Share Me_The Devil Makes Three

by Evelyn Vox

  “What floor,” he asked me after pushing the top floor for himself.

  “Eleven,” I said.

  He turned and looked at me then, really looked at me hard for the first time. I became keenly aware of the wet hair plastered to my face and neck. I was dripping water onto the floor, and cursed myself for the outfit I’d worn today. I was in a sheer white top over a white cami tucked into a knee-length navy pencil skirt. It had looked professional when I put it on, but now the rain had soaked it right though.

  I didn’t need a mirror to know my lacy pink bra was visible through the wet fabric.

  His gaze ate me up, and he looked blatantly at my breasts. I felt my body reacting to the attention; my nipples hardened and my core throbbed. His green eyes widened as he watched my nipples grow pert and taut. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Excuse me,” I growled, “my eyes are up here, you pig.”

  Any other man would have taken offense or had the decency to feel ashamed, but he just smiled that coy little smile of his.

  “Apologies,” he said, though I didn’t believe it for a second, “what’s your name?”

  “Fiona.”

  The elevator chimed as it reached my floor.

  “Fiona what?”

  “Fiona James,” I said, walking out the doors.

  “Perhaps I’ll see you around.”

  “Doubt it,” I called through the closing doors, “my manager is about to have my head for being late.”

  “I’ll have a word with her,” he called as the doors closed on him.

  He’d have a word with her? Just who the hell was this guy? I shivered in the air conditioning as I walked to my desk, trying my best to avoid the stares of my coworkers. I stalked straight into the bathroom to see what the damage was. I winced when I saw my reflection.

  My hair was a ragged mess, my mascara smeared down my face, my knees were bloody, and I may as well not have been wearing a shirt at all. It wasn’t just my bra that was fully visible, but the outline of my torso and belly button were also evident. I supposed I could always make money with wet t-shirt contests after Monica chewed me out for being late again.

  I sighed and grabbed fistfuls of paper towels to dry myself off and clean up my scrapes. I managed to dry my hair under the hand dryer and kept my arms folded across my chest until I got to my desk and pulled on the cardigan I kept around my chair. I buttoned it all the way until it covered my torso. That would have to do. I just had to sit here and air dry. If I was lucky, I’d be only somewhat damp by the time I got home.

  I logged into my e-mail and groaned.

  The list of customer service requests was always the worst on Mondays after people had a full weekend to submit complaints.

  “Ah, Fiona,” I heard Monica’s nasally voice from behind me and fought the urge to groan again.

  I spun in my chair to meet her. She had a plastic bag in her hands.

  “Heard you got caught in the rain,” she said, “don’t worry, lots of people were late today. Greg isn’t even here yet. Subway is a mess.”

  “Oh,” I was taken aback. Monica was usually a real hard ass about these things, “yeah, my umbrella broke and I got soaked. It’s really bad out there.”

  “I didn’t realize you had friends in such high places,” she said with a wink at me, “he sends his regards.”

  She handed me the plastic bag and headed towards her office. I opened it to reveal a set of dry clothes—a loose blouse, black slacks, and even underwear. Pink underwear. I fumed when I saw the note taped to the lace undies.

  To make sure you have a matching set.

  I knew exactly who this had come from, and I was ready to toss it in the trash. Except I was very damp and on track to be shivering in the AC all day in these wet clothes. I swallowed my pride and went back to the bathroom with the fresh clothes in hand. They fit surprisingly well, which annoyed me all the more that he not only saved my ass, but also managed to find me flattering clothes. It was like rubbing salt in my wounded pride.

  I was ready for this day to be over.

  LANDON

  There was something about her. I needed to know more. Fortunately for me, I was the founder of MoneyBuddy and had access to every employee file.

  Name: Fiona James

  Age: 26

  Title: Senior Customer Service Representative

  Salary: $60,000

  There was more, of course, address, phone number, tax records with her social security number, employment history, personal e-mail address. This would be plenty. I had a good feeling about this one. She was fiery, and there was nothing I loved more than putting out fires.

  Though the sight of her squirming under my gaze as I took in her amazing, soaking wet body came close. I wondered if she wore the pink panties today. I’d pay good money to see her in a matching set of pink lace. The image had my cock twitching and swelling in my bespoke suit pants. I’d get her a garter belt next time.

  But when and how would there be a next time? That’s what I had to figure out. There was always a way in—a way more fun that just throwing out my name. Women who were interested in me for that only were the most boring. I’d find my in with her, and when I did, she’d be mine.

  Fiona James, what secrets do you have?

  About the Author

  Evelyn Vox is an emerging erotic romance author (be gentle with her, it’s her first time). She wants to write the sizzling stories that everyone else is too afraid to tell. She lives in Brooklyn, in a tiny apartment, with her ever wonderful and patient partner. She desperately wants a cat.

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  www.evoxwrites.com