It's a Work Thing

by Michelle Karise

  "We're celebrating our tenth pledge anniversary. It's my last chance to live my best life. I'll make my obligatory daily call to ensure the boys are still breathing, but I'll spend the rest of my time drinking, laying poolside in teeny, tiny bikinis, and twerking. I missed out on the bandage dress trend, but I’ll wear one with pride,” she continued, hanging the dishtowel on the designated hook. She pulled down the faucet nozzle and began to rinse the sink.

  "Aww. I'm sorry. You and Jackson appear to be perfect."

  "Our relationship is as perfect as a slick politician's telephone call. I love him and the boys, and I wouldn't trade them for the world. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be if I'd pursued a legal career and kicked ass like you. Partner, eh?"

  "Yeah. I am nervous, excited, and afraid. So many decisions. Should I become an equity partner? Do I want to invest in someone else's dream? What if I want to leave in a few years? How will that work?"

  "You enjoy setting goals and creating vision boards. Envision your objectives for the next five years and then determine if becoming partner will enhance or detract from those goals."

  Images of white picket fences and smiling, doe-eyed children filled my dreams. My career aspirations were not at the forefront of those ideas. Finding love, maintaining a loving marriage, and raising well-adjusted kids could potentially not be in the cards if I accepted the offer to become a partner. I may not see any significant financial increases. Yet, reaching the pinnacle of success at ER Wallace felt like something I should have wanted.

  "I met someone. At work." My words came out in a rush of air. Alex abruptly stopped wiping the sink and turned to look at me.

  "Is he nearby? Invite him over for cordials!"

  "No. He's in Chicago. Alex, we went from enemies to friends to lovers in record speed. He asked me to stay with him next weekend."

  Her eyes widened as she understood the enormity of my confession.

  "You're going to stay, aren't you? It's gonna be fun. Why didn't you tell me earlier? We could have shopped for new clothes. What are you going to wear? What about that cute black lacy BCBG shirt and the dark blue Joe's jeans? The Aquazzura mesh pumps, of course. Wear your hair in a ponytail with gold hoop earrings."

  "Alex, focus. I’m going to stay, but I'm scared. I doubt anything will come from this. It may end up being a work thing. But what if it doesn't?" I shrugged my shoulders.

  "Why did you ask that?"

  "Look at what happened with Bryce. Everyone thought we were perfect for each other, and he ended up meeting and loving a woman the exact opposite of me. What if it's me?"

  "It's not you. Jasmine, you need a man who can deal with your ass, and you can deal with his. How does he make you feel?"

  "Alex, the way he looks at me, and when he smiles, I feel like the only other person in this world."

  "My advice, sister dear? Be open-minded to all possibilities. Now sit and tell me everything."

  Garrett

  From an early age, my father expected my brother and me to behave with manners. Under his wing, we learned the art of tying a perfect Windsor knot, how to exude confidence without being arrogant, and treating people, particularly women, with respect. My father didn't talk the talk. He walked the walk. After thirty-two years of marriage, my parents were still head over heels in love. He kept it going by being attentive and kind to my mother. They'd have weekly dinner dates, or he'd send flowers, just because. My mother relished the smallest gestures and lit up whenever he entered the room.

  Dad knew of my high school exploits. After one particularly late night, I'd tiptoed into the house, careful not to wake anyone. He'd sat in the darkened family room, awaiting my return. I'd winced, expecting yelling or grounding. Instead, he'd handed me a bag containing a box of condoms. He left me with two pieces of advice. He'd told me that 'no' means 'no,' and that a gentleman always calls the day after.

  From that day forward, I approached post-hookup etiquette with civility and honesty.

  The next morning, our eyes met when Jasmine walked into the war room. My cock jumped in my pants, remembering how she'd looked when she came against my mouth. I fired off a text message saying that I enjoyed the evening, and I couldn't wait to do it again.

  Four hours later, Jasmine had leaned against my desk with her skirt bunched at her waist, and my face buried in her pussy. Her head had turned from side to side as she quietly moaned my name. After she came twice, she gave me a long, sensuous kiss, slipped from my arms and sprinted to the airport shuttle. I'd immediately regretted not driving her to the airport. That's what boyfriends do, right?

  Saturday and Sunday crawled at a turtle's pace. Jasmine had continually crept into my thoughts. We'd texted off and on through the weekend, but it only made me want her more. I'd tossed and turned all night. Jacking off with her panties had done nothing to curb my desire. So, I'd worked out. I ran further and faster than I'd ever run. I lifted weights the size of boulders and did sit-ups until my abs were ripped into shreds.

  By Monday morning, I was a ball of unspent energy, which dissipated the moment she walked into the war room. I'd exercised considerable restraint because I'd wanted to sprint over and kiss that mouth. Before we could sufficiently say hello or even catch up on our weekends, we were separated by blocks of meetings and responsibilities.

  Mid-August was the start of the annual budgeting process. I worked with Hunter and other direct reports to review department road maps and develop a fiscal strategy and forecast. I spent the week rushing from meeting to meeting and working late hours. One night we attended a dinner hosted by Parker Wallace. During the dinner, Jasmine and I sat at opposite sides of the table and pretended to be nothing more than pleasant coworkers. To be so close and not able to caress her made it impossible to concentrate that evening.

  For four days, our chaotic schedules prevented us from spending time together. We were finally alone.

  Three years ago, I'd purchased a condo on the twenty-fourth floor of a towering building. The floor to ceiling windows with front and center views of downtown Chicago sealed the deal. I'd worked with a designer to select the dark woods and leather décor and the best finishes and appliances that money could buy. I had premium bedding, plush towels, and high-end cookware. All the things that make a house a home. Yet, now that Jasmine was in it, I realized the house had never felt complete.

  "This view . . . it's gorgeous. I can't believe you live this high above the city. What a beautiful building." Her eyes wandered the space in apparent approval. She walked over to the window and stared off into the distance. I stood behind her, and she melted into me. I inhaled her scent before I rested my chin on her head and pointed out buildings of interest along the skyline.

  "The fridge is fully stocked. I ordered your favorite cereal, cut fruit and sparkling water. You'll sleep in my bedroom, and I'll sleep in the guest room.

  "Oh." Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "I assumed we would sleep together."

  "Remember, we said we'd take it slow. This is me taking it slow. I think you'll find my bed comfortable."

  "Thank you for inviting me."

  I lifted her suitcase and led her to the master bedroom. She walked into the space and exhaled a small gasp that pleased me, reminding me of when we'd shared the hotel room. A week had passed since I'd pleased her, and I wanted to do it again. She spun around.

  "I have an incredible weekend planned—dinner and sightseeing. Tonight, we'll hang out around here. I ordered in Chinese food. We can watch movies. Or if you'd like, you can take a bubble bath or a steam shower. I bought Hermès body products specifically for you."

  "Thank you. That sounds like the perfect plan. I'll change out of these work clothes."

  "I'll give you space."

  I walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle from the wine fridge. When Jasmine returned to the living room in a long-sleeved, gray t-shirt and leggings with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, mischief was written across her freshly washed face. She looked down at the
words on her shirt—Duke University.

  I can do better than that.

  I excused myself. In my master closet, I quickly located a navy blue Michigan t-shirt. I slid on a pair of gray sweatpants emblazoned with Michigan down the side. I returned to the kitchen with a smug smile on my face. On the countertop, a bottle of wine breathed, and I poured the red into the wine glasses and walked to the sectional sofa where Jasmine sat. She was reading something on her iPad, and she was so engrossed that she didn't notice me standing in front of her. She startled ever so slightly when I ran the stemless glass over her hand, but she took it, smiling gratefully.

  Her eyes widened as she looked at me from head to toe, her gaze landing on my crotch. Catching herself, she met the bright gold letters on my t-shirt and laughed. I whipped out my phone and navigated through the music app until I found chill-out lounge music. The languid tones reverberated against the living room walls. I sat next to her and pulled her closer.

  Between our proximity, her clean, feminine scent, and the wine, the week's stresses washed away. Raising the glass to my lips, I took a long sip of the red.

  "The Seven Deadly Zins is good. You have excellent taste." I leaned in and kissed her cheek. Her body relaxed as I moved my lips along her soft flesh. "You taste good too."

  "I'm glad you like it." She downed the rest of the glass and sank back against my chest.

  Which one? I chuckled and pulled away from her. My hand massaged her shoulder before tracing my thumb up and down her spine. Lips parted, a soft moan escaped her lips as she nodded.

  "Don't stop." Her voice was so seductive. My hand crept from her waist to her hip and moved along to her inner thigh. My fingers paused at the heat coming from her warm and tempting pussy. She opened her legs wider, a silent encouragement to continue the trek. I adjusted in my seat to accommodate my growing cock.

  Take it slow, Garrett. You've got to be honest with her. I pulled my hand back and administered two light pats to her thigh. "The food should be here shortly." Groaning, I pulled away and returned to the kitchen with our wine glasses. I filled my glass to the brim and took another big gulp. I closed my eyes and let the liquid flow down my throat. When I opened my eyes, she was staring at me with a quizzical expression.

  Thankfully, the doorman called to alert that the takeout had arrived. I rushed out of the condo and rode down the elevator to pick up the bags of carryout. I tipped the delivery guy and slowly walked to the elevator. I needed the moment alone to steel myself for what I was about to confess to Jasmine. She would be okay with it, or she would hate me.

  I stacked the containers of beef and broccoli and General Tso's chicken on the dining table. The spicy aromas wafted through the dining area.

  "I'll get the plates," she offered.

  "Top cabinet to the right of the sink."

  She returned to the table with two dinner plates and peered over at the Styrofoam containers and cardboard cartons.

  "Mmm. Crab Rangoon, egg rolls, and garlicky green beans? Garrett, I like your style."

  "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything."

  "Good, because I like it all."

  We sat side-by-side at the dining room table, bottles of sparkling water and the cartons of food scattered between us.

  "This is fantastic." She forked the rice and vegetables. "Chinese is my fave."

  "I thought Italian was your favorite," I teased. I liked that Jasmine wasn't a shy eater. Since our first date at the burger place, she'd always shown a healthy appetite.

  "I like it all."

  "You're my favorite." Fuck. Hunter would ask for my man card if he heard me talking like this. I couldn't help exposing my feelings; I had no filter with Jasmine.

  Her lips twitched at the comment before a slow smile stretched across her face.

  "Garrett, do you cook?"

  "I have basic cooking knowledge. I can make steak and baked potatoes, chili, and spaghetti, but my specialties are omelets and frittatas. A little green and red peppers, mushrooms, chopped up meat, and red onions are the makings of any egg dish. What about you? Are you gifted in the kitchen?"

  "I can cook pretty much anything, but soul food is my favorite. My sister and I learned how to cook at the hands of our grandmother, Sugar. Each summer, my sister and I spent our summer in Alabama with her. She'd joked that there were no lazy pants under her roof, so she gave us mixing spoons as soon as we were tall enough to reach the countertops. Under her tutelage, we learned the fine art of picking greens, stirring roux, and frying chicken." She grinned. "Each week, my sister and I cook Sunday dinner for the family. She likes to fry, and I do the sides, but my specialties are desserts. I can make a mean layered lemon cake." She chuckled and shook her head. "The love for cooking skipped a generation. Honey, my mother, her specialty is making reservations." Jasmine's face lit up when she talked about her family.

  My family was close, but over the years, distance had created small fissures in our dynamic. I wished we had closer bonds.

  "Garrett, I feel like such a chatterbox around you. How was your week?"

  “Better, now that you're here."

  Working on the budget, coupled with Jeff and Nic's constant requests for updates, exhausted me. I looked forward to recuperating from the stressful week.

  When we finished dinner, Jasmine stacked the tableware in the dishwasher while I discarded the takeout packaging. She returned to the living room with the opened bottle of wine and topped off both glasses. She kicked off her flip-flops and sat on the sofa. I pulled her feet onto my lap, slowly circling my thumbs along her calves. My eyes ogled her feet.

  A gorgeous woman with pretty feet was my weakness, and Jasmine's beautiful high arches made me capitulate. My mouth watered at the sight of the prominent vein that ran to her perfectly shaped toenails. My finger ran along the curve of her arch. I dipped my head and lowered my face to kiss the top of her foot. She pulled her it away, threw her head back, and burst out laughing.

  "My feet are ticklish." She breathed through the laugh.

  I raised her foot to my mouth and kissed her ankle before running my tongue along the vein. Shivers of delight ran through her, so I bit her pinky toe. She swallowed a gasp.

  "Don't get yourself into a situation that you can't get out of," she sang.

  "What situation is that?" At that point, my dick was rock hard. I rested her foot on my erection. She raised up on her elbows and looked over at the tent in my sweats. Her eyes widened and sparkled.

  "I'm a man, and men respond to beautiful women,” I shrugged.

  "You're a huge man." Not taking her eyes off the swelling in my pants, a wicked grin fixed on her face. She moved her foot up and down my length. My breath caught and I widened my legs, a silent plea to continue. Her eyes danced in delight as she watched my face. She needed to stop, or I would come right there. I chuckled, tapped her calf, and moved her foot to my lap.

  "Okay. You're giving me whiplash. Every time we take two steps forward, you apply the brakes. What's going on?"

  "I didn't bring you here to fuck all weekend. I want to learn more about you.”

  "What about work? How would your boss react? I don't think ER Wallace would care."

  "So, about that. I have something I'd like to discuss with you." I inched closer to her and took her hand in mine. She flinched and reared back against the sofa cushions.

  "What is it? You don't have a girlfriend, do you?"

  "No. Not that." I sucked in a breath of air, and the next sentence came out in a whoosh. "Nic is actively working to sabotage the IPO. She's blackmailed me into working with her."

  "Sabotage the IPO? Blackmail? None of this makes sense."

  "Nic believes the public offering is a well-orchestrated plot to replace her with someone more experienced."

  "Is she insane? A replacement will become a reality if she continues to sabotage, but wait, how does this involve me?"

  "She demanded that I drag my feet on providing documents, be combat
ive in response to your requests, and do anything to make the ER Wallace team look incompetent. If I didn't, then she would personally fire me. I cooperated for the first three weeks, but I liked you all too much to continue." My heart sank as she drew her hand from mine.

  "This is where the blackmail falls in. What does Hunter think of this?"

  "He doesn't know."

  "Wow. Blackmail and financial sabotage directly violate Sarbanes-Oxley. As a shareholder, you have to report this or risk looking like you are complicit. Have you reached out to the corporate ethics line?"

  "I have no facts. It's their word against mine."

  "You can't take this lying down. If you don't call, I will."

  "Come on, Jasmine. Whistleblower hotlines aren't anonymous. Look at what recently happened in politics. I don't want my name exposed; being an informant could follow my entire career. I'd no longer be the schmuck seated on the throne. I'd be the asshole who tried to stop a multi-billion dollar IPO. I'd like to forget everything. I didn't follow through with her plans, therefore, I've done nothing wrong."

  She shook her head in exaggerated impatience. "To say nothing may open you up to bigger issues. When Nic goes down, do you want to be by her side when the Feds come knocking?"

  Though our bodies were inches apart, our emotional connection was equal to the moment I'd demanded the status report. Disappointment seeped from her pores as she sat next to me with her arms folded across her chest. I was afraid our disagreement could be the fracture that broke us before our love affair began. Needing to forge our bond, I reached out for her hand.

  "I hear you. I need time to wrap my head around my next steps. Promise that you'll give me time to do what's right."

  "This is a lot to take in. Do you mind if I retire for the evening?"

  "No, I don't. Sweet dreams."

  "Goodnight." Her hand cupped my cheek as her thumb stroked my chin. Turning my face, I kissed her palm. She rose from the sofa, grabbed her iPad, and walked down the hallway to the master bedroom.