Forbidden Desires

by Jenna Hartley

  I laugh, wanting to be in his arms.

  As though he reads my mind, he stands. “I have to go to the bathroom.” He walks into his small bathroom and leaves the door ajar.

  I look out his door like an idiot. Everyone is busy on their computers. Following him, I shut the door behind me, and he opens his arms. I step into his embrace and feel all his words of encouragement in the strength of his shoulders and arms.

  He rubs my back and kisses the top of my head. “You’re going to do great. I promise. You were made for this.”

  I nod into his shirt, drawing back before I leave a makeup stain. “You want to hear something funny? Well, not funny, but…”

  “If it means getting your mind off the campaign, I’m all ears.”

  “My first day at work here, I walked into the bathroom and you were in there.”

  He laughs and kisses my forehead. “I know.”

  “You know? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He uses his body to cage me against the wall. “It’s not every day a gorgeous girl follows me into the bathroom and stares like she’s going to watch me pee. You remember that sort of thing.” His hands rub my hips.

  “Why not say anything before now?”

  “I’m sure it was embarrassing, and you’ve come so far from that girl who didn’t know what to say.”

  My head falls to his chest, and he kisses the top of my head again.

  “You didn’t even know my name before I started working with you.”

  “I knew you though. What can I say? I should pay more attention to details, but my mind has been on the partnership since I was hired here. It’s like a tunnel from the elevator to my office. But just because I didn’t know your name doesn’t mean I didn’t notice you.” He puts his finger under my chin and raises my head so my eyes meet his.

  I smile. The man could sell hay to a farmer, but I’ll take it because today I need every piece of self-confidence.

  He checks his watch. “It’s showtime.”

  I inhale deeply and nod.

  He opens the door, squeezing my hand one last time before I have to act as if I haven’t been falling for him for weeks.

  A half hour later, we’re all seated around the table—Blair and Mr. Peterson sitting closest to me, and Mr. Jacobson and Enzo at the end of the table with Billy to their left. Mr. Jacobson leans over and says something to Enzo, whose jaw clenches for a moment before he smiles. He sits up straighter and his smile only widens when he catches me watching.

  “I want to thank you again for joining us today. When it came to your sanitary products, the approach you’ve taken so far has been the one most companies in your industry take. ‘Look, no leaks!’ Ignoring the realities of what it’s like to have your period. Even if a woman feels totally confident she’s not going to have an embarrassing leak, she still doesn’t want to go out riding her bike, or dancing the night away, or any one of the hundreds of activities I’ve seen women do while wearing white pants in commercials over the years.

  “Just the word period can make a man uncomfortable. So why would you want to bring that word into an ad campaign? I think there’s a way to get across what’s happening—at least to the gender using the sanitary products. Women. When I show you this campaign, I don’t want you to think how you’re feeling about it, but how a woman would feel. Obviously, Blair, you’re good.”

  Blair laughs and smiles, hopefully meaning she’s receptive to changing their approach.

  “I’ll show you the tape, then I’ll talk about the case study and answer any questions you have.”

  Enzo stands and turns off the lights, and I smile at him in appreciation. He winks and my already-anxious stomach flips.

  The ad plays. A woman is on screen in a cycling class, working out vigorously, sweating and panting. A man walks in the room and talks about having your period and how nothing can stop a woman. The camera slowly moves to show another woman barely moving the pedals, hunched over her machine.

  From there, the ad continues, showing a woman getting ready to go dancing in a short white skirt and tank top, running out of her house to a car full of her friends. The scene flips to another girl lying on the couch in oversized black sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a bowl of ice cream in her lap, yelling at her significant other to grab the heating pad.

  A scene of a woman dining in a five-star restaurant with a hot guy morphs to one of a woman sorting through her laundry and tossing a couple pairs of panties in the garbage.

  As the ad draws to a close, a slogan lands on the page. “We’re there for you when your life is on pause for three to seven days.”

  Enzo, being a champ, turns the lights back on slowly. Billy pats himself on the back for a job well done, which eases the pressure of wondering about Blair’s thoughts.

  I pick up the handout to talk about the case study, but Blair doesn’t turn the page.

  “It’s chancy,” she says.

  I nod. “It is.”

  I glance at Enzo, who beams and nods, silently acknowledging that it’s going well.

  “But I like it. I can relate, and I’m sure most women can too,” Blair says.

  “If you look at the study, you’d be surprised how many women enjoyed the realism.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t need to see any of that. I go with my gut and I love it. Dad?”

  Our heads all turn toward Mr. Peterson.

  “I doubt your dad has an opinion on what is clearly a woman thing,” Mr. Jacobson says.

  Blair glances at me as though she’s waiting to judge my reaction to my boss.

  I smile, masking my distaste. I’m sure Mr. Peterson does have an opinion.

  “I’ve seen a period take down my wife more than once. If you think period is a bad word, try menopause. If I could have traded places with my poor wife, I would have.”

  Blair touches her dad’s hand with a smile.

  “I love it. It’s chancy, but I like playing the odds and being different once in a while. Great job, Annie.” He puts out his hand, and I shake it.

  Relief drains all the tension out of my body.

  Mr. Jacobson stands. “Good job, Enzo and Annie.”

  Enzo cocks his head at Mr. Jacobson. “It was all Annie.”

  Blair’s head turns from Enzo to me, and a mask of clarity falls over her features.

  “I know she had to do the heavy lifting, but don’t think I don’t know that you guided her along.” Mr. Jacobson slaps Enzo’s back, and Enzo’s mouth is ajar, but no words come out. “Let’s go to lunch and celebrate.”

  “Actually, we have to catch a plane back to Texas. We have a tournament to get to.” Blair catches her dad’s eye, and they smile.

  “Yeah, my granddaughter told me she’s going to hit a home run for me tonight.” Mr. Peterson winks at me, and I smile.

  Mr. Jacobson lingers by the door. “She plays softball?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s cute when they dress like baseball players in pink.”

  Blair’s eyes cut to her dad’s. I’m pretty sure smoke is blowing out of his ears.

  “Actually, they wipe the field with the baseball players, and they wear black,” Mr. Peterson says.

  Enzo is surprisingly quiet. I’d expect him to be interjecting and playing nice.

  “Of course there’re good softball teams, but there isn’t really a future for them.”

  I desperately want to tell Mr. Jacobson to leave. He’s going to be the one to ruin this account for us. Can the man not read a room?

  “With all due respect, many baseball players don’t have a future either,” Blair chimes in. “And if we wanted to go into reasons why women’s sports aren’t as big as men’s, we could be here all day.”

  “I didn’t mean any offense. Guess I’m just old school.”

  I look blankly at Enzo, and he closes his eyes. This is getting worse.

  “Annie, is there any way you can show me the sketches you did for this before we leave? I want to make s
ure I see your complete vision.”

  “Um… sure… I’ll be right back.” I step forward to slip out.

  Enzo shoots me a look to say he knows what Blair wants and it’s not the sketches.

  Blair follows me out. “I’ll just go with you. Save us some time.”

  “They’re in Enzo’s office,” I say and try not to slow my footsteps, but when we reach his office, I have no choice but to stop and let her catch up.

  She follows me in and shuts the door. “Annie, you gotta see the writing on the wall here. That campaign is brilliant, and I know Enzo Mancini had no part of it. That was written and directed by a female.”

  I nod.

  “You heard Mr. Jacobson’s sexist remarks. You have to jump ship. And I’m hoping you jump to mine.”

  I sit on the couch, picking up the sketchbook, but I know she doesn’t want it. “I told you, I can’t.”

  “Because you and Enzo are screwing around?”

  My head whips in her direction. “What? No.”

  She sits next to me, clasping her hands in her lap. “I saw the looks between the two of you. They weren’t of the way-to-go-coworker variety. They were the you-rock-the-bedroom-and-the-boardroom type. I’m not judging you.”

  Sure feels like she is.

  “I’m merely suggesting the Enzo is directly under Mr. Jacobson, so he knows what kind of man he is and yet he’s willing to work for him. What does that say? I promise if you stay here, you’re going nowhere.”

  I blow out a breath.

  “Your talent will be wasted, and you’ll never thrive if you stay here.”

  I want to bury my head in my hands and admit defeat.

  She pats my leg like a mom would and stands. “Just think about it. But I can tell you one thing, I’m not letting a man like Mr. Jacobson profit from our company forever.”

  “Blair…” I sigh.

  She turns around, her hand on the door handle. “Don’t worry, it wouldn’t be immediate. Please, this is your future. Think hard about it.” She raises her eyebrows and opens the door, where Enzo’s already waiting to come in.

  “Blair,” he says and nods.

  “Enzo.”

  After she leaves, he walks in and shuts the door. “Should I even guess?”

  “We both know she wasn’t here for the sketches.” I bite my lower lip.

  Is Blair right? Am I going to end up with nothing at the end of all this?

  Chapter 31

  Enzo

  * * *

  It’s been three weeks since Annie secured the tampon deal from Coddle. Surprisingly, Mr. Jacobson did promote her to junior ad exec, which makes me feel a hell of a lot better that she won’t be moving halfway across the country. Though they haven’t found a replacement to act as my assistant yet.

  “Don’t you find it funny that not one interviewee has come in? They could get you a temp if they wanted,” Annie says to me while I’m in the bathroom.

  I’m thankful I’m not in front of her because my face would give away what I think is happening—they’re purposely dragging their feet. “Did you ask Shelby?”

  She blows out a breath so loudly, I hear her over the running water. “Yeah, and she says they’re trying, but your assistant needs certain qualifications.”

  I walk back into my bedroom, reluctant to join her. After the way Mr. Jacobson acted in front of the Petersons, I’m surprised we still hold the account. I can’t help but think there must have been signs of his sexist line of thinking before now. Did I just never notice?

  “I am hard to please.” I fall into bed next to her.

  Lazy Sundays with the two of us in bed until noon are fast becoming my favorite thing. I can’t believe this is what I tried for so many years to avoid.

  “I should get going so you can go to dinner.” She picks up her sketchpad and slides her legs over the edge of the bed.

  “I canceled. Said I was sick.” I snag her waist and pull her toward me, quickly shifting her so she’s straddling me. I kiss her neck while my hands slide up the hem of her tank top. “I love when you’re not wearing a bra.”

  Her arms wrap around my head and her fingers play with the hair at the back of my head. Seriously, I was an idiot. This is so much better than lounging around by myself on Sunday until dinner.

  “You’d keep me naked all day if you could.”

  I look at her and latch on to a nipple. “You know me so well,” I say against her skin before pulling the fabric over her head.

  “We really need to talk about this condom ad, and I think you should go to your family dinner. What will your mom think?” The way her back is arching says she won’t need any convincing to stay where she is.

  “First of all, let’s try the condoms out. You know, so we’re better able to write a campaign. Second, my mom thinks I’m sick in bed.” I flip her over and she squeals.

  “You’re going to fall off that favorite son list you like to brag about.”

  I laugh and busy myself with pulling her shorts down her long, thin legs. Her excuses fall away with a moan as I kiss my way up between her legs.

  “It’s my turn,” she says, sliding up on the bed and away from my mouth.

  “You’re denying me a taste?”

  She giggles, her hand cupping the bulge in my pajama pants. “You’ve had a lot of tastes. I’m simply taking my turn.”

  Her palm applies just the right amount of pressure over the thin material. Her eyes are on me while her tongue slides along her lips. I leave one hand behind my head, propping me up enough to watch her, while my dick twitches as she pulls down the front of my pants. Like a spring, my cock pops out.

  She wraps her hand around the base and twists up and down, her bare tits running along my balls. Watching this woman tease me is pure ecstasy—she’s amazing and beautiful and intelligent and everything I didn’t know I wanted.

  Sure, I’ve had women who want to please, but Annie’s eyes seduce me. She’s searching for the telltale signs that I’m enjoying it, doing everything she’s mentally cataloged over our months together to pull out the reaction she wants.

  Like when her tongue first touches the tip of my dick and I squirm.

  Or when she slides her tongue around the top like an ice cream cone and my fingers thread through her hair, gripping the strands, anticipating the moment when she deep throats me.

  The way she stops blowing me, teasing me while she runs her tits over my dick, her hands sliding across my stomach.

  And like now, when she’s found the perfect rhythm and she peeks up to make sure I’m looking at her. I wind her long hair around my fist, securing it out of the way so I have the perfect view of her bobbing up and down my cock.

  I swear every blow job before Annie was an act of obligation, but with Annie, I don’t lie back and let her blow me. I’m already imagining the ways to return the pleasure.

  Watching my cock fall in and out of her mouth, I don’t direct her. She sets the pace. She fondles my balls when they tighten and the tip of my cock hits the back of her throat, and it’s game over for me.

  “I’m coming, baby,” I say before biting my bottom lip.

  Like always, she doesn’t move, and I fill her mouth.

  She rises up my body and I kiss her, tasting myself, and turn her over, my dick already perking back up. I grip her tits while I cast open-mouth kisses along her flesh. She wiggles, getting comfortable on the bed, her legs already preparing to go over my shoulders when a knock sounds on my door.

  “Ignore it,” I mutter.

  Since I have a doorman, I have no idea who it could be.

  “Enzo,” she says, sliding up the bed.

  The knock sounds again. And again.

  “There’s something wrong,” she says, hopping off the bed and grabbing her clothes.

  “Ugh.” I rise from the bed, grab my pajama pants, and step into them. “Jesus, hold on,” I holler.

  The knocking doesn’t stop, and I pull the door open without looking through the peephol
e.

  Carm barrels in. “Fuck, answer your phone.” He bends at the waist, heaving for breath. “I’m not made to run up that many stairs. Your elevator was taking too long. You owe me for this, fucker.” He pants and points at me.

  “For what, and why aren’t you at Ma’s?”

  Annie stands in the entrance of the hallway.

  “Hey, Annie,” he says, still bent over and gasping.

  “I think you should actually use the treadmill instead of picking up girls at the gym,” I say, shutting the door.

  “Hi, Carmelo. I’ll be back.” She disappears down the hall.

  Which I’m happy about since her tits with no bra were there for Carm to admire.

  “Nice ass,” he says.

  I roll my eyes. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d beat the shit out of you.”

  “I’m not sure how you expect me to not notice. Just because she’s yours doesn’t mean she’s not fucking hot. It’s unnatural not to notice a hot woman. Just take that she-devil for-sale-by-owner chick. She’s hot. I beat off to her last night. But I fucking hate her. You can’t explain attraction.”

  I roll my eyes again. “Why are you here interrupting my Sunday again?”

  A smirk I’m too familiar with wraps around his face as though he’s a millisecond from cracking up. “Sunday dinner is happening here.” He smacks my back like way to go.

  See what happens when you miss too many Sunday dinners?

  “What?”

  “Yep, I sprinted over here to give you a heads-up, but Ma is going to be knocking on that door in…” He waits a second and a knock happens at the door as if we’re in some television show. “Well, now.” That shit-eating grin mars his face again.

  “But I have Annie here.”

  He laughs. “I noticed. But hey, I tried to warn you. Which you’ve yet to thank me for.”

  Annie comes back out in a sweatshirt. My sweatshirt. My NYU sweatshirt. Damn if I don’t love seeing her in my clothes, but I do not need my parents seeing her in my clothes.