by Emily Snow
"You called me a shark?" I gasp, leaning away from my new boss and glowering up at him.
He grins boldly. Deliciously. Damn him. “It’s what your former boss at W-whatever called you. Because you’re hungry and motivated. I thought the name fit you to a T.”
Of course he did. Smoothing my features into a sweet and, hopefully, un-shark-like smile, I take a step closer to Man Bun and offer my hand. "I'm Lucy Williams."
"Ashton Frey." He shakes my hand, making a face because the dirt from his fingers smudges mine. He reaches under the table and comes back up a moment later with a blue shop towel that he hands to me. "Be careful what you wear around here, it's easy to get dirty."
"She's already aware of that," Jace says too suggestively for my liking. Heat pulses through me along with a vivid picture of the scene at Mr. B’s house. For as long as I live, I likely won’t forget what I saw at that party. I hear Jace’s footsteps heading in the other direction, and I turn around to find he's already halfway to the other end of the workshop.
"Keep up," he calls behind him, not bothering to turn around.
"It was good to meet you," I tell Ashton. His mouth twitches as he wishes me good luck. He's the second of Jace's employees to tell me that today, and another nervous bubble forms in the center of my chest.
Not only have I accepted a job working for Mr. Kinkster, he’s also apparently an asshole. Just like in high school.
Although Jace’s legs are much longer than mine, I still manage to catch up in four long strides. "What exactly have you told them about me?" I ask through ground teeth. He feigns a look of confusion. "Just so I know why they're giving me funny looks in the break room."
"Only that they'll be getting bigger bonuses next Christmas because the shark is going to put us on the map."
His words send my heart sinking to my stomach. "You shouldn't make them promises."
"And why the fuck not? You said it yourself when I called and offered you the position: By this time next year, you'll have our name out to every corner of the world." When I don't immediately respond, he pauses and turns to face me. And when I avoid his gaze, he reaches out and tucks a rough fingertip beneath my chin, jerking the air from my lungs. He forces my stare up to his.
I wish he’d just asked me to look at him. I would have complied, I would have met his eyes without even a hint of protest, if it meant keeping my wits and breath and emotions intact.
I fold my arms over my chest, and a harsh noise strains through my lips. "That's when I thought you made clocks."
"And now you know I make fuck-toys and other fun goodies, so you've got plenty to work with." He lowers his hand from my face then walks away. Again. Heaving a harsh sigh, I take a few seconds to still the butterflies whirling through my chest, and then I join him in front of one of the tall shelves pushed against the far wall of the workshop.
Without warning, he grabs something from the middle rack and tosses it in my direction. I catch it easily, closing my fingers around cold metal.
I crinkle my nose at the circular piece of brushed steel in my palm, running my fingertips along the grooved outer edges. "Jace ... what is this?"
"Love, are you kidding—" I look up from my open hands to find him rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. "It's a cock ring, Lucy."
What. The. Shit?
I give him a look of absolute horror, so he closes the space between our bodies until the tips of his boots brush against the black patent toes of my pumps. "You can relax. It's not been on anyone's nasties ... not yet, anyway."
Gosh, he has such a lovely way of phrasing things—said no one ever. I weigh the smooth metal between my hands for a few more moments and then drop it in his outstretched palm. He returns it to the shelf, right next to what I know with one hundred percent certainty is a gleaming, dual-ended dildo.
Stepping directly in front of me and pulling my attention back to his bearded face, he gives me a smoldering look that once again makes it difficult for me to think clearly. "Welcome to the EXtreme family, Williams."
NINE
LUCY
The first few days at EXtreme are ... well, unlike anything I've ever experienced. I quickly learn that while Jace is a perfectionist, he's also well-liked among his employees. They're all friends. It's the first time I've ever worked at a company where everyone gets along. At WLC, I had gotten used to the constant competitiveness, and of course, I was the bearded dragon at Java-Org. Most of Tom's employees loathed each other and would stab their co-workers in the back at the first chance to advance their career. It’s different here. Sure, the guys joke about making the best-looking set of metal wrist cuffs or who produced butt plugs and heavy-duty suspension bars the fastest, but they all have a common goal:
To make one hell of a sex machine.
Which I not only respect but also find impressive. Even if using the phrase "sex machine" still makes me glance away and clear my throat like a middle schooler watching a Family Life video.
When I knock on Jace's door at the end of the day on Friday, he immediately barks for me to make it quick. He's been in a mood all day because he had gotten the dimensions of B's seven-thousand-dollar dungeon-esque version of a Lazy Susan wrong and he has to restart from scratch. Theo had pointed out that they can still sell the other table since it's flawless, but Jace had merely pulled off his welder's mask and retreated to his office to let B know he would need extra time. Daisy had let it slip that Mr. B doesn’t like to wait for anything, which became obvious when Jace didn’t return to the workshop for close to an hour.
Hoping he’s in a better mood now, I approach him tentatively and he grants me a frustrated look.
"Stop standing there fidgeting, Williams.” He crooks his fingers, motioning me forward. “You can ask, I promise I won't bite."
I sit across from him, folding my hands together demurely in my lap. "I spoke to my friend Andi about the website today, but I just wanted to make sure it's in the budget to—"
"Whatever you need to do, do it." He reaches into the top drawer of his metal desk, rummages around, and eventually locates a slim business credit card. He holds it out to me. When our fingertips come in contact, I bite my tongue, so I won't show a reaction to the current humming through my veins and seeping into my bones.
"I also spoke with Katia at Lorelei’s about the promo opportunities for IFD earlier today. It's going to be fantastic." A few days ago, Griff finally taught me what IFD means: International Fetish Day. Researching it at home, I spent the entire evening with a permanent blush staining my features until my mother finally asked if I had a condition she wasn't aware of. The whole time we watched The Voice together, all I could think about was chains and bondage.
Because, what better thoughts to have while listening to covers of K.D. Lang's "Constant Craving" and Rihanna's "S&M?"
"And I’ve been working on plans to reach our target audience," I add anxiously.
"Our target audience?" Jace covers his mouth with his large hand for a moment, and when he finally lowers his fingers to his desk, my skin grows hot because he's laughing darkly.
"What's so funny?"
"Our target audience is everyone who likes to fuck, love."
Oh, my. Why does he have to phrase it quite like that? I swallow hard, clutching his credit card close to my chest. My heartbeat is a swift and heavy thud against my knuckles. "That's not necessarily true," I argue. "Don't you—"
He lifts a hand to halt my words. "You have one, yes?" When I stare at him blankly, he gives me a look that turns my stomach into a maze of knots. He’s asking if I have a vibrator. Sweet Jesus, how the hell did I wriggle myself into this one? Grazing my tongue over my lips, I desperately try to think of a retort that will steer this conversation back to the safe zone.
"Your eyes are darting, Williams, and you’re licking your lips again. Stop trying to come up with a bullshit response because you know exactly what I meant. I was asking if you have a nightstand drawer of playthings, a treasure trove of—"<
br />
"Stop." I hate the sensations that flow through me. I don't want him to know what's in my nightstand drawer. I don't want him to sit right in front of me trying to figure it out. Because then he'd know that when I touched myself just last night with the only toy I have—when I squeezed my eyes tight just before I let go—I thought of unruly dark hair and mocking blue-gray eyes.
"What I have has nothing to do with our target audience," I say, emphasizing each word.
He leans back in his chair, props his feet up on his desk, and a grin splits his bronze face. It's the first genuine one I've seen from him today. "So you do.”
"You're being inappropriate again. In fact, you excel at it."
"And you said I was an underachiever." He winks at me despite my cringe at the old memory. "Get the website figured out, Williams, and let me know if you need anything else. I'm always, always at your disposal."
“You know, when you texted asking what I was doing for lunch, I didn’t realize you were waiting out here,” I say when I walk into the reception area to find my best friend waiting for me on Monday afternoon.
“Sorry to surprise you, but I just finished my shift and wanted to see where the magic happens before I go home.” Jamie holds up a takeout bag and wiggles it around. “I brought food, but your gatekeeper says I can’t come back.”
Daisy’s mouth drops open. She swivels her chair around to give Jamie a look of mock outrage. “And here I was thinking we were bonding over my badass leggings and haircut. I said you couldn’t go back without Lucy. And without leaving me an eggroll, but don’t tell Jace that because it’s technically blackmail and he’s not into that sort of thing.”
“You’re good at that.” I shoot a dark look at Daisy, and she grins broadly before I face Jamie. “Last week, she talked me into taking her to lunch where she exchanged gossip for gyros.”
Of course, learning more about my boss was worth the fifteen dollars.
Like the fact he hasn’t attended a party like the one at Mr. B’s for pleasure in over two years.
“You sneaky, sneaky girl,” Jamie tells Daisy, fishing around in the takeout bag. A moment later, Daisy happily accepts the bribe.
“And I hate to do this, but can you leave your phone up here?” When my best friend’s eyebrows lift, Daisy hurriedly explains, “Jace hates phones with a passion. Plus, one of his VIPs is stopping by today, and he’s big on privacy.”
Jace had surprised us this morning with news that Mr. B wants to check the progress on his table. I’m not sure if I can face the elusive B without imagining his Doublemint twin blowjob.
“I promise I’m not going to sell sexy secrets, but okay.” Jamie places her phone on Daisy’s desk then looks at me. “Ready to eat, love?” When I suck in my cheeks, she grins broadly and gives Daisy a questioning look. “I’ve just got to ask—does he call you that, too?”
“Negative. He didn’t even call Michaela that when she worked here, and … they were very friendly.”
Michaela. Jace had said that name during our interview, but this is the first time Daisy’s mentioned her. There’s a part of me that desperately wants to question what happened—and what exactly does she mean by very friendly—but I feel Jamie’s gaze burning into the side of my face. If I say something, she’ll just point out that the tension between Jace and me is all too real.
And it’s not.
At least, it’s not supposed to be.
Thankfully, we talk instead about Jamie’s upcoming neonatal seminar in Ohio from the moment we sit down to eat our lunch. I’m almost in the clear as we finish the last of our chow mein but then Jace taps on my door.
Goddammit it.
He sticks his head in before I tell him it’s okay to enter my office. “B will be here in twenty minutes, Williams, but I—” His dark brows tug together in surprise as his eyes land on my guest. “Jamie,” he says, inclining his head politely. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
Because he doesn’t smile and I notice that his attention drops down to her lap and my desk, as if he’s searching for something, I clear my throat. “Daisy took her phone at the door.”
The worry creasing his brow begins to fade. “Just making sure.” He glances up at Jamie. “I like to protect my … interests.”
“I completely get it. But I miss my phone so much that I was just on my way out.” She tosses the empty takeout boxes in my wastebasket. “I’m ready to go home and crash and—” She freezes when the door creaks open, and we’re faced with Jace’s bare torso. “Jesus, Exley. Where’s your shirt?”
Good question. Where is his shirt?
He had on one this morning. I had begrudgingly admired the way the long-sleeve tee hugged his ripped arms while he told me about B’s visit. And the way he moved his thumb around the neckline when our eyes met from across the workshop an hour after that. So, where the hell is it now?
Zeroing in on the tattoo spanning his muscular pecs—it’s an intricate, black and gray mix of tribal and roses in full bloom—I swallow hard in a desperate effort to push down the pressure swelling in my throat. I’m not the only one feeling the aftershock of shirtless Jace Exley because Jamie coughs nervously.
Her brown eyes are enormous and they haven’t moved from my boss’s chest.
I can’t exactly say I blame her for staring.
“You’re meeting B without a shirt?” I say at last, my husky voice drawing his blue eyes to mine. They narrow in amusement.
“Hadn’t planned on it. I’m on my way to grab a clean shirt since I want to look … professional.” This is one of those moments where his accent is obvious, and the crisp consonants and stretched vowels sound even more enticing when paired with his current state of undress. “If you think going without might help me move more product, though, I’ll—”
“No,” I breathe, and he leans a tan shoulder against the doorframe and chuckles. “I mean, wear a shirt. Is there … is there something you needed?”
“Check your email. I’ve got someone from FetCon calling me every day or two, and I’ve sent her your way so she’ll leave me the fuck alone.”
“FetCon?”
“Where all your wildest fetishes come to life,” he drawls and from the other side of my desk, Jamie lets out a low whistle.
“Got it.” I cross my arms over my chest, hating that my nipples have hardened beneath my blouse thanks to his lack of attire and fetish talk. “I’ll get right to it. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Jace’s full lips quiver at the corners. For several seconds, he challenges my stare. I try like crazy not to ogle the V-taper that disappears into his jeans but I can’t help but take a quick peek when he backs away from my door. He drags his hand over his chest, and I picture my fingers there, splaying over his tattoo, racing over taut muscles.
“That’s all for now, love.” He looks at Jamie and grins. “It was good to see you again.”
He leaves—hopefully to put on clothes before he can wreak more havoc on my thoughts—and Jamie’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Remember that time he randomly changed shirts right before that assembly and Principal Verbeck lost her shit?”
“No, I don’t.” Cleaning my desk with a napkin, I don’t risk peering up at Jamie. She’ll call my lie faster than I can say Jace Exley Is Gorgeous because, of course, I remember. How the hell does one forget the sight of Jace Exley standing up in the middle of an auditorium and exposing his perfect body for no real reason other than to get a reaction?
“Sure you don’t. You know, my seventeen-year-old brain was sure he couldn’t get any sexier, but damn”—she casts a hopeful glance at my open door and sighs—“I was mistaken.”
“Jamie,” I moan.
“What? A girl can look, can’t she? Even if he did spend the last five minutes eye-humping her best friend.”
A few minutes later, I escort her back to Daisy’s office to collect her phone. As we leave the workshop and pass by the man in the suit who’s entering it, Jamie freezes from head
to toe. She does a double take, and I lift my brows when I hear her swallow. Hard. She recovers fast, pretending to be more interested in what Daisy’s saying to her. I look back to see Mr. B giving my best friend’s ass an appreciative once over.
Luckily, he releases the door, letting it slam shut before my expression has a chance to change. I imagine he doesn’t give a damn whether I saw or not.
Just like Jace.
TEN
JACE
“What’s Bailon have you working on that’s so secretive?”
The moment I hear the voice on the other line, I grit my teeth because I regret taking time from my work to answer. It’s Andrew, Sonora’s friend, and it takes every bit of professionalism I have—and there’s not much as it is—not to hang up on the prick.
“B’s designs are confidential. All my client’s designs are.” I jerk off my safety glasses and toss them on the table beside my helmet. “Is there something you want?”
“I was curious,” he starts, and his tone makes me want to deck him in the nose. He’s had that effect on me since I met him—he speaks, and I instantly get the desire to hit him. “About what Bailon has you doing … and the woman who came with you to his last party. What is she? Islander or—”
“She’s nothing,” I growl, gripping the edges of the table I’ve spent the day reworking. My need to knock the rich motherfucker on his arse has intensified in a matter of seconds because he’s brought her up. He has a wife. He has Sonora in the palm of his hand. He sure as fuck doesn’t need my employee.
“S said she’s your new marketing person. Didn’t realize you were expanding the brand.”
“I’ll be sure to include that on our next company newsletter,” I say wryly. “We send that out to paying customers, so you might want to place an order if you’d like one.”
He laughs. The pretentious fuck. “So the marketing woman … what’s she like?”
Aggravating—a smart-mouthed, distracting and beautiful woman who bothers me more than I ever imagined. I’ve avoided her all day because I can’t stand the way the buttons of her green blouse tease me. It’s like they’re begging my fingers to undo one or two or the whole row. Shirts like that have no place in my workshop, but neither does Lucy because she’s under my skin now.