NSFW

by Piper Lawson

  “How’s the future Mrs. Max Donovan?” I perched on Payton’s desk.

  “Hey. What are you still doing here?”

  “I’m the ghost of Christmas past. Hand over your lunch money.”

  She raised a brow and folded her arms over her chest.

  “Want food? I’m starving. And if I know you, you have—” I checked my phone “—fifteen minutes between meetings to grab something.”

  I filled her in as we made our way down to the cafeteria. Her hazel eyes got rounder and rounder as I told her how Avery’d intercepted the reference. About the deal we’d struck.

  “I don’t understand. You could’ve gotten around him the next time.”

  “I know, but that’s not the point. He doesn’t believe that I helped him. That I get shit done. I’m not leaving him in that cloud of delusion. He needs to understand that, rhinestones or no, he’s never had it better.”

  “Charlie, if I found out my assistant had been messing with me, I would’ve fired them too.”

  “But he deserved it. He only cares that everyone here worships him except his own assistant.”

  “You think he’ll follow through and give you your reference at the end?”

  I turned it over in my head. “Yes. I think he’s a dick. He’s not a liar.”

  My friend grabbed a salad out of the fridge and I picked a sandwich, dropping it on my tray. Normally I’d go for bacon and eggs, but the breakfast place closed at noon.

  “No watermelon slushy?” I asked as she bypassed the machine that dispensed her favorite frozen pink goo.

  She made a face. “I’m not feeling it this week.”

  We approached the cash register, and the burly man there lit up when he saw us.

  “Charlie. My angel.”

  “Hi, Martin.”

  Hot Martin wasn’t going to grace the cover of GQ anytime soon, but he was sweet. As his nickname was self-proclaimed and he had a great sense of humor, we went with it.

  He set a wrapped cookie on my tray with a flourish. “Your cookie.”

  “Thanks, handsome.”

  “It’s the least I can do for the radiant light you bring into our humble office every day.”

  Payton cleared her throat, amused.

  We paid for our food and continued to a table, where I unwrapped my sandwich. “What is aioli except mayonnaise on a power trip?”

  “I think it has herbs.”

  “Fuck herbs.” I dropped the bread back in place and bit into the sandwich.

  “So you’re just going to do everything he wants until he can replace you.”

  I chewed and swallowed. “I’m on Mallory’s project team for the gala. I’m going to be picking out napkin colors and debating bacon-wrapped scallops versus bacon-wrapped shrimp. Spoiler alert: It doesn’t matter. You could wrap garbage in bacon and feed it to the people. They’d love it.”

  “Sounds like Avery’s going to enjoy this.”

  “At least the putting-me-through-hell part.” I remembered the flourish on the Post-it stuck to the cart full of stacks of paper next to my desk earlier. And the level look he’d shot me over my cubicle wall when he’d walked past on the way to his meeting. “I don’t even know why Avery’s the one on PR duty. If they want a fresh face to represent the company, they should pick someone who likes people.” My gaze landed on my friend. “Like you.”

  “Thanks. I’m not qualified.”

  “You’re as qualified as Avery. You have the highest client satisfaction ratings. You’re good at your job. And your hair’s always so goddamned bouncy.”

  She laughed. “So for the next three weeks you’re picking out napkin colors?”

  “No. I’m going to get him that promotion.” I told her about Avery’s ambition and Jamie’s departure.

  “Shit. So you’re trying to make Avery my boss?”

  “Only indirectly. You know associates basically work for themselves. It’s about client numbers, nothing else. Besides, what happened to ‘he’s not the worst guy’?” I teased.

  Payton shot me a look before flicking open her phone.

  “Huh. As part of Redpath’s cleanup of Alliance, they’re literally cleaning up Alliance. The terrarium in the foyer’s getting redone. Plus, they finally realized the skylights were a dumbass idea. New carpet in the common area on eight, starting tomorrow. Says it’ll take a week.”

  “Where will all the admins go?”

  “Probably the Reagan room. It’s the biggest.”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Amazing. I’ll be further from His Highness. Which is what it’ll take for me to get through to the gala without committing an act of bossicide. You prepared to give me an alibi?”

  “Jerry, from accounting. In the Jefferson room. With a stapler.”

  “You’re a true friend.”

  7

  The Biggest Hickey I’ve Ever Seen

  Dickwad: I have fifty new client prospects to be loaded into the database for my program testing. By Monday.

  A familiar form joined me on the elevator as I strode on Monday, yawning.

  I’d come into the office this weekend to do Avery’s menial tasks. I’d had time to visit my grandmother, but looking for other jobs had taken a backseat.

  Tough. If Avery thought I was going to back down this easily, he had another thing coming.

  “You’re still here,” I said to Rose. “I’m impressed. How’re you getting on?”

  Rose made a face. “Armand’s a little creepy. He checks me out. You don’t think he’d try something?”

  “If he does, let me know. There are a lot of wandering eyes in this place. But wandering hands are strictly forbidden.”

  Her expression shifted. “I like your boss’s hands. And he was really nice when we talked at Tilt Thursday night.”

  My jaw dropped. “Nice? Are we talking about the same guy?”

  Rose hit the button.

  “And I know you said he wasn’t married, but I figured he’d be dating someone. He’s not,” she declared proudly.

  I raised a brow. “And this is your golden opportunity?”

  “No, I just prefer to ogle the single ones.”

  “Wait a second. You asked him point blank if he had a girlfriend?”

  She blushed. “Not exactly. I said Armand wanted to meet him for a drink after work. I asked if his girlfriend would be coming.”

  “Sneaky bitch.” She blinked, startled. “It’s a nickname. I’m not calling you a… Never mind.”

  We pulled up to find the cubicles pushed to the side wall. I read the piece of paper taped to one of the desks that’d been turned on its side.

  “Unbelievable. It says that while they’re working, we’re in Reagan on seven unless otherwise assigned. We can grab our stuff…if we can find it.”

  Boxes were piled on desks that’d been pushed to the edges of the common area. Some desks weren’t even accessible.

  “I see mine!” Rose picked her way through the graveyard of office furniture to grab a box off a wooden table.

  My gaze ran over the pile of desks. Mine was distinctive mainly for the burn mark on the corner from my portable hair straightener.

  “Where else would it be?” I mumbled. Maybe someone’d moved it to Reagan already.

  I turned, starting down the hallway with Rose in tow. I stopped. “No fucking way.”

  Rose ran into me. “What?” Her gaze followed mine. “Whoa. You’re sharing with Avery?”

  My heart sank. His office held two desks, not one. His faced the door, mine the closet. The L-shape put us a body length apart.

  Normally I could barely keep it in when we were within shouting distance. This was slapping distance.

  I took a deep breath. There was no way we’d both make it through the next week alive.

  Avery’s office was one of the older ones, which meant no glass wall like the one Payton had. But it was bigger.

  The King was out and, though I tried asking and begging and bribing maintenance, I couldn�
�t get anyone to move my computer to the Reagan room.

  Because apparently my assignment was on the “master list.”

  Fuck it. If we were stuck with this, I’d at least make myself at home.

  My collection of brightly colored pens went on the desk. The stack of cardstock went in the first drawer. Nail polish topcoat, hair supplies, and tampons went in the second drawer. My spider plant Trevor, with his leaves that were crispy around the edges, got a corner.

  I should water him sometime this week. But I liked the fact that he, like me, was a survivor. It was our bond.

  I unbuttoned the top of my blouse because the air conditioning couldn’t keep up with the June heat, then set to work returning client calls.

  “Hi, Mr. Siskinds. You wanted to reschedule your meeting with Avery later this week?”

  “Yes, Charlie. I need to sort through the funding for this new location, but I’m not going to be available for a couple more days. Jinnifer has a cold.”

  Jinnifer. Jinnifer. His wife? Or…

  It clicked. “Sorry to hear that. I know someone with pugs, and they’re prone to respiratory issues. You taking her to the vet?”

  “Amanda is.” That’s the wife. “You should see the poor thing. She sneezes and wheezes…it’s pretty damn cute, actually.”

  His hearty laughter had me smiling and holding the phone away. The restaurateur’s chuckle would register on the Richter scale, but it was contagious.

  “All right, well, I can get you in later this week. We’ll see you then.”

  I made a note as I hit a button to switch lines.

  “Avery Banks’ office.”

  “Is my brother there?”

  I blinked. “Excuse me, who is this?”

  “Kenna. I need to talk to Avery.”

  My mind struggled to make connections. Failed.

  “Hello?”

  I realized she was waiting for a response.

  “He’s in a meeting but should be back soon, Kenna. Can I have him call you?”

  “Just tell him it’s not cool that he went over my head and paid my tuition. We’ll talk this weekend.”

  “I’ll pass along the message.”

  She clicked off, and I slowly hung up the phone.

  I knew he had a sister, but I’d always assumed she was older and that they weren’t close. He never talked about her.

  I was still trying to figure this out when Avery strode into the office.

  “What am I doing here?” I asked.

  He didn’t spare me a glance as he dropped his black leather briefcase behind his desk. “You belong here. You work for me.”

  “Everyone works for someone. It’s the well-tended hierarchy of corporate America. But the rest of the admin staff are in the conference room downstairs.”

  Avery glanced over, irritated.

  It was Jerry. In the Jefferson room. With the stapler…

  I set the stapler—that’d somehow found its way from the drawer into my hand—back on the desk.

  “I can’t find my office chair, so I stole this one from outside. The phone isn’t mine either, so I had to get my calls forwarded to this extension. But I also keep getting calls for someone named Ray.”

  His gaze ran over my desktop. “Is that all?” Avery stripped off his suit jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the door, and straightened his tie. I had a perverse urge to yank on it.

  “One person did manage to make it to my line.” I played my trump card. “Your sister.”

  Avery blanched. “Kenna called. Here.”

  “She wants you to keep your tuition money. You know, I forgot you had a sister. You never talk about her. She’s in college?”

  “Sophomore year,” he replied, distracted. He crossed to the window and paced its length.

  “And you pay her tuition.”

  “I don’t want your opinion on—”

  “That’s decent of you.”

  He turned to face me. Tried to hide his surprise, and failed. “I wish she agreed.”

  I checked my impulse to retort something sassy.

  It was clear from his expression how much he cared about her. How much this bothered him.

  He dropped into his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he stared unseeing into his computer monitor.

  I lifted his messages, which he liked to get on Post-its, and carried them to his desk. I set them on the blotter, then on impulse I perched on the corner of his desk.

  He rolled back an inch. Barely noticeable.

  “This promotion. Is that why you want it? So you can pay for your sister’s school? Because you don’t have a girlfriend, or a drug habit that I’m aware of…what’re you going to spend it all on?”

  “It’s none of your business.” He angled his face up toward mine, and my breath caught.

  “Whoa.” I leaned in to get a closer look. “Either you got bit by a vampire or that’s the biggest hickey I’ve ever seen.” I eyed up the purple mark on his neck. He winced as I reached out a finger, brushing it over his skin.

  “Dammit. It’s not a hickey.”

  I couldn’t stop the smirk. “No? That wasn’t in your weekend list of activities?”

  Avery shot me a withering look. “I was carrying the bottom end of a sideboard up stairs. The guy holding the top end stopped moving. Got a corner right in my jugular.”

  “You moved this weekend?”

  “I move most weekends.” He paused. “I think it’s self-explanatory.”

  I shook my head, slow. “It really isn’t.”

  “I used to do it in high school and college for money, but now I do it for the exercise. A former classmate provides free moving help for modest-income families.”

  “So you move people. Is that like human trafficking?”

  He let out an exasperated breath. “I move their things, Charlotte. Couches. Tables. Boxes. Why are you still looking at me like that?”

  “It’s just not how I expected you to spend your weekends. I’d been leaning toward underground boxing ring. Cock fighting. Sex dungeons,” I added after a moment. “You know. Since the hickey.”

  Avery raised a brow before he turned on his phone. He flicked the camera lens to face him, angling it to no avail. “How bad is it?”

  “Everyone out there will think it’s a hickey too.”

  He cursed.

  I crossed to my desk and grabbed some concealer out of the drawer.

  Avery pulled back when I approached him. “What are you doing.”

  “Girly voodoo. It’ll take two seconds.” I bent over, bringing our faces close and angling my head so I could see beneath his chin.

  He caught my hand in mid-air. “Don’t.”

  “Why not.”

  “Because I said so.”

  “Not the most compelling argument.”

  “It doesn’t have to be compelling. I’m your boss. I say things, you do them.”

  “That’s not an office,” I commented as I handed him the tube. I winced as he squeezed ten bucks worth onto a finger. “That’s a dictatorship.”

  He froze, goop-covered finger in the air.

  I’d tried to keep my opinions to myself during most of our working relationship.

  But hey.

  It’s amazing the things you’ll say after you’ve been fired.

  Once he recovered from the surprise, he began poking blindly at his throat. I bit my cheek.

  “OK, just stop,” I said when I couldn’t take it. “Now it looks like you have paint on you. Come on.”

  With a grunt, Avery lifted his chin. I inched closer.

  I brushed his neck with my finger, feeling the heat under my touch. His throat bobbed as I blended the makeup into his skin.

  “You have an issue with being touched?” I asked.

  “Depends on who’s doing the touching.”

  His voice was rough in the quiet office. The usual buzz of phones beyond the door was silenced, thanks to the carpet renovations that hadn’t yet started.

  I
used the pad of my finger in soft circles, trying to focus on matching his skin tone.

  Not the fact that this definitely wasn’t in whatever dusty handbook of assistant duties lay in a drawer in HR.

  Not that I was close enough to smell his cologne. Something smooth and spicy and oddly perfect for him.

  “There.” I finished my work and recapped the concealer. “You look five years younger.”

  Which was ridiculous because the man wasn’t thirty. Sometimes his accomplishments, his confidence, and his attitude had me forgetting there were only a few years between us.

  Right now, only a few inches.

  My gaze moved from his neck to his jaw, his face. The blue gaze that I swear sharpened when it met mine.

  I’m not a stickler for personal space but the expression on his face reminded me I was all up in his.

  “There’s something I don’t get,” I said under my breath. “If you hate me so much, why did you ever have me assigned to work for you full-time?”

  Avery made a noise low in his throat. “You think I hate you.”

  “Come on. You haven’t smiled at me in two years. I probably could’ve stopped showing up and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

  He blew out a breath. “Trust me. That I’d have noticed.”

  His low voice sent prickles down my spine.

  “Mr. Banks?”

  My head jerked toward the door and Avery shifted back in his chair. Emma, Payton’s assistant, hovered in the open doorway. “They’re waiting for you in Reagan.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  By the time I’d looked back, he’d shoved a stack of papers in his briefcase and rounded the desk.

  Without a look over his shoulder, he was gone.

  8

  Electric

  “Hey, Grams. You want it on the rocks?”

  “Straight up.”

  I poured her bourbon and carried it out to the sitting room of her retirement home suite. “I like a woman who asks for what she wants.” I settled onto the couch next to her chair.

  My grandmother’s lined face wrinkled more. “I don’t. Your mother called last week asking if I still had that gold bracelet. I told her she can have it when I’m dead.” She cackled, shifting to face the coffee table.