Anything You Say: An Enemies to Lovers Standalone Romance

by Chloe Finch

  “I’d really rather not talk about it,” Grace said, making a face. The program was going just fine, outside of the Zach stuff at least, but the Tender Moments schtick drove her nuts.

  “We got a postcard from Kelly,” her dad said, blessedly changing the subject. “Sounds like she’s having a great time in Utah.”

  Kelly was Grace’s cousin, the closest thing she had to a sibling. They grew up together; the only two kids in a family with lots of aunts and uncles. She couldn’t remember exactly why, but at some point in middle school they drifted apart, and while they were still friendly, they were never again as close as when they were kids. The opposite of Grace’s driving ambition, Kelly had finished an art degree and spent the last couple of years bouncing from place to place. Now she was working on a dude ranch in Utah. It was a complete mystery what part of shoveling shit in the desert was remotely appealing, but she seemed happy enough.

  “How’s she doing?” Grace asked, grateful to have the spotlight off her.

  “Sounds like she’s doing great,” her dad said. “She met this woman who’s writing a memoir at the ranch.”

  “That’s interesting,” Grace said, distracted. She was looking at the clock and calculating how, even if she left now, she’d be late to meet up with Zach. Would he wait for her?

  “What time do you have to be at the office, dear?” Her mom set a pink-manicured hand on Grace’s arm.

  “Your nails look good,” Grace said. She took her mom’s hand to admire her work. “You’re getting professional.”

  Her mom used to go to the same nail salon every week. The same woman, Mai, had done her nails for years. She used to even buy Mai’s kids Christmas presents. Since Grace’s company folded, her mom finally learned to do them herself. She still texted Mai sometimes.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” her mom said. “Maybe for my next career I’ll open a nail salon.”

  Next career. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard one of her parents say something to that effect. The implication was, since they couldn’t afford to truly retire, they’d stop working their current jobs and get some sort of “easy” part-time job they’d work presumably until they died. The thought sent Grace back into the familiar guilt tailspin. Her mom didn’t mean it like that, but her parents should be talking about which cruise they’d be going on next, not opening a nail salon at seventy.

  It was only then that she decided for sure to meet up with Zach. The crushing weight of the guilt was killing her. It was the wrong decision, she knew it was, but for once she didn’t care.

  She jumped up. “I have to go now, actually.”

  “Do you need a ride to the train station?” Her dad asked.

  “I’ll just walk,” Grace said. Then she bolted out the door before they could ask any more questions.

  * * *

  Zach

  Zach was supposed to meet the elusive Big L that afternoon at some sketchy dock out in bumfuck Queens to hand over fifty thousand dollars in cash. The duffel bag was waiting in his closet at home. He was hoping Grace would take his mind off the Derek drama in the meantime, but he had been at his desk watching TV on his laptop with his feet up for almost an hour with no sign of her.

  He hadn’t been able to keep his mind off her all morning. He kept going back to all the dirty, awful things he wanted to do to her. He imagined ripping her top off and stuffing it in her mouth. What that gorgeous ass would look like with a big red handprint on it. What kind of sounds she’d make when she was in pain.

  When he left the office last night, he was positive she would come. The look on her face was pure lust. He could have fucked her right there and she would have been down. Now he was beginning to wonder if he made a miscalculation. He decided to stick it out another fifteen minutes, and then he’d accept that she bailed and go find something else to do.

  As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  She looked even better than his fantasies. The tight little miniskirt was inches above her knees, and that low-cut top made him want to yank it down and pop her breasts out right then.

  “You dressed up for me.” Satisfaction coursed through him.

  “I could say the same about you,” she said.

  He laughed. He was wearing a sky blue linen suit. “I’m dressed down.” He pointed at his neck. “No tie.” Suits and gym clothes were practically all he owned.

  She lingered by the door, shifting her weight back and forth, unsure what to do. She was nervous. It was cute. Her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wanted to pull it.

  “Sit down,” he said. She sat in the chair opposite his desk like they were about to have a meeting. He followed her gaze out the window and realized she had never been in his office before.

  “Quite the view,” she said. She crossed her legs.

  “Best on the whole floor.” Literally. It had been part of the award for salesperson of the year last year. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a perfect view down the West Side. Sometimes on Sundays he came into the office and watched cruise ships sail away past the Statue of Liberty.

  She looked anxious, and even though he wanted to lunge over the desk at her, he didn’t want to rush things. There would be plenty of time for all that.

  “So tell me, Gracie. Why the hell are you here?”

  “Because you asked me to come,” she said, a question playing on her lips.

  “I mean at Sterling. You seem to have total disdain for this place.”

  “I like money,” she said with a shrug.

  He laughed. “Everyone likes money.” He leaned back in his chair, put his feet back on the desk. “It takes more than just wanting to be rich to make it here. Most of the frat boys that come into this program wind up right back out, because they were just doing it for the money and quickly realized it wasn’t worth the trouble.”

  “Why are you here, then?” She countered.

  “You’re smart. I bet you’ve figured it out already,” he said. “Especially now that you’ve met my charming brother. My childhood was a mess. My parents were both disasters. Mom was a bipolar party girl who never wanted to grow up, and Dad only showed up every few months to screw everything up even more before disappearing again. Derek and I wanted to be different—at least he used to. I found out I’m damn good at selling. Now I make a boatload of money, and I’m nothing like any of them.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. He waited for her to share her reasons. She tucked a strand of hair that had fallen out of the ponytail behind her ear. Then after a moment, as if she didn’t know what else to say, she added, “That sounds hard.”

  “Cut the greeting card shit, Gracie,” he said, scorn creeping into his voice. “I’m just being real with you. You want to be real back? Tell me what’s really fucking up your life. Nobody goes into this job because it’s their passion.”

  “Fine, here’s my deal,” she said. “If you really want to know, I owe my parents two million bucks.”

  He whistled through his teeth. “I knew you were a rich girl.” He was already finding it hard to be sympathetic for the mere fact that her parents had two million dollars to lose.

  “This is exactly why I wasn’t going to tell you,” she said, annoyed. “And I might add, you seem to be doing pretty well yourself to be pulling the Oliver Twist card.” She gestured around the industrial minimalist office. She had a point.

  “Fine. Tell me why.”

  “GiveAnalytics, obviously. I dropped out of college to start it, as you know, since you love to make me rehash it so much.”

  Zach stifled a grin. He did love to make her retell it at every opportunity. He loved to watch how mad she got.

  “I didn’t have any investors at first, and my parents were very supportive. My dad cashed out his retirement to invest in the company. Eventually, we got real investors. They ate it up—cute college girl, good cause.” She smiled wryly.

  “I had these grand plans to change the world, but
I didn’t have any experience running a company. I was nineteen, and we were growing too fast. I thought I knew what I was doing. Turns out my CFO, who was a family friend, was screwing me over. Things only got worse from there. I made a series of bad decisions. Lit four million dollars on fire, essentially.”

  It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. He had read the Wall Street Journal article about the downfall of her company when he heard she was going to be a fellow.

  She continued, “If it was just that, I could maybe live with it. When the company was struggling, my parents mortgaged their house to inject cash into it. I let them because I honestly thought I could turn it around. They believed in me so much, and I believed in this stupid narrative about being some sort of business prodigy. We folded, of course. They gave me everything, and I let them down. Now neither of them will be able to retire, ever, unless I can pay them back.”

  “So the do-gooder is still doing good,” he mused. Only Gracie would get into a bloodthirsty field like sales for benevolent reasons.

  “Four years after the fellowship I should have enough to pay them back and get the hell out of here,” she said.

  “Four years?” He raised his eyebrows. The least surprising fact about the whole story was that she already had a plan to leave. Grace was so type A she probably had a written plan for taking a shit. “That’s quite the timeline. It would take most people ten. No one sells that much straight out of the fellowship.”

  “No one except you,” she said pointedly.

  He laughed but didn’t contradict her. Modesty didn’t suit him. It wasn’t believable. “So that’s why you’re here. Tips on closing.”

  “Among other reasons.” She scratched her shoulder absently, and he was overcome with the desire to lay her out on the desk.

  “I only hit two million in commissions last year. That’s five. It was a record. It can’t be done in less.”

  “I’m going to do it in four,” she said, undeterred.

  “And how exactly are you going to do that?” He said, skeptically. He busted his ass to get where he was, and no one at Sterling had ever come close to his close rate. There was no way in hell she’d outsell him.

  “Guilt is a powerful motivator.” Her shirt had slipped slightly and her bra strap was visible. He wanted to snap it against her skin.

  He was suddenly inspired. “That stops now.” He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward.

  “What does?” She adjusted the neckline of her shirt to cover the strap.

  “The guilt. No more self-punishment. You’re doing enough for your parents already.”

  “Thanks for your concern, but I really don’t have a choice,” she said sarcastically.

  “That’s the wrong answer. I know for a fact you can get ahead here without killing yourself working ninety hours a week. You’re doing it to punish yourself for failing. But you’re not going to do that anymore. Because from now on I’m in charge of punishing you.”

  “Excuse me?” She was skeptical, but he’d piqued her interest.

  “Get up,” he said. His voice was low and firm, commanding.

  She still looked skeptical, but did as he said.

  “Now bend over the desk.”

  She didn’t move.

  He took the opportunity as a teachable moment. He stood and came around behind her. She turned to face him, like she wasn’t sure what to do. Her eyes anxiously searched his face for a clue. He liked that she was scared. It turned him on.

  “I said bend over the desk, Gracie,” he said quietly. He grabbed the nape of her neck and spun her around. Then, he pushed her torso down so her ass was in the air. She didn’t resist in the slightest. “Like this.” He kicked her ankles apart so her legs were spread wide. It was even better in real life than how he imagined. He’d never hooked up with anyone in his office before, but since the moment he saw Grace, he couldn’t stop thinking about having her like this, the whole city as the backdrop. Fierce, no-bullshit Grace bent over his desk, at his mercy. Her body his plaything.

  She was breathing hard. She put her hands up by her head as if she was going to stand up. He knew this move. He rested a hand between her shoulder blades and she stilled.

  “Hands by your side,” he said. She slowly put her hands down by her sides, just like he knew she would. She wanted this as much as he did, but he wanted to be crystal clear. “That’s better. I know you need this. Unless you were somehow naive enough to think I asked you to come to the office today to talk about financial projections. You want out? You just say the word and we’re done. Got it, sweetheart?”

  She nodded. He lifted her skirt up over her ass, and it was like unwrapping a present. She squirmed, uncomfortable being exposed and made a half-hearted attempt to swat his hand away.

  “I told you, hands by your side,” he said, voice sharper this time. He slapped her ass once, and she gasped in surprise. He had to be firm, it was the only way she’d learn. She was wearing one of those ultra-sexy garter belts with barely there underwear, like a lingerie model. “Did you wear this just for me?”

  “I wear this every day,” she said. “I like lingerie.”

  Even better, to think sweet, prim Grace was walking around the office every day with some Playboy-level lingerie on underneath.

  “Now, it’s time for your punishment,” he said. Her ass was completely exposed, but he pulled down her underwear anyway, just to watch her squirm.

  He slapped her ass, harder this time, and she gasped again. He waited a moment to gauge her reaction, and though she was breathing hard, she didn’t make any move to get up. He slapped it again. Her gorgeous ass made such a pretty picture, rapidly turning pink.

  “Who’s going to punish you?” He murmured.

  “Um, you are?” Her voice was high-pitched, embarrassment threaded through it.

  He smiled. He loved how uncomfortable he was making her. “Are you sure about that?” He put a hand between her legs and found she was soaking wet. He outlined her pussy with a finger, tracing around the edges but not giving her the satisfaction of touching her clit. She shivered.

  “Yes?” Her hips were moving, ever so slightly, as if she was trying to line up his hand where she wanted it to be.

  He slapped her ass again and she yelped. “Stay still. And say ‘yes, Zach.’”

  He plunged two fingers deep inside her, and she moaned. She started grinding on his hand, fucking his fingers. She wanted him. He pulled his hand out and slapped her ass three times, so hard it left a bright red handprint. She gasped, body shuddering, with each one.

  “Say it.”

  “Yes, Zach,” she said, barely a whisper. Fuck, it was good to hear her say his name.

  “Good girl,” he said. And then he really went for it. He slapped her beautiful ass over and over, watching it turn crimson. She was making these cute little cries of pain every time his hand connected and it made him rock hard. The air was so still in the office, her voice cut through it like a knife. His cock was throbbing. The fact that she was even letting him spank her, bent over his desk like a disobedient secretary in a dirty movie, was an ego trip in itself.

  “Fuck,” she said under her breath, and he chuckled. He could keep this up all damn day.

  * * *

  Grace

  Grace endured the spanking like she had something to prove. She couldn’t feel anything except white-hot pain every time Zach’s hand connected with her skin. She flinched each time his hand came down on her, crying out in pain, but she was determined not to give up. She had royally screwed up his life. He had been badly beaten because of her. There was no way she was stopping before he did. Even when she was sure she couldn’t take it another instant, she didn’t move.

  For once she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think of much of anything besides the present moment. The pain of his hand hitting her ass and anticipating when it would make contact again was all-consuming.

  “Zach,” she gasped.

  “That’s my name, bab
y,” he said. He slapped her ass one more time and then stopped dead.

  She flinched at the absence of his hand coming down on her—she’d grown to expect it so quickly.

  “Good job taking your punishment, Gracie.” He was in a predatory stance, like he was about to devour her. “Now you get your reward.”

  Her legs were shaking, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the spanking or how turned on she was. She had no idea it could be this hot. Even the word spanking was embarrassing. But something about giving her power over to him was incredibly erotic. Now she was dripping wet, and all she wanted was Zach’s cock inside her. She didn’t have a clue what he was going to do next, and she didn’t much care. As long as it involved his hands on her, she wanted it.

  He picked her up like she weighed nothing at all and flipped her over so she was on her back, legs dangling off the edge of the desk. His expression was focused and wild at the same time. His broken face made him look dangerous. Bloodthirsty. She reached down to adjust her skirt, and he brushed her hand out of the way. He hiked it up even higher around her hips and pushed her legs apart with his knee.

  Her heartbeat quickened, anticipation building like a wave. He put his hand between her legs again, and it was pure ecstasy. He dipped two fingers inside her, then massaged around her clit, and just when it was almost too much, the sensation so pleasurable it was almost painful, he moved his fingers down, back inside her. His hand moved like it was part of her, anticipating everything she could want and more.

  She turned her head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, gasping at the sensation. He grabbed her face with his free hand and kissed her. She could feel the smooth, swollen skin of his broken finger on her cheek. He was rough. There was no romance, just pure need. It was hard to say if it was meant to be punishment of pleasure.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him against her even closer. Coherent thought was impossible. She wanted to pull him so close they fused together. She desperately wanted to come, and didn’t want it to ever end.

  * * *