by Max Henry
Table of Contents
ALSO BY MAX
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PLAYING WITH THE BOSS
Copyright © 2019 Max Henry
Published by Max Henry
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Max Henry is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book.
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ALSO BY MAX
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STANDALONE
Malaise
Tough Love
Echoes in the Storm
DARK TIDE (Rock Star) SERIES
Down Beat
COMING SOON
Amplifier
TWISTED HEARTS (Age Gap) DUET
Desire
Regret
BUTCHER BOYS (Suspense) SERIES
Devil You Know
Devil on Your Back
Devil May Care
Devil in the Detail
Devil Smoke
FALLEN ACES MC SERIES
Unrequited
Unbreakable
Tormented
Existential
Misguided
YET TO RELEASE
Redundant
RED HOT READ
One More Night
If you’ve read my work already you know that my stories tend to be deep, emotional journeys with relatable real-life characters.
Somewhere amidst writing my novels I realized something: I couldn’t keep diving from one gut-wrenching story into another without losing my mind.
So, I wrote a sexy over-the-top novella for a bit of fun.
I initially intended to release these under a different pen name to keep the differing genres separate. But then I figured, hell, if you’re like me you enjoy a varied diet when it comes to your books.
So, Red Hot Reads were born. Each of these erotic novellas will bear the above logo to set them apart from my contemporary novels, and at this stage will be available on all platforms.
I hope you enjoy this deviation from the norm, and I look forward to bringing you plenty more bedtime goodies!
ONE
Lisa
All eyes are on me as I make my way to the head of the meeting table. I clutch the notes in my hand, ruing the fact I didn’t have more time to prepare for this. Our team leader, Rosie, begged me to stand in at the last minute and I couldn’t turn her down after all the times she’s bailed me out of awkward situations.
It’s only a report. All I have to do is present the figures and then sit down again. Easy right? Except it’s a financial report, and my specialty is sales. Not to mention the three sets of eyes that currently watch as I set the papers down on the table and smooth my tight pencil skirt, all belong to management—one of whom is from our head office.
The one I met already, outside of office hours.
I catch the eye of the youngest of the three and my skin flames from the caress of those gray irises. Does he know it was me? After all, it was dark where we were. He may not have seen my face all that well.
No pressure, Lisa. Recite the figures, bullshit your way through it, and live to see another day. It’s not as though he’ll call you out on your extracurricular activities right here, right now, in front of his colleagues and peers.
Your colleagues and peers.
“First quarter projections were met, the return on the Forrester project twelve percent higher than estimated …” I spiel off what’s on the paper before me, aware that one set of eyes, in particular, burn a hole through me as I stand before the wolves like a sacrificial lamb.
I recognized him the second I walked into the boardroom. His height, even when seated, is evident; long legs struggle to fold beneath the solid timber table. He’s corporate decadence wrapped in an expensive dark gray suit, the tailoring perfect for his athletic physique. What heats my blood though, is remembering how he looked in jeans and a well-fitted shirt.
I can’t decide which version of him is hotter. Both leave me wishing for a tea break so I can rush to the Ladies and relieve myself of this ache.
“Thank you, Lisa.” Our general manager, Alf, gestures for me to take my seat once I’ve successfully summed up a bunch of figures I only half understand.
I tug my skirt down before I slide onto the leather chair, ensuring it doesn’t bunch further, and resume my perusal of the guy. A neatly trimmed beard accents a strong jaw; full lips my focus as he taps his pen against them. The memory of how that mouth felt as his lips skimmed the side of my neck assaults me, how they felt when he sucked my earlobe between his teeth…
I freeze when I realize his eyes are fixated on mine, the pen pressed against plump flesh while the corners of his mouth quirk in a cheeky grin. Floor, swallow me now.
He remembers.
I feign interest in Alf as he prattles on about one of our more significant accounts and the debt the client has accrued. The information is news to me—finance not usually something that’s shared amongst staff, although it should be. After all, if the clients I sell to can’t pay their bill, I should know that, right?
“We’ve got one more presentation from Mason, and then we’ll wrap this up for the afternoon.”
Thank God for that, because even ten more minutes in the room with this luscious man will bring me to the brink of a shame-fueled meltdown.
The hottie stands, and to my horror, it dawns on me that he’s Mason. Of course, you idiot. Thick fingers make quick work of his cuffs, and despite my best attempt not to look, I’m glued to his muscular forearms that are adorned with ink as he rolls his sleeves up to just below the elbow. My chest tingles with the muscle memory of how he held me against him with that arm, how his embrace pinned my back against his rock hard front.
“Thanks, Alf.”
Ugh. That voice. It’s the kind of deep timbre that you fantasize about murmuring your name while you lie naked before an open fire.
Settle down, Lisa. If my panties grow any wetter, then I’ll be backing out of the room when this is all said and done to hide the telltale damp patch on my skirt.
“Some of you are aware,” Mason starts, “yet some of you aren’t, of the purpose of our visit here this month.”
This month? He’s here all month? Lo
rd, help me now.
“Last year’s financial statement was a blow to Leyton Press, as much as the wider umbrella of companies in the Leyton Media portfolio.” He stands before everyone in the room, confident with his chin held high, as his hands alternate between clasped and wide before him. “The losses have grown the past three years, and we’d be a fool not to attribute that solely to printed papers being an archaic means of communicating news and advertising business in today’s digital world.” His speech seems ominous, and I’m pretty sure I should listen, as whatever he says next will affect my job, but that body … “Over the next month, we will analyze the business in infinite detail. Every dollar spent, every resource bought, will be scrutinized and assessed. The bottom line is if we can’t turn things around and make a profit this year, the print section of Leyton Media will be dissolved, and the remaining capital reinvested into the other subsidiaries.”
The guy has more or less told me that I'd lose my job before the year is out, yet all I can do is wonder what exactly he does in the gym to get such broad shoulders.
Wonder if he’ll let me run my palms over them again.
“I thank you all in advance for your co-operation, and throughout the next week I will be in touch to set up times to meet your teams and hear their concerns.”
A wave of thanks and carefully veiled concern circles the room as Mason moves back to his seat. It’s only when his taut ass hits the chair that the reality hits home. Print media is outdated. Our significant accounts have all dropped their ad spend, and in some cases, moved from bi-monthly to quarterly spots to save a dollar.
The ship has already struck rocks, and no amount of plugging in the hole will save it now.
I’m going to be out of a job. Hell.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember what your name was.”
Of course, he doesn’t—I never gave it to him last weekend, and if he’s anything like me he wasn’t exactly listening earlier. I turn my head to find the suave and dapper Mason leaned across the boardroom table, hand outstretched. Oh my God. He smells so good.
“Lisa.” I ignore his hand, unsure if I can manage to shake it without wanting to climb in his lap and grind myself against him.
He thrusts his hand forward anyway, drawing my eye to the ink on his forearm as he rests it on top of the table.
Tentatively, I slide my palm against his, horrified at the goosebumps that ripple across my flesh. Can he see them? Does he know the effect he has on me? Of course, he does. Men like him, they always know.
“Pleasure to meet you again, Lisa.” He pumps my hand firmly twice, his fingers lingering a little too long for it to be normal before he pulls back.
They did linger, didn’t they? Gosh. I don’t know what I imagine and what is real anymore. Somebody crack a window because that man’s aftershave is hallucinogenic in its sweet sinful smell.
“You work in finance?” Mason asks, leaning back in his seat adjacent to mine.
I cast my gaze across the room and note the last two people stroll out the door, deep in conversation. It’s just him and me. My sex-starved libido and this walking, talking fantasy that was only ever supposed to be one brief moment of madness.
Nothing could go wrong, right?
“No, I was merely helping out today. I make sales in advertising. I manage two of the top ten accounts, and I canvas for new customers.”
“Must be a hard job,” he muses with a smug tilt of his lips.
I narrow my gaze at him. “I don’t think so. I quite enjoy it.”
“You can’t be very good at it, though.”
Excuse me? With one comment, he halves his sex appeal—thick, muscular thighs be damned. Arrogance is never attractive. “What makes you say that?” I can’t believe I let this ass touch me.
“If you were good at your job, then the customer ledger wouldn’t be eighty percent of what it was last year, sixty-five of what it was the year before.”
“Given the circumstances, I think I’m pretty good at my job, actually.”
He smirks, and damn him if that doesn’t redeem him right there. “Prove it.”
“Pardon?”
He rolls his left sleeve down, buttoning the cuff. I track the action, horrified to find the reason he pauses in his movements is that he watches me, watch him. Mason’s lips kick up at the corner before he repeats the action with the other sleeve… deliberately slow.
“A few of us were headed into the city tonight for a meal,” he informs me. “But I have a proposal for you.”
“What kind of proposal?” I shift my legs under the table to ease the ache the simple action of him redressing those beautiful forearms has caused.
“We both know business dinners are boring, so let’s cut the bullshit.” He pushes from his seat to then lift his jacket from the back of it. “I’d rather give it a pass and spend the time doing something better. Something”—his eyes roam my body—“more enjoyable. The company is in the red—bad. There will be losses.” He slides his arms through the sleeves and then grabs the lapels to do that distinctly manly shrug to seat the jacket better. “You’re a pretty face, Lisa. I think you realized that’s how I felt when we met last weekend. Pretty faces get noticed. And as shallow as that sounds, a nice piece of ass in a tight skirt will always get twice the chance to sell her product than a woman who prefers to act demure.”
I’m not sure if I should be insulted, or flattered.
My breath hitches as he leans forward and pinches my chin between his forefinger and thumb. “I’d like this pretty face to survive to see another day when the ax falls. Join me for a meal and drinks, and we can talk about what you can do to keep your job here at Leyton.”
“Where?” I whisper, my face still in his grasp.
He gives the flesh beneath my bottom lip an almost imperceptible sweep with his thumb as he pulls away. “Where, what?”
“Do you want me?” Oh, shit. Totally not what I meant to say.
He inclines his head, disbelief in his gaze. “You want a repeat performance of last weekend? Here?”
Would he? “Oh my God. No. I meant where do I meet you for dinner?”
Mason’s lips flatten into a thin line. “Shame. I could have used the midday pick me up.”
My nipples have never been this hard—even when I used to freeze my ass off skiing with my school buddy and her family.
“I hadn’t decided where to go,” he casually informs as though we didn’t just discuss the possibility of foreplay in the copy room. “The others are meeting at the Lonesome Duck.”
“They have excellent Chinese.”
“So I’ve heard,” he says dismissively as he picks up his leather-bound portfolio. “I want to have drinks with you though. A Chinese restaurant doesn’t cut it for that. Not to mention the fact I’d rather have you exclusively to myself. Suggest somewhere else for us to go. You have five seconds.”
My mind goes blank. He tests me; I know it. And his last instruction had the desired effect—the threat of limited time has addled my thoughts.
“Delaney’s,” I finally splutter as he makes a move to leave.
Sharp gray eyes find mine, and a smile sweeps across his sensuous lips. “Excellent. Delaney’s it’ll be, then. I’ll meet you in reception at five sharp.”
“Here? You want to go straight from here?”
He frowns as though anything else would be unusual. “We’ll stop by my hotel so I can drop the suit.” His gaze lingers on the open neck of my blouse. “But you’ll do fine as you are.”
I’m left dumbstruck as Mason struts his biteable ass out of the boardroom, portfolio tucked in one arm. I suppose there isn’t any point in getting changed anyway. Not when the only dress I have in my possession sexy enough for that man is what he saw me wear last weekend.
For all of five minutes….
TWO
Mason
She stood up there at the head of the table prattling off numbers, and all I could think was how those rose-red lips would look
as they bobbed along the length of my dick. I’ve kept a strict no dating in the workplace rule, ever since my engagement blew up in my face two years ago, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have casual sex.
And boy oh boy, do I intend to have lots of casual sex with that girl. Lots of hard fucking, too.
My tongue tingles at the memory of her taste. I flew in a few days early with the intent of getting settled before I needed to focus my full attention on the restructure of the business. And after a three-hour flight delay and a wrong booking at the hotel, a night out seemed like an excellent way to unwind.
It was the merely the first place I came across after I headed out the hotel door and hooked left. But it was the best choice by far. There she’d been, playing coy at the bar with her friend. I can’t even remember why she said they were there—celebrating something. I was there to lighten the load between my legs, and she was there asking to be the one to give me that satisfaction.
I think she would have gone through with it, too, if it wasn’t for the sound of her friend vomiting in the stall two over that put an end to our evening rendezvous. I had my fingers buried in her sweet cunt, her throat in my hold as I brought her to the edge of orgasm. Another few minutes and I would have had those perfectly painted fingertips spread out on the walls of the stall while I gave it to her good and hard.
Instead, I was left with the task of having to do a walk of shame out of the ladies restroom; cock tucked into my waistband to hide my raging erection, while she attended to her friend. At least I had the sweet smell of her pussy on my fingers to ease the inconvenience.
“I’ve rallied up the finance team for tomorrow,” Alf warbles to my left as we stroll through the workplace.
I stare at the old guy, nodding in all the right places, yet in my mind, I’m fucking that Lisa girl in the stall every which way from Sunday. Doggy, face to face, one leg hooked around my waist as I drove my cock deep into her—
“Mason?”
“Sorry.” I jam my hands in pockets to hide my semi.
“I asked which team you’d like me to organize after you see finance.”