Dr. Ohhh

by Ana Sparks

  Driving home isn’t an awfully long process, though I’m nearly ready to fall asleep behind the steering wheel. I pull into the parking garage of my apartment complex, allowing myself to sag against my seat. It’s all I can do to keep from falling asleep right then and there. Somehow, I manage to unfasten myself, lurching out of the car and fumbling for my keys as I make my way to my apartment.

  My feet are killing me after wearing high heels all day, and the first thing I do as I step into my apartment is kick the shoes off. I’ve done a lot more walking than I expected today.

  Walking to the bathroom, I strip off my clothes before stepping into the shower. My thoughts have been consumed with all the lewd things I’d like to do with the man who has been driving me insane all day, but now that I have a moment to myself, I want nothing more than to get clean and sink into my plush mattress.

  I keep my shower short, and as I dry off, consider blow-drying my hair, but realize I’d rather deal with the wet pillow in the morning than waste any more time. I shimmy into my pajamas, glancing into the mirror in hopes of seeing a vaguely more refreshed expression. I’m nothing if not disappointed. Oh well. Maybe tomorrow will be an easier day, though I have my doubts.

  Slinking to my bedroom, the aching in my feet seems to return tenfold. I groan, flopping face-first into my bed. Intent upon getting a good night’s sleep in spite of my hard day, I play some soothing music on my phone as I drift into what I hope is a pleasant slumber.

  A few hours later, however, I jolt upright in bed, covered in sweat. I’d kicked the blankets off, and it takes me a moment to realize what had made it so difficult to sleep.

  Pressing my thighs together, I throw my head back against my pillow and grumble under my breath. Slowly, the dream that woke me up pieces itself together, and one image sticks out particularly in my mind: Carson’s ice blue eyes peering up at me from his place between my thighs.

  The dream itself isn’t what alarms me, not really. My raging desire for the older man has been clear since I laid eyes on him. The one thing that truly bothers me is how badly I wish he would discard the pretenses of professionalism and make my dream a reality. I can only wonder if he’s having similar dreams about me…

  Turning over in bed, I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to ignore the almost painful throbbing between my thighs. If I don’t get a few more hours of sleep, I’ll be entirely useless in the morning. In spite of what I can hope is a mutual desire, I don’t want to mess up my chances of landing a job with more prestige. When sleep claims me once more, my dreams take me to a familiar office, to the polished wood surface of a familiar desk.

  Boy, am I in deep.

  Chapter Five

  Aimee

  A week passes and I can’t help wondering if I’ve misread Carson’s intent. As much as I wait for him to make a move, he’s nothing but professional. The work I’m doing now is much less intensive than that first day, and I don’t know if I should be grateful or not. At least I’m not wearing my feet down to the bone every day, but I feel almost…neglected. It’s not like I can run up to the handsome billionaire and demand that he continue his strange torture, just because I’m in need of attention.

  Don’t get me wrong—he isn’t ignoring my existence entirely. He is assigning me the sorts of tasks you would expect for a personal assistant: fetching files, sending emails, the whole shebang.

  I suppose what bothers me most of all is the lack of playful, high-stakes banter we had shared on my first day. It’s not that I’m not putting myself out there; I feel like I’ve made it almost painfully obvious what I’d like from him. He simply watches me through those all-seeing eyes, lips curved in a benign smile as he sends me to my next task.

  Expecting to miss my internship in the marketing department, I’m relatively surprised at the ease in which I fall into assisting the handsome CEO. Admittedly, I feel like my talents are a bit wasted with the work I’m currently doing, but who’s to say I won’t actually learn something useful?

  One troublesome issue is the constant whispering of my coworkers when I’m at Carson’s side. It seems as if everyone in the office knows something that I don’t, and I can only wonder if my desire for the CEO is more obvious than I’m aware of. Granted, I’m not totally stricken by the idea that it may be obvious. Apparently, it’s not clear enough for the man himself to notice.

  Which finds me here, in my large corner office, sitting at my desk facing a window that allows the warm sunlight to filter in. The view is astounding when I find time to stare out the window, but I’m more concerned with the view inside the building. I breathe a sigh that is filled with more longing than I care to admit, forcing my eyes back onto the computer screen before me.

  Idly tapping my nails on the top of the desk, I bite my lip as I try to wrangle the wild machine. My computer and I have been having our share of issues, but it’s likely because of the unfamiliar software installed on every computer in the building.

  An unexpected perk of my new job is that I’m one of the few employees with permissions to add and delete files in Carson’s private network. Currently, I’m trying to find a specific file that my boss had instructed me to copy into his personal account, but he hadn’t been clear about which sub-section the file would be in. It seems like I’m going to have to scour the entire server to find this one tidbit of information.

  I’ve only been through about twelve out of approximately one thousand sections, one for each employee. I’m frantically trying to locate the search feature on this particular server, but it’s like reading another language.

  I’m not even entirely sure what I’m looking for. Apparently, it’s vaguely related to a Russian property deal that Carson is supposed to be finalizing in the coming days. I have no doubt that Carson can pull off the deal; he has a way with people that I could only hope to someday achieve.

  Getting caught up in my infatuation with the CEO, however, won’t serve to locate this file I’m agonizingly searching for. I exhale an entirely unladylike snort through my nose, glancing towards the window for a moment. I idly click the button that will take me to the next directory, taking a moment to rest my chin in my hand.

  As I move to draw my hand away from the mouse, I accidentally bump my keyboard. I jolt in surprise at the loud clacking sound, staring plaintively at the peripheral device for a moment before groaning and returning my attention to the monitor.

  Wait…

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” I find myself screeching, bordering on hysteria. As I watch helplessly, the computer chugs along, deleting over ten thousand files in the directory I’ve clicked over to.

  I fumble with the keyboard, trying to find a way to reverse the action. It seems I’m helpless, however, as more and more files are wiped from the system. In a panic, I grab the phone on my desk, dialing for tech support.

  “Tech support, how can I help you?” a bored voice mumbles, and I can hear the clack of a keyboard in the background. As calmly as I’m able, I try to think of an un-incriminating way of finding out if there’s a way to restore the files that still in the process of being deleted.

  “Yes, just a quick question. I’m new to the cloud server system, and I accidentally deleted a file from…my personal directory. Is there a way to restore it?” I ask shakily, trying to keep my voice under control.

  The man on the line breathes a weary sigh, and I feel my heart plummet into my stomach.

  “Well, sure. For your personal directory, it should be pretty easy to restore a file. You’d be out luck if it was one of the private directories, but good luck getting access to those,” he snickers.

  I draw in a sharp breath, and hesitate for a moment before managing to find myself.

  “Not that it’s of any relevance, uh, but…why wouldn’t we be able to recover a file from the private server?” I say with as much disinterest as I can muster.

  The man chuckles, and I hear his keyboard beginning to clack again.

  “For security reasons, Mr. Sharp
e has insisted that files on the private system be utterly and completely purged upon deletion. He’s very picky about who gets access, so I guess he figures it’s safe enough to have such a precaution in place. Not entirely sure it’s wise, considering how finicky the system is, but try telling Carson Sharpe anything. Anyway, do you need me to walk you through recovering your file?” he asks disinterestedly.

  My breath comes out in shuddering gasps, and I inhale a quaking breath before I can manage a reply.

  “Actually, I think I figured it out. Thanks for your help,” I say in a rush, hanging up the phone with the intense fear that he can somehow trace the call. Of course, as far as anyone else knows, everything is just fine and dandy. If I can keep my head down, maybe this whole thing will blow over.

  Ha, yeah right. I just deleted the entire directory related to the Russian real estate deal. I had been able to surmise that much as I watched the server systematically destroy the files, what with the hundreds of ‘IMPORTANT!!!’ headers. The file names had been clear about what was contained within each document, and it’s with a sense of bitter irony that I realize I had just so happened to find the right directory at the entirely wrong time.

  Stricken by the desire to rush out of the office with an imaginary migraine, I sink into my office chair and groan loudly. Carson has billions of dollars at his disposal, and I have no doubt that this deal would have served to line his pockets even more comfortably. This is an offense beyond being fired. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue me for every penny I have, and then have me thrown in prison. With his cash, he’d have no problem paying off the police, lawyers, anyone…I’d rot in jail for the rest of my life.

  Blind fear grips me as the severity of the situation crashes into me at full force. Rotting in jail forever might be a bit of an extreme reaction, but nevertheless, I don’t want to face him when he finds out what has happened. I pull my phone from my pocket, hesitating for a long moment as I try to come up with a reasonable excuse to step out for the day. Desperate as I am, I’m almost willing to play the explosive diarrhea card.

  Before I can enter the message, however, my phone vibrates and a message pops up on my lock screen. I swear my heart stops when I see that it’s a message from Carson and, expecting the worst, I swipe my screen to read it. It’s an innocuous enough message, but the simplicity of it sends a jolt of fear down my spine. He’s saying he wants to see me in his office as soon as possible.

  Glancing towards the window in my office, I briefly lament the fact that I’m not desperate enough to throw myself out of it. I could, however, just escape the premises and not stop until I’m home in Colfax, sobbing on my mother’s kitchen floor. It seems to go against everything I’ve worked so hard for, but hell, everything seemed to be in the shitter at this point.

  A lump rises in my throat as my phone vibrates again. Another message from Carson. Apparently this meeting he wants to arrange is urgent.

  God, please strike me down now.

  Irrationally, I find myself cursing the fact that I won’t be able to get the billionaire in my bed once I’m fired.

  Bracing myself, I decide to face the music and deal with Carson in whatever way I am able. I have no doubt that as soon as I step into his office he’ll tear me limb from limb, but at this rate, I’m only delaying the inevitable. I stand up from my office chair, my legs feeling like jelly as I walk towards the door. A funeral march plays in my head, and it’s all I can do to not burst into tears.

  The walk to Mr. Sharpe’s office seems both agonizingly long and far too short. There’s silence on the upper floor, and I realize that most of the other employees on this level have departed for their lunch break. Thoughts of him having me right there and then creep up on me unexpectedly, and I laugh almost hysterically at how inappropriate they are.

  “Quit being ridiculous, Aimee,” I whisper to myself, pausing outside the door to Carson’s office. The door seems to loom over me, large and imposing. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m walking to my doom, but I’m borderline hysterical at this point. Scratch the borderline part—I’m entirely hysterical, and internally lamenting the fact that if I had just kept my mouth shut in that first meeting, I wouldn’t be in this position.

  In another lifetime, I could be in my simple marketing internship, happy as a clam to have the chance of a lifetime. Now, in one fell swoop (or more precisely, with the tap of a single button) I’ve thrown my entire future into the garbage.

  I can only hope that Mr. Sharpe will find enough kindness in his heart to let me down gently. He holds the power in his hands to see that I never land another job in real estate, marketing, or the entire Seattle area. God only knows how far his reach extends. I would have to move back to Colfax. Everything would be over.

  Swallowing my fear, I knock lightly on the door, then grip the doorknob and step inside.

  Chapter Six

  Carson

  Wondering what has my sweet little Aimee looking so melancholy as she steps into my office, I offer her a warm smile that she nervously returns. I gesture towards the chair directly in front of my desk, looking away from the computer screen to study her face. She quakes slightly, and now that I can see her closely, I can see that she looks vaguely ill. I can only guess what has her so troubled, but it’s of little consequence for the time being.

  “Aimee, I’m glad you could come and see me,” I say warmly. She laughs, and it’s an awkward sound, but an endearing one.

  My eyes follow her every move, every quake of her body, the slight pout of her lips. She sits in the chair I’d gestured to, and it strikes me all at once how dearly I’d missed this young woman over the past week. I had been wrapped up so tightly in work that I’d had little time to indulge in our game.

  The desire to toy with her is strikingly absent as I take in her nervous movements. Am I the source of her anxiety? Have I been pushing her too far? I can only hope that my peace offering will soothe her, though it hadn’t been intended as such.

  “Sorry I took so long to reply to your message. I was, um, swept up in work,” she quietly explains, seeming to have no idea what to do with her hands as they fidget on the top of my desk. I can’t help observing her with a small smile, which she seems all too aware of. “What is it that you need, Mr. Sharpe?” she inquires, almost too softly to hear.

  I reach out across the desk to rest my hand atop one of hers in what I hope is a comforting gesture. She starts at first, but relaxes into the touch and smiles sincerely for the first time since she entered my office.

  “It’s perfectly fine. I actually had a small inquiry, in regards to the work you’ve been doing,” I begin, and her smile falters. I quickly move to reassure her. “You’ve been working very hard; that much is obvious. I think a vacation of sorts would serve you well.” I pause, gauging her reaction. She appears troubled and confused, so I tighten my grip on her hand.

  “A vacation?” she repeats with uncertainty in her voice.

  “I was hoping you could join me on a business trip. I know it’s not what most would consider a vacation, but—” I begin, cut short by a squeal of delight. Aimee turns those wide and soulful eyes upon me, and my heart begins to pound in my chest.

  “I’d love to join you, Carson,” she replies with a broad smile, holding her hand to her chest. I make a valiant attempt to keep my eyes focused on her face.

  When I force my eyes back up, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s considering me with a hard-to-read look, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Seems I’ve been caught in the act, but she doesn’t appear to be too bothered by the fact that I’m ogling her. Just the opposite, as a matter of fact.

  “Wonderful. I’ll be closing a deal in Russia, and if everything goes as planned, my employees can plan to see a substantial raise,” I announce grandly, and she looks briefly hesitant, her lips parting as if to speak. However, she simply snaps her mouth closed and smiles.

  “That’s amazing. I’ve never been to Russia before. I have to say I’m excited, even thou
gh this is probably just another day in the office for you,” she giggles.

  My heart swells, and I rest my elbows on top of my desk, leaning in to speak softly.

  “Oh, even I’m not as fortunate to close a deal of this magnitude very often. And the fact that you’ll be there makes the trip all the more exciting,” I say with a cheeky smile. She titters, burying her face in her hands in an attempt to mask her embarrassment. “So, to celebrate the deal and your first trip to Russia, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner this evening?” I ask casually.

  Aimee draws her face out of her hands, watching me with a shy smile.

  “Sounds like a plan,” she readily agrees.

  “It’s a date, then,” I begin, pausing to glance at the time. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry to have kept you from your lunch break. Finish up what you were taking care of in your office, and take the rest of the day off. I’ll see you this evening,” I say with a grin.

  That slightly worried expression crosses her face once more, but she nods and rises to her feet. She pauses, considering me fondly.

  “See you this evening, Carson,” she murmurs, turning her back on me and slipping out of my office.

  Shaking off thoughts of the possibilities, I return my attention to my computer, searching for the number of my favorite Italian restaurant downtown. Placing a call and making a reservation for the best table in the exclusive venue, I tuck my phone back in my pocket.

  A smile tugs at my lips as I lean back in my office chair. I expect tonight to be one of the best nights I’ve had in some time.