“I like the way you’re looking at my dress that I’m almost not wearing. I’ll have to thank my personal professional shoppers and their shopping app.”
“What?”
“Marco and Jules. If it weren’t for them I’d be sitting on your desk in shorts and a tee.”
“I wouldn’t have a problem with that. My preference would be that you sit on my desk wearing nothing at all.”
“You’re pretty easy to please, Mr. Ryan. I like that about you.”
“What are you doing Ms. Keith?”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you’re trying to distract me, from the nothing that is obviously something.”
“If I am, it must not be working.”
“Oh it’s working.” He grabs my right foot and rubs in over his very big and very hard erection.
“One of these days you’re going to have to let me in, Lex. Your little games of distraction are…stimulating, but I want more than, stimulation from you.”
“I’m working on it, Jaxson.”
He sighs. I need your decision Ms. Keith. I have a meeting in an hour and then I’m off to LA for a week.”
“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll stay at your estate.”
“You will?”
“You look surprised.”
“Happily.”
“I have one condition.”
“Okay, so here it comes—the Alexia killjoy bomb.”
I lift a brow. “Really. Am I really that bad?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sorry.”
“Go ahead, tell me your condition.”
“To clear my name I hire who I want and conduct the investigation how I want.”
“Is this a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ situation?”
“Yes.”
He contemplates before he answers. “Okay. I have a condition of my own.”
“Okay.”
“I handle the investigation of Will Harris and the outside audits. I don’t want you involved, anymore than you are.”
“Okay, I’ll stick to the embezzlement investigation. You handle the outside audits. Got it.”
“Okay then, Ms. Keith. Now get out of here, I need a minute to…adjust.”
“Oh my…or two.”
CEO POV
You know when you first meet someone and you know you’re in trouble but you just can’t fucking help yourself?
That was me when I first met her. Alexia Elizabeth Keith. God, even her name feels good on my lips. From the moment she walked into my office and looked at me with those big green eyes, and gave me that incredible smile with the most kissable lips ever, that was it. Done. Finis. I was in love. Okay, it was more like lust; the love part came a few months later.
Hell, I knew she was major trouble. She had it written all over her. And no, I don’t mean literally. Don’t be an idiot. What I mean is that you could feel trouble in the air around her. I knew she would change my life, and for better or worse I was going for it. Everything about us felt right—preordained—fated. I wanted her and I was going to have her.
When I stood from behind my desk to shake her hand, I swear to God my dick shuddered. Yeah, right you say. But by God, It did. It freakin’ shuddered. You see, when a guy first meets the woman of his dreams he doesn’t swoon or go into cardiac arrest. He instantaneously gets hard—real hard, or as in my case, hard and twitchy.
She candidly peeked at my crotch. I think she even rolled her eyes and shook her head, but I can’t recall. I knew I was making an ass out of myself but I didn’t care. I just stood there with a shuddering dick and a dumb, shit-eating grin. But again I didn’t fucking care.
We shook hands and I think I mumbled something but I don’t remember what and it didn’t really matter. I just stood gripping her hand like a vice and when she tried to pull her hand away I wouldn’t let it go. I just couldn’t. Something strange and powerful ran through me and I needed to be—stuck to her like super glue. I held her hand like it was my lifeline—my savior. It wasn’t until she took her other hand, put it over mine and pried our hands apart that I finally came to my senses. I was being a freakin’ horny dumb-ass tool. And again I didn’t care.
Alexia Elizabeth Keith was frankly the most beautiful woman that I have ever met. Okay, beautiful is a lame adjective—let’s say stunningly breathtaking. Because that’s how I felt and still feel when I look at her. She takes my breath away.
When she finally pried our hands apart we sat down. She said something about her new position but I was too busy just taking her in. She completely captivated me. She was perfection, from her long wavy dark blond hair to the tips of her pink painted toes. Her skin glowed like a heavenly soul. Okay, maybe not heavenly, but it did glow. Speaking of heaven—dear holy God those eyes.
Remember a few paragraphs back I mentioned she had green eyes. Well at first I thought they were green but when I really took them in they were more like the color of the ocean. Not green or blue but aqua—aqua like the ocean and I couldn’t wait to swim in them. And dear Lord that wide and wonderful mouth. It was made for me to fuck. Please. God. Soon.
Did I mention she’s tall? Five nine or ten—the perfect complement to my six–two. And of course legs that go on for miles. Can’t have a perfect woman without them. She’s thinnish, but not like a model…more muscular like an athlete, with graceful curves.
Her jacket concealed her breasts, but I knew as sure as my next breath that they would fit my hand perfectly, and my mouth watered just thinking about sucking on her tits. I’d only gotten a quick peek of her ass but what I saw—oh my.
Our conversation continued and I do remember her saying something about restructuring or resurrecting the department. Who the hell knows—it started with the letter “r.” I think. I recall smiling and nodding and shaking my head a lot. I didn’t say much because I couldn’t fucking think straight.
My dick was no longer shuddering but it remained rock hard. It was a hell of a day to forget to put boxers in my gym bag and have no extras at my office. I was commando and my unit was bunkered down hard against the railroad tracks of my zipper.
After a while my dick went numb and my ears stopped buzzing and the noise coming out of her perfect mouth began to sound like words. We actually started having a two-way conversation. She even laughed at one of my lame jokes. I mean she really laughed. She even snorted. It was weirdly endearing.
Another thing that was weird was that she never talked about herself not even in a professional sense. Most women and, yeah, even a lot of men never stop talking about themselves. And if they weren’t talking they were fishing for compliments and reassurances. Alexia never fished—she didn’t even bait her hook.
I knew that she was intelligent and dedicated. I had read her resume. She speaks like five or six friggin’ languages. I was definitely going to be taking advantage of her linguistic skills. I could use an interpreter. Okay, I know that most of my foreign business associates speak perfectly good English, but a guy’s got to do what a guy’s got to do.
A few more minutes passed and she discreetly took a quick peek at her watch. I didn’t want her to leave but I knew I had to relieve my numb, yet aching dick before I’d become permanently disabled. She stood and gave me her hand. Then I thought… shit. I can’t stand with an erect tent pole. So I gave her my hand and remained seated like a manner-less horny jerk. We said our ‘goodbyes’ and she walked to the door. She opened it and took a step out, then turned around. She hesitated for a moment and then said. “I hope that the next time we meet it won’t be as painful.” At that point she raised a knowing brow and walked out of my office.
I’ve learned more about her over the last two years but it’s never enough. She never talks about her past. All I know is that she was born in New York then moved to Scotland then London. I asked her about her parents and she said her grandmother raised her and her sister Sam after their parents were killed in an auto accident. That’s it, that’s all I got. Every time I bring up her past she either
ignores me or tries to distract me. And I must say she’s a damn good distractor.
And fuck me—she has a photographic memory. I discovered this just months after her employment. I’d asked her to accompany me to Moscow as my translator. I know what you’re thinking but remember a guy’s just doing what he’s got to do. On the flight over I gave her a run down on the Russians and, the company that I wanted to acquire.
She asked to see the company figures. As the head of Risk Management it’s all about the numbers for her. I handed over my laptop and watched as she scanned over the figures very briefly. She handed my laptop back then pulled out her laptop and started on some other work.
I had assumed that the figures had bored her or that she just wasn’t interested in knowing more about the acquisition. However, during the meeting the Russians asked about a figure and before I could look it up she quoted it back to the penny. I gave her a what the hell look? She just lifted a perfect brow and brushed it aside like it was nothing. Throughout the meeting she continued to quote numbers from memory.
On the flight back, I asked her about it. “Alexia, how did you know those figures?”
“I went over them.”
“Yeah, like for two seconds.”
She just shrugged her shoulders.
“You have a photographic memory?”
She looks up from her laptop. “With numbers,” she says.
“Just numbers?”
“Sort of,” she answers and continues with her work.
“Sort of?” I ask and she looks up at me again and sighs.
“Mostly with numbers but with more effort, text as well.”
“That’s incredible,” I answer in awe.
Remember the part where I said I wanted her and was going to have her. I gave her a month to settle in before I made my first move. I had no clue what that first move was going to be. Yeah, right you say? Well it’s true—I have never pursued a woman before. Well, unless you count Maryann Wilkins in the ninth grade. I was a freshman—she was a senior. I was a virgin —she put out. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.
Let’s just say a week later I was no longer living on Virgin Island and she moved to a chain of islands known as the Multiple Orgasms.
If you’ve never been the pursuer, you probably have no pick-up skills. So my first move really blew—and not my way. I thought the best way to handle the situation was to just tell the truth—lay all my cards on the table. So I walked into Lex’s office one afternoon and said—“I want you and you want me. So tonight, let’s say around seven.” Fucking Brilliant, right? I bet you’re thinking she got mad and threw me out, then threatened to sue my ass. You would be wrong my friend. She laughed her ass off. I mean she all but fell to the floor and rolled around in hysteria. I didn’t find it funny at all. I didn’t let this show of course. I ha, ha’ed and slapped my knee a couple of times. I played along—but inside I was hurt and disappointed. Then she rubbed salt into my wounded ego when she said––“That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks. Hell, maybe even months. Thanks, Jaxson.”
What’s a guy supposed to do after that? Well, like most guys I said to myself—self, no big deal—millions of fish in the ocean. Then I licked my wounds and fucked some nameless, faceless chick in my office. Stop judging me—this is what all guys do. We bury our dicks along with our hurt pride.
So what happened next? I came up with the brilliant idea that we would become friends first. Friendship leads to bedship. Right? So I had her travel with me whenever I could get away with it. When the interpreter excuse wasn’t going to fly—then I would tell her I needed her to look at the books or that I needed a fresh pair of eyes to go over a deal. She played along for a while. I mean she wasn’t stupid—she knew what was going down. Then one day I got lucky.
The company jet had mechanical problems—yahoo—while we were in Dublin. We were forced to spend an extra night. I know, so sad. We had just closed on a merger that we’d been working on for over a year. I said, “Hey, Lex, let’s go celebrate.” So, when in Rome—or in this case, Dublin—we went on a pub-crawl. We both got pretty wasted and by some miracle we ended up in my hotel room. Okay, I took her key card out of her purse while she was in the restroom of our last pub. I know what you’re thinking—what an asshole. But I’m a desperate man, and what do desperate men do? Nab keycards from purses.
So how did it all go down—you ask? Well I’m about to tell you. Somehow we managed to get our drunk asses back to our hotel. When we got off the elevator I insisted on walking her to her door. I am a gentleman after all, even when intoxicated. When we got to her door she rummaged through her bag for her key card. “Did you leave it in your room?” I asked.
“No, I’m positive that I put it in my bag.”
“Well.” I said. I think I said “well” anyway—I was shitfaced after all. “Why don’t you come to my room and call down to the front desk and they’ll bring you up a key.”
She was a tad hesitant but she went for it. Once I got her in my room one thing led to another and…Okay, I all but pushed her on the bed and begged her—I was a desperate, Alexia-starved man. I’d dreamt about holding her, being on her and in her for so long. Hell, if it weren’t for the numbing effects of the alcohol running through my veins, I would have come in my pants as soon as I had her bare and sprawled out on the bed.
She was pure perfection. Beyond my expectations and dreams. Her nude body—holy shit. And those tits—God help me. She calls them tatas—I call them heaven. We fucked and other stuff all night. I worshiped every single inch of her. I was determined to make her feel so wonderful and well-fucked that she would never want another man in her bed or in her. Ever.
And she was right with me through every single fuck. I made her come so many times that I’d lost count. Yes, I was counting it’s a guy thing.
When we left Dublin I was floating on the biggest cloud nine of my life. I couldn’t keep my eyes or my hands off her. At first she was into it. I mean really into it. But as the flight progressed she began to physically and mentally shut me out. I didn’t get it. I’d just had the most fan-fuckin’-tastic night of my life. After we deplaned and we got into my car I’d had enough.
“What the hell?” I asked her. Okay, I shouted it but I was mad and confused about her behavior. I knew what we’d shared wasn’t one-sided. There is absolutely no way in hell she could have faked our incredible connection. She just sat there. It was like she wanted to say something but was afraid to. And this wasn’t Alexia. She wasn’t one to be back down or be intimidated.
I was beyond frustrated. I yelled, “What the fuck is wrong with me!” I’ve got the looks, the junk, money, education and personality. I’m one of the youngest CEOs in the country for Christ sakes.
I’ve been featured in GQ, The New Yorker, Money and Men’s Health. I’ve never had a woman turn me down. Ever! I’m a fucking catch. What the fuck is wrong with her?
By the time we’d reached her loft, I’d reduced her to tears. I’d never seen her cry and it unnerved me. She is a master at hiding her emotions. I felt like a shit for yelling at her, but damn it, I was desperate and needed her to open up. I didn’t want to lose the little bit of ground I’d finally made.
Then, finally, she spoke to me. Though her tears she said. “Jaxson, nothing is wrong with you—you’re perfect. And the chemistry and connection we had—have—is like fucking unbelievable.”
She looked into my eyes—she was so scared—of what? The whole thing was beginning to really freak me out.
I begged her to tell me what was going on. Why was she shutting me out? What the hell was she so afraid of? Had I unknowingly hurt her? Was she hung up on the fact that she worked for Ryan? Was she stuck on someone else?
She just kept on telling me ‘no.’ Everything about me felt right—perfect. It was her—she kept on saying. “This—we should never have happened,” she said.
I asked her to explain to me why? She said she couldn’t explain why. And that�
�s how it ended—for her anyway—not for me.
I tried…I really tried to let her go—but I just couldn’t. I gave her some time then asked her out to dinner. She said no of course but I wasn’t about to let her end ‘us.’
I pleaded, begged, sent dozens of roses, sent her candy and cards, bought her emeralds and diamonds, bought her a year’s supply of coffee, wrote her a love letter, wrote her a poem, sent e-cards, sent X-rated texts, bought her entire department lunch for a week, sent her a singing telegram, sent her theater tickets to all the sold-out shows on Broadway, gifted her season tickets to the opera, the ballet, the Mets, the Yankees, the Knicks, the Jets, the Rangers, and the Islanders.
I refused all of her rejections. I kept on her until she told me she was going to quit, and then finally, I gave in. I decided it was better to have her as an associate and a friend than not at all. I was so fucking screwed.
TO MUCH BEEBNESS
A week later, Lane picks me up and drives me to the Ryan estate.
Lane introduces me to his mother. “Alexia this is my mother, Mary Frampton.”
She gives me a warm hug. “Alexia. I feel as if I already know you. Lane and Jaxson can’t stop talking about you.”
“Frampton, huh?”
“Yes, and before you ask, no relation to Peter.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
She gives me a skeptical look.
“Okay, I so was.”
“No biggie, everyone does.”
Lane retrieves my luggage from the trunk of an Audi A8 and Mary guides us behind a multi-car garage then up a short flight of bricked stairs.
When we reach the landing, Mary turns. “Are you ready to see your new digs?”
“As ready as watermelon.”
She raises a questioning brow.
“I know, I don’t get it either. It’s something that my Gram says and I’ve yet to meet anyone that gets it.”
Mary opens the door and Lane and I trail behind. We pass through a brightly lit modern kitchen, down a long winding hall, passing room after room.
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