by Whitney G.
“Your mind was elsewhere while my fingers were deep in your pussy yesterday?”
When the car stopped, I took off my jacket and led him down the hall. “You want some wine before we get started? I have some chilled Moscato or some—” I sucked in a breath when I saw the man who’d been ruining my life and my fantasies leaning against my wall in one of his impeccable grey suits.
What the hell is he doing here?
Smirking, Preston moved away from the wall and walked over to me. “You know, I think I need to write someone else down as my emergency contact, if you’re going to blow me off for—” He looked at Stranger Guy and rolled his eyes. “Whatever this is.”
“You said you were single,” Stranger Guy said. “I don’t do ex-boyfriend drama.”
“She is single,” Preston said. “Very much so.”
“Then who are you?”
“I’m her terrible-ass boss who thinks he owns every hour of her day.” He smiled. “Surely, she’s mentioned me?”
“She has. In those exact words, actually.”
“Hmmm,” Preston said, ignoring the fact that I was glaring at him. “Well, we have a work emergency situation that we need to discuss privately.”
“Oh, sure.” Stranger Guy shrugged. “Well, hit me up some other night then, Tara?” He leaned forward to kiss my cheek, but Preston pulled me away from him.
Stranger Guy blinked in confusion, trying to kiss my cheek again, but Preston pulled me away from him once more.
“Okay, then,” he said. “Goodnight, Tara, and her boss.”
“Goodnight,” we said in unison, making him look even more confused as he rushed back to the elevator.
The second he was out of sight, I pushed Preston away. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was concerned for your well-being.” He smiled. “I sent two emails, three texts, and I called. You didn’t answer.”
“Because I was ignoring you!”
“Were you about to fuck him?”
“That’s none of your business,” I hissed, damn near hyperventilating. “My life after-hours is none of your business. And I—” I sneezed as the scent of my neighbor’s garlic dinner wafted through the hallway. “I don’t need you constantly calling and emailing me.” I sneezed again.
He pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I snatched it from him and let out a breath. “What’s the emergency?”
“It’s quite a huge one.” He pulled a pair of cufflinks from his pocket. “I was hoping you could tell me if you thought these were shiny enough for my photoshoot with GQ this weekend, or if you thought I should have them polished before then.”
OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD! “Are you being serious right now?”
“Yes.” He smirked. “They need to look good in all the pictures. Don’t you think?”
“You just made me miss out on sex for this?”
“No, I made you miss out on a disappointment,” he said, stepping closer. “I wouldn’t want you to fuck someone while thinking about someone else the entire time. Besides—” He lowered his voice and whispered into my ear, “He strikes me as an intern, and we both know that’s not your type.”
He moved back and looked me over, pinning me to the spot with his heated gaze. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you, Miss Lauren, but I don’t appreciate being ignored.”
“Noted,” I said, hating that my panties were soaking wet. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you that I hate you—”
“You say it every day.” He smiled and started to walk away. Then he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll take my coffee with you on all fours tomorrow morning.”
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
Two Full Years Later
Eleven
Tara
Subject: Your Birthday Party (Sorry I Won’t Be There)
Hey, Mariah!
I’m so sorry that I won’t be able to attend your birthday party this weekend. I know it’s the big 3-0, and Ava and I promised that we would both be there in Vegas with you, but I won’t be able to make it.
I have to go with my boss to Belgium for a business trip.
Please send pictures!
Tara Lauren,
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
* * *
Subject: Your Wedding (Can’t Make It)
Hey, Britney!
I know you traveled all the way to New York last month with your tailor to get me fitted for a bridesmaid dress, but I won’t be able to be in your wedding next month.
Three people have quit at my office, and my boss is taking me to Spain for an emergency strategy meeting for a new hotel he’s building there.
Please send pictures!
Tara Lauren,
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
* * *
Subject: Your Graduation Tomorrow (I’m SO Sorry!)
Hey, Greg!
Thank you so much for inviting me to your graduation! I know that we’ve been friends since we were seven and you’ve done nothing but talk about getting your Ph.D. since we were in high school, so congratulations on finally reaching that milestone!
Unfortunately, I won’t be able to make it, as I’m still in Seattle with my boss and we’re getting slammed with new marketing work for a campaign. (If you get another Ph.D., I’ll definitely be at that graduation …)
Please send pictures!
Tara Lauren,
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
* * *
Subject: Your Baby Shower (Can I Still Be the Godmother?)
Hey there, Elise!
Thank you so much for picking me to be the godmother of Baby Chase! I’m so excited for him to arrive this fall!
I know your baby shower is in four weeks, but I’m letting you know that I won’t be able to make it. My boss has just booked three back-to-back international tours. (I’m sending tons of diapers and onesies, though!)
Tara Lauren,
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
* * *
Subject: Winners Never Quit (Excuse My Language)
Just curious, Mom …
Does your trademark phrase apply when someone is working for an asshole boss who is singlehandedly ruining her social life? Yes or no?
Tara Lauren,
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
* * *
Subject: Re: Winners Never Quit (Excuse My Language)
Did you mean to send this to me instead of your mother?
Preston Parker,
CEO & Owner of Parker International
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Winners Never Quit (Excuse My Language)
YES.
Tara Lauren,
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
Twelve
Preston
Puerto Vallarta, Mexico
There had to be a word in the dictionary that was far stronger than “torture.” A word that perfectly captured how it felt to have the world at my fingertips, with the ability to get whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, except the one thing I wanted most. The one thing that was always right next to me, all day, every day.
Except when she’s purposely “running late” …
Looking outside the windows of The Coast Bar, I watched rain pelt the white sands of the beach, wondering just how late Tara was going to be to our private lunch today. Annoyed, I picked up my phone to see if she’d sent me an email, and noticed an unread message.
* * *
Subject: Don’t Forget About Us
Dear Mr. Parker,
I want you to know that I still have plenty of space for you in my heart, just
like I know you still have space for me in yours. I know there’s a certain someone who has become an obstacle for us lately with her changes in office protocol. (How dare she take away my walk-in privileges?!), but I’m still here for you whenever you need me.
I miss you, and I know you miss me.
Cynthia Avery
Executive Receptionist,
Parker International
PS—I sent you a new picture last night. Is my number still blocked? (You’ll be highly upset with yourself if you missed this one—wink wink.)
* * *
Jesus Christ …
I deleted her email and set down my phone. The last thing I wanted to do during a business trip was deal with anyone back in New York. And while I’d never admit it, I loved that Tara had instituted new policies, so I hardly ever saw Cynthia or any of my auxiliary staff, unless I specifically wanted to. She even moved all of the receptionists and secretaries to the floor below us, leaving the executive floor specifically for C-level executives.
She’d been more upset with me than usual lately, and she was giving me her twisted version of the silent treatment.
Ever since that night in her condo’s hallway over a year ago, she’d wedged some distance between us. She avoided being alone with me on elevators—getting off on the next floor the moment I stepped onto the car. She insisted on having interns on the floor with us whenever I asked her to stay late, and she answered every one of my late-night phone calls with an “I want you to know I’m recording every single word of this conversation for Human Resources, Mr. Parker.”
Unfortunately, none of those things quelled the tension between us. They only made it worse.
With every day that passed and every minute we spent together, my attraction to her became more unbearable. Everything from the shape of her mouth, to the curve of her hips was enough to make my cock hard whenever she entered a room, and I’d given up on trying to stop it.
Despite the fact that I’d never been so sexually frustrated in my life and my cold showers were now at a record four a day, I considered Tara to be the closest thing I had to a real friend. My first real friend. And on a professional level, I honestly felt like she was more like a partner in my company than an executive assistant.
“Mr. Parker?” A waiter stepped in front of me with a notepad. “Would you like me to get you an appetizer while you wait for your companion or would you like to order?”
I looked outside the window again, finding the beach completely empty. “I’ll go ahead and order.”
“Marvelous. What will you have this afternoon?”
“For myself, I’ll have the chef’s special with your best red wine.”
He nodded. “Excellent choice, sir. And your companion?”
“She’ll want to try your scallops, but ask the chef not to use any butter,” I said. “She’ll also want a small grilled chicken salad with balsamic vinaigrette and extra tomatoes. Also, for her allergies’ sake, could you make sure to leave out the garlic and chives?”
“As you wish, sir.” He was still scribbling. “Do you know what she’d like to drink?”
“Vodka.” I smiled. “Your strongest. Pour it in a wine glass with a strawberry garnish, so no one else knows.”
“I’ll have that right out, sir.” He walked away, and I picked up my phone.
I scrolled to Tara’s name, hesitating to call her, because I already knew what she was going to say.
“Yes, I’m still recording every single word you say, and for the record, this business trip was totally last minute, so I’ll get to all the meetings when I feel like it. Right now, I don’t feel like it.”
I smiled at the thought, and just as I was pressing call, she walked into the restaurant wearing a stunning black and grey dress with towering red stilettos. She put away her umbrella at the door and shook hands with the manager.
As always, her raspy, sexy laugh drew looks from everyone who heard it, and the second she stepped onto the dining room floor, every man in her radius stopped and stared.
Shivering, she made her way to our table and I stood up, taking off my blazer and wrapping it around her shoulders.
I waited for her to sit down before returning to my seat. “Are you still giving me the silent treatment?”
“Depends. Are you going to apologize for insisting that I attend this private lunch and the executive meeting right after, when I specifically asked you if I could have today off?”
“I’m not sure it’s ever appropriate for a boss to apologize to his employee for asking her to do her job.”
“Figures.” She slipped her arms into my jacket and scowled, looking sexier than ever. “When will the executives be here?”
“They won’t be here at all. I pushed the meeting to tonight when I realized how late you were going to be.”
“How thoughtful of you. Next time I’ll make you wait for two hours instead of one.”
“We both know you’ll never do that.”
“Because I love my job so much?”
“Because you’re a workaholic, just like I am,” I said. “You hate being idle in the daytime.”
“I hate working for you in the daytime.”
“Miss?” The waiter returned to the table before I could respond to that. “Is there anything else you’d like to add to your order?”
“Add?” She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Can I please place my own order? I highly doubt my dining companion ordered anything I like, and I would hate to waste the chef’s time by sending it back.”
“Of course, Miss.” He pulled out his pad as she opened a menu. “What would you like to have this afternoon?”
“Hmmm.” She paused. “I want to try your scallops, but can you tell the chef not to use any butter with those? I’d also like to have the small grilled chicken salad with balsamic vinaigrette and extra tomatoes.”
He stopped writing, looking at me in confusion as Tara continued to talk.
“I have allergies,” she said. “So, can you ask the chef to leave the garlic and chives out of the salad?”
“As you wish.” The waiter nodded. “What would you like to drink with your meal?”
“Your strongest brand of vodka, please. But please pour it into a wine glass with a strawberry garnish, so no one else will know what it is.”
“I’ll be right back with that, Miss.” He stepped away from the table, and she glared at me.
“That’s exactly why I prefer to order my own food,” she said. “I’m very picky.”
“I had no idea. Anyway, would you like to finally act like an adult and help me with the meeting preparation? Where do you think we should start?”
She didn’t answer. She just pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.
Seconds later, my phone buzzed with an email.
* * *
Subject: Your Suit & Tie.
I’ve told you repeatedly that whenever you wear a navy-blue suit and tie, you come off far more condescending than you actually are. (Which is actually quite shocking.) You need to wear a grey suit and a pinstripe tie to tonight’s meeting.
Tara Lauren,
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
* * *
“You’re sitting right across from me and you’d rather send emails than talk?” I asked.
My phone buzzed again.
* * *
Subject: Your Rhetorical Question.
YES.
Tara Lauren,
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
* * *
Subject: Re: Your Rhetorical Question
I don’t recall asking if you would finally let me fuck you, but if your answer to that “rhetorical question” is still the same …
Preston Parker,
CEO & Owner of Parker International
* * *
“Okay, fine.” She set her phone down as soon as she read my message. “We can
go through all the meeting preparations after we eat.”
“I thought so.”
The waiter set down our food and drinks minutes later, and she immediately moved the pepper shaker away from my side of the table. I moved the bread basket away from hers.
“In the meantime,” she said, “You need a date to the Mister New York awards gala at the end of next month. Would you like me to find you a plus-one?”
“I would like for you stop bullshitting and go with me.”
“I’ve told you on numerous occasions that it’s not appropriate for me to attend social events as your date. You’re my boss.”
“I’ve told you that doesn’t matter and no one will dare to say a goddamn thing, since I own the company.”
“So, no plus one at all.” She shrugged. “I’ll make the RSVP for one. You should also know that The New York Times is going to print a fairly decent article with a very unflattering headline about you next week.”
“What’s the headline?”
“Soulless Hotelier Will Participate in DocuSeries.”
I picked up my fork. “Do you think I’m soulless?”
“Yes.”
“Is that my worst quality?”
“No,” she said. “You’re also quite evasive.”
“How so?”
“Because I know for sure that you have a twin brother that you refuse to acknowledge for some reason,” she said. “You don’t acknowledge him in your interviews or in any of your biographies. You don’t even mention your parents, so it’s going to be very interesting to see you in a documentary, when you’re never open about anything. Unless … Are you planning to finally talk about your family?”