and I wanted to brush my cheek against the scruff around his jaw. His gaze slipped over me like melted chocolate, and his dark brows rose on his forehead. I was tempted to press my tongue to his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

  “Number one, I owe you an apology.”

  “F-for what?”

  One of his eyebrows lifted. “Being an asshole last night.”

  “You weren’t—”

  “Okay,” he said, interrupting me, “not an asshole. Less than a gentleman, then.”

  My mouth closed. I couldn’t really argue with that. A gentleman would have made sure I got off, at least.

  “You deserve more than that, Lizzie.”

  I gave him a sly smile from beneath my eyelashes. “You mean there’s more where that came from?”

  His short laugh washed across my face. “Behave…” he scolded me.

  But his shoulders relaxed a little, as though he’d been worried that my maidenly virtue had been irreparably offended. I folded my hands in my lap demurely—mostly so I wouldn’t reach out to touch him the way I wanted to.

  “What else do you owe me?” I asked. “You said there were two things.”

  My chair creaked a little as he leaned on the arms more heavily. “Right.” He cocked his head. “I owe you at least two orgasms. More like four.”

  I jerked my head back in surprise. “Here?” I squeaked. But a rebellious throbbing began in my core, my arousal growing at his nearness and now-ness.

  “No,” he laughed. “I might be crazy for you, but I’m not crazy.”

  Crazy for me? Did he just say—? Ash must have heard his own words at the same time I did, because his eyes widened and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

  “For now,” he continued, “I owe you this.”

  And he dropped his head to mine and caught my mouth with his.

  Bracing himself on the sides of my chair, he kissed me softly at first, then more deeply as I opened my mouth and kissed him back. My neck arched with the need to get closer to him, to match every one of his shuddering breaths with one of my own.

  I curled my fingers into his sweater and pulled him closer.

  True, having sex at the office wasn’t a good idea, but this seemed almost as risqué. His kiss was pure want, distilled desire bringing me to a boil. With every gentle nip and soft sigh, I became more untethered and ready to throw caution to the wind.

  The only parts of our bodies that touched were our lips, and yet I felt as though I’d never been closer to him. Was this the ‘more’ that he’d referred to?

  When he finally raised his head, I felt dazed and swollen all over. Ripe with anticipation. He’d said four orgasms, right? I was damn near close to one just from that kiss.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he warned.

  I blinked. “How am I looking at you?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “Erotically.”

  My hand went to my chest. Who, me?

  He let out a resigned groan and kissed me again, quick and hard. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered against my lips before straightening up again.

  I’d never been called that before. The only way I could say danger was my middle name was if my parents had a wacky sense of humor—which they did not.

  But I kind of liked the idea. After years of being on my best behavior and encouraging others to do the same, Ash had unleashed a new, playful side of me. He made me feel desired, feminine, and powerful—even when on my knees with his cock in my mouth.

  Oh.

  The memory made me hot all over. Again. I needed to keep a USB fan in my desk.

  He cleared his throat. “I said, don’t look at me that way. Let’s go get some dinner.”

  When he stepped back, out of reach, I turned my chair around and fished around with my bare feet for my discarded flats. “Where do you want to go?”

  A shiver rippled up my spine and around to my hardened nipples when I suddenly felt his mouth on the nape of my neck.

  He bit me. Then growled, “Somewhere… very… public.”

  16

  Ash

  I sat on the couch with my laptop on my outstretched legs and I just stared at it.

  For the past two weeks I’d been responsible for both advice columns—Miss Behave and A Guy’s Guy. At first I was cocky about it. Of course I could write both columns! I was awesome. I was talented and insightful
and witty.

  I was struggling.

  I’d been confident in my ability to handle one, but not so much the other. What did I know about behaving?

  Writing my own stuff was no problem. Mimicking Lizzie’s tone was a lot harder. And trying to write as though our voices were combined but not really… well, that was like masturbating with your hands tied behind your back—really fucking difficult.

  Just in case Lizzie hadn’t talked to me about the change in assignment—which she had, over dinner at a crowded Thai restaurant, Rob Mooney had emailed me. So I had an idea of what she wanted to talk to me about when I’d arrived at her office.

  I couldn’t have said no, anyhow. Not with the way her eyes shone when she talked about getting a chance in news. Not with her excitement glowing between us like the little tea light on the table. Who was I to deny her the realization of that goal?

  After two weeks of this new set-up, though, I was realizing what a good team we’d made. I found myself wanting to talk to her about the email questions that came in, and the whackadoo Tweets that tagged us. It was strange how I’d done this job alone for so long, and now I missed sharing it with her.

  But I’d barely seen her—much less delivered on my orgasm promise.

  She’d been sucked into a work vortex, keeping crazy hours to try to impress The Powers That Be. I got lots of texts from her, but mostly they were forwarded articles from newspapers and websites. I’d never read so much of The Guardian in my life as I had in the past two weeks.

  In the absence of actual conversation, I tried to read between the lines of what she chose to send me. Did forwarding me an article on sex trafficking mean she wanted a date? Did that piece on the Antarctic ice shelf breaking off mean she didn’t want to see me anymore?

  One day I managed to kidnap her for lunch, but I barely got a word in as she talked about her new job.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think she didn’t ever want to come back to Miss Behave…

  I was scowling over that possibility as I was leaving her office after lunch, so distracted that Mooney had to practically step in front of me to get my attention.

  “Ash!”

  I looked up. “Sorry. Hey.”

  “Got a sec?” He gestured to his office. It wasn’t a request.

  I preceded him into the office and braced my hands against the back of the chair in front of his desk. No need to sit; surely this wouldn’t take long.

  He closed the door.

  Okay, maybe I should sit.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Fine. Good.”

  He kept his gaze on me as he rounded the desk and settled back into his chair. “I’ve been seeing Tweets wondering what happened to Cubicle Crush.”

  I shrugged. “No new emails from him. I guess maybe it worked out.”

  “Hmmm.” He just looked at me. No, stared at me.

  Shit. “What?”

  “I know it was you, Ash. I know you’re Cubicle Crush.”

  I remained silent, neither affirming nor denying.

  He sighed and rolled his eyes. “When I decided to get you guys engaging with him on an ongoing basis, I had the IT team run the IP and address to make sure we had more information—just in case he turned into a stalker or something.”

  “I see.” There was no indication from him how he felt about this. The man had a face of stone.

  “I’m not sure what the deal is—if you really have a workplace crush or you just made it all up…” Rob paused, probably hoping I’d explain.

  I didn't.

  “Hmmm. Well, do you think you can keep it going for a while on your own?”

  “You mean, write emails to myself and then answer them?”

  “Essentially, yeah.”

  “Don’t you think that’s kind of…”

  “Unethical? Disingenuous? Lying?” Mooney listed them off on his fingers. “Sure, pick one. A lot of people believe that advice columns are just made up, anyhow.”

  I frowned. Lizzie took it seriously; I knew that for a fact. That was part of her problem—she’d ended up in an identity crisis over being Miss Behave.

  “I’ll be honest with you, here.” The editor leaned forward, and instinctively, I did as well.

  “Okay.” Had he been lying, disingenuous, and unethical until now?

  “The owner likes your style better than Lizzie’s. They’re leaning towards asking you to stay on and write for the merged mag.”

  “What about Lizzie?”

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. “That’s the problem. This news assignment is temporary—at least right now. I can’t guarantee she can stay there. I can’t guarantee anything.” He put up his hands. “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard through the grapevine.”

  Well, shit. In some ways, journalism was still an old boys’ club.

  “You can’t tell her any of this, of course,” he added.

  Of course. “Is that all?” I asked, shifting forward in my seat. I was ready to go home. Or to the gym, where I could take out my frustration out on some free weights.

  He waved me off, and I stepped back out into the hallway with a sigh. I looked up and down the hallway, my heart heavy and my mind confused. And there was only one thing I needed at that moment—Lizzie.

  I hurried back to her cubicle. To my surprise, she wasn’t sitting and working, but standing with her arms crossed and an angry expression on her face.

  When she turned and saw me, her eyes narrowed. “Guess what I just found out?”

  Uh oh. I held out my hand. “I need to talk to you.”

  Her spine relaxed a little, but she didn’t take my hand. “But—”

  “Please.”

  The second she uncrossed her arms, I wrapped my fingers around her slim wrist and pulled her out of the cubicle.

  “Where—? Oh.”

  I shooed her into the storage closet and closed the door behind us. She paced back and forth as much as the tiny space and her tight skirt allowed, a few steps either way. Her lips were pressed together tightly, and she breathed heavily out of her nose.

  “I can’t believe it,” she fumed. Her hazel eyes had flashes of green in them when she raised her gaze to me.

  “Can I just explain—?”

  She rocked to a halt before me, raising her hands. “How? How can you explain it? Why am I always the last to find these things out?”

  She looked at me with helpless fury, like she wasn’t sure what to do with all the anger inside her. In a sudden, violent motion, she kicked the ancient photocopier.

  With pointy heels.

  I stepped back.

  “It wasn’t meant to hurt you,” I tried, before she interrupted me again.

  “And she told me she didn’t want to come to me for advice, when all the time he was Cubicle Crush! Argh!”

  I froze, not sure I heard her correctly. “What? Who are you mad at?”

  “Dara! Haven’t you been listening? Intern Pete is Cubicle Crush!”

  My heart started beating again. “How do you know that?” I stepped up to her and held her hands. I had to stem the violence somehow.

  She exhaled heavily and rested her forehead against my chest. “Dara is dating Pete. She just told me.”

  “And she thinks he’s Cubicle Crush?”

  “Apparently he made some stupid joke about advice columnists and she made the connection. She said that the timing all fits.”

  I wrapped my arms around her waist as she pressed her cheek to my sternum. “Okay. So what part are you upset about?”

  “I don’t know. The part where she didn’t tell me she was dating him? The part where I encouraged him to—oh my god,” she gasped, lifting her gaze to mine. “Maybe they made out in here.” Her head whipped around, like she was looking for cum stains on the industrial carpet.

  “You mean like we did?”

  She smiled up at me as I tightened my grip. “We never made out in here, Ash.”

  “No? Maybe we should.”
Other than the fact that it was clearly an oversight on my part, I wanted to get her mind off Cubicle Crush.

  Of all the places to lose our minds, I preferred the gutter.

  I licked my lips as I looked down at her beautiful face. There were faint shadows under her eyes, but her gaze was hot upon me. Her hands wandered up my chest between us, and twined around my neck.

  “Last time we were in here,” she reminded me, “you said you didn’t know what to do with a girl like me.”

  I rocked my hips against her, letting her feel the heat and hardness I felt in her presence—every goddamn time. “I’m learning.” I bent down to graze my lips over her cheekbone.

  “You had a list of things you wanted to do to me,” she whispered.

  “Do you remember what they were?” I certainly did.

  “I’m not the kind of g-girl who says those things.”

  I pulled back a little, unsure if she was joking or not. Her pink lips were curved into a smug half-smile. Oh yeah, she was joking. But I’d play along. I dropped my mouth to her ear.

  “I think I said something about pulling down your panties, didn’t I?”

  She hummed.

  “And fucking you against the filing cabinet?”

  “Not in those exact words,” she breathed, as I backed her toward the cabinet in question. There was a good chance I could figure out what to do with a girl like Lizzie right at that moment when she added, “But there’s one problem.”

  “What’s that?” I couldn’t get enough of her taste, my mouth traveling over her face, neck, and jaw. I pulled aside the strap of the tank top she was wearing with her skirt and nibbled on her shoulder.

  Her voice was throaty in my ear as I bent my head over her silken skin. “I’m not wearing any panties.”

  I stilled then groaned. “You mean I took you out for lunch when I could have been eating you out instead?”

  Lizzie thwapped my shoulder. “Crude.”

  But true. I’d had enough of her skin—for now—and latched onto her mouth. She let out a high little moan as I teased her lips apart with my tongue. I felt every inch of her against me, warm and soft, firm and smooth.

  It wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I needed more. Two weeks with some stolen kisses and far too much self-love had left me rock hard and aching for her.