by Jagger Cole
“Nope.” I haven’t. But before I lost my dad to cancer a few years ago, I was helping him run his carpentry business from his hospital room—liaising with clients, negotiating contract terms, and a bunch of other stuff I had zero experience doing. But I guess I just jumped in and figured it out. Today felt like that.
“Well you’re obviously going tomorrow.”
“No, I am obviously not just quitting my job for a smooth sales pitch. Mateo,” I smile as he shakes his head at me. “He’ll forget he even talked to me within the hour. I’ll show up tomorrow and he’ll have no idea who I even am.”
Mateo shakes his head. “Girl, you’re insane. You need to go to that office tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s going to pay you a fuck-ton of money!” He laughs. “That’s why! Also, girl, please.” Mateo smirks at me.
“What?”
“He’s also a snack, that’s what.”
I feel my face turn red. I blush and turn away. “I haven’t noticed,” I mumble.
Mateo laughs uproariously. “Oh, now I know you’re a lying, bitch! There is no way you haven’t noticed how fucking hot Evan Danforth is. I mean my God, that butt of his? Hello?”
I feel my face redden even more. Luckily, I’m saved by a fresh wave of customers at the register. Mateo teases me a few more times throughout the shift. But I let it roll off of me. Mostly though, I’m not even hearing him, because all I can think about is Evan.
I’ve watched him for months. I mostly work nights at the coffee shop. But the day shifts I am here during the week, it’s always been a thrill when he’s come in. It’s like he just commands the whole place when he walks in. He’s big, that helps. Like six and a half feet tall big, and it looks like it’s all pure muscle. I’m not really the type to go after big brawny fit guys, but there’s something different about him. He’s not like the meatheads at the gym. He’s freaking gorgeous, and I truly doubt he doesn’t know. But he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t show it off, either.
Then there’s that voice. I mean my God. It’s like scotch and velvet. It’s like talking to a young Sam Elliot, but with an edge of business to it. Plenty of rich guys with expensive clothes and personal trainers come in here. But none of them carry themselves like Evan Danforth. None of them captivate me like him. I don’t think of a single one of them past giving them their damn coffee. But on a day Evan Danforth comes in, I’m still thinking about him a week later. Thinking about him, obsessing over him, and fantasizing about him.
He makes my heart race. He makes my skin tingle. He makes my dreams…uh, heated. Now, he wants to give me a job. It’s an awful idea. Not just because I’ve never been a secretary, or because this would mean being a secretary to the head of a multibillion-dollar company. It’s not just a bad idea because I’d be in so deep over my head, I’d probably delete his bank account on day one. It’s a horrible idea because I’m pretty dang sure you shouldn’t work for the man you lust after and want more than anything in the world.
I finish the rest of my double shift at the cafe and head home to Brooklyn. I bet that Evan lives somewhere glamorous like Soho, in a gorgeous and huge loft or something, filled with lingerie models. Or maybe a penthouse high above Central Park. I’m guessing his closet is the size of my entire apartment.
After a shower, I curl up on the sofa to veg out on crappy TV. I pay out the nose for it but living alone is great. Mateo teases me that I should be living it up as a single girl in the city. He jokes that he has two roommates who probably hate him for all of the guys he brings home. And here I am without any roommates, and I’m basically celibate.
The thing is though, it’s not “basically.” I’ve resorted to lying to Mateo and making up the once in a blue moon hookup to get him off my case. In reality though, there’s no hookups. I don’t go out or hit the clubs or the bars. I tried setting up a Tinder account once and it freaked me out. Unlike Mateo the man-skank, my experience is limited, to say the least.
One guy. I’ve dated one freaking guy in my whole life. I’m only twenty-one, but even still, I know one is a pretty lame number. I think Mateo would actually have an aneurism if I told him my real body count.
On the TV, a fake spray-tanned guy with a square jaw is going on dates with a dozen different girls for the reality show. The whole point is that he “saves himself” for his one and only, who he’ll pick from the group at the end of the series. But it’s pretty obvious that he’s screwing every single girl on the show. It makes me think of Evan. He’s obscenely rich, which in this city is probably enough to get you a waiting list of women to share your bed. But he’s also crazy good looking, which probably triples that list.
The thought of Evan and this horde of unknown woman looking to sleep with him makes me scowl. I hate the thought of him with other random girls. It’s such a stupid thought, too. He’s no one to me. More specifically, I am certainly no one to him. I’m the girl who occasionally makes him his elaborate coffee order. Today, I was the girl who acted like a psycho and took his phone and laptop. The job offer was probably just to get me to back away. I imagine showing up tomorrow and him not even remembering where we spoke.
The guy on TV is on a date with one of the girls from the show. They’re walking along the beach to the private bungalows where each girl is staying. He’s supposed to drop them off and go back to his own hotel. But again, it’s pretty clear it’s just the camera crews that leave. I think about Evan again. I wonder if he’s on a date tonight, where he won’t be going home, or won’t be going home alone.
The thought makes me furious, and I quickly try and think of something else. But I can’t. All I can think about is him, especially after today. So instead, I change the thought. Instead of some other girl stealing him for the evening, it’s me.
I try and imagine what it would be like to have Evan freaking Danforth take me out on a date. The more I think about it, the more my face reddens. I think about what would happen after a date with a man like him, and I blush even deeper. My skin tingles, and my core tightens. I gasp and squeeze my thighs together as the heat pools beween them
But I stop with another gasp. I shake my head, and with it, the thoughts of Evan from my brain. Clearly, today has made me crazy. It’s also quite clear that there is no damn way I can work for him. God no. I shut off the TV and crawl into bed to try and sleep away this insanity.
The next morning though, I’m still crazy. I’m crazy enough to shower, dress in some of the only quasi-professional clothes I own and take the subway back to Wall Street. I know it’s a bad idea. Maybe I just want to prove to myself that I was right. I want proof that he was just bullshitting me. I want to know that when I show up, no one at his office will even know who I am or what I’m doing there.
“Can I help you?” The pretty woman at the front desk says politely. The lobby is enormous, like a cathedral. “Danforth Acquisitions” looms across a massive wall, the letters probably three feet tall each, and cut out of gleaming metal.
“Uh, Julia? Julia Summers? I think I’m supposed to—”
“Right this way, Ms. Summers!” The woman beams at me. She stands abruptly and beckons. “This way, hon.”
What the heck? I’m still frozen in shock, but I shake it off and follow her past the security guards. We walk past the elevator banks, to a single one at the far end of the hallway, marked “private.”
“This is Mr. Danforth’s private entrance,” she smiles. She pushes the button, and the gleaming gold door slides open. “It’s the only button in there,” she says with a laugh. She gestures me inside. I numbly enter the elevator. “He’s expecting you,” she smiles. “Good luck!”
The doors shut, and the elevator starts to rise. What the fuck am I thinking?
3
Evan
Fuck. I know this is a goddam mistake. The minute she walks into my office, I know I’m in trouble. My hands clench the huge desk, and pulse beats like a drum. And like I always do when I see her in the coffee sh
op, I want her. What on earth was I thinking, hiring the object of my lust and obsession?
Julia doesn’t belong here. It’s not because she’s never worked as a secretary before; I had my people look into her yesterday. It’s not because the biggest company she ever worked for was a bigger coffee chain before Blue Fish.
It’s because she should be as far away from me as possible. She’s far too good, and too innocent. She doesn’t deserve to be the object of my obsession, and I mean that as a dig on me, not her. I come with baggage, and demons, and she doesn’t deserve to get sucked into that. She would, too. I don’t just “want” this girl. I don’t want to have my fill of her and go on to the next, as some men in my position, with my power and wealth might do.
No. I don’t want Julia Summers for a period of time. I want her for forever. My obsession for her runs far deeper than any desire I’ve ever felt, for anything. My need to have her is beyond lust. It’s an addiction, or a craving. This is precisely why her working for me is a goddamn terrible fucking idea. My rock-hard wiener is a testament to that.
“Mr. Danforth?” she says meekly. She’s forty feet away from me across the huge expanse of my office. I stand and beckon her into the room. Her face is red, and I’m captivated by the way she worries that bottom lip. God, she looked like heaven in jeans and t-shirts at the coffee shop. In a blouse, pencil skirt, and heels, she looks like sin.
“You came,” I growl. She smiles meekly again.
“I did.”
“I’m glad.”
“Well, you won’t be after I fuck up!” Instantly, her hands fly to her mouth. Her eyes widen, and her face reddens. “Oh my God, Mr. Danforth!”
I chuckle and hold a hand up. “It’s fine, Ms. Summers. Really, it’s fine.” I smile, but my jaw is tense. I’m glad she’s here. I’m also worried that she is. I know I never should have said a damn thing yesterday. But the way she just stepped in and handled everything blew me away.
Last night, it was made even more apparent how much I should have called this thing off. Samantha Prowls, the Victoria’s Secret model, was in town for the night. Her people called mine, letting them know to pass it along to me that Samantha would love to get together for drinks. At her hotel. Most men in my shoes would have fallen over themselves to get there, sobriety or not. I simply replied, “no thanks” and left it at that. Instead, I stayed home and thought about Julia.
It’s been years since I went out or met with a woman. I don’t date, and I don’t “see people.” Some of it is my sobriety, of course. More of it is work, and the constant nature of it. But a lot of it is that years ago, when I got clean and started this empire, I made a promise to myself. I swore I wouldn’t waste my time chasing after fleeting things like one-night stands.
I promised myself that when I next gave myself to a woman, it would be all of me. Not a fling, affair, or casual thing. Not even to date. I swore that when I took a woman to bed next, it would be the one and only woman I would take to bed for the rest of my life. The next girl I’d be with would be my wife, or my wife-to-be. I’ve adhered to that for five years. But then, Julia Summers started working at the coffee shop down the street.
“So…” She looks like a fish out of water, and it’s more than slightly adorable. “I brought my resume.”
I’ve already seen it. My people dug deep last night. I know about her father’s passing, and her mother leaving when she was barely three. I know she graduated high school early and went to college for English Literature before her father’s illness took her home again. She basically ran his carpentry business from his hospital room, it seems.
“You can keep it,” I say quietly. Her blush deepens.
“So, what do you want from me first?”
I somehow hold back from saying “your lips, on mine” followed closely by “your sweet pussy, wet and ready on my desk for me to devour.” I want her. I don’t want her running for the hills.
“Your desk is the one right outside the door. You’re familiar with basic Outlook and word processing?”
She nods. “Yeah, definitely.” Her lack of office-speak is actually refreshing. I like that she’s not fawning over me or calling me sir, which I hate.
“Good. Today is mostly emailing.” I scowl. “Damage control, from yesterday.”
She looks crestfallen, and she looks down. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Did I really screw it all up that bad?”
I smile. “Hardly. Julia, the only reason I might still have a company right now is because of you stepping in and helping. You have my sincere gratitude for that.” She smiles weakly, and I walk towards her. I tell myself to keep my distance, and that being near to her is a bad idea. But I can’t stop myself either.
“No, this is damage control because I’m being attacked by a rival. The desk you’re filling is from a secretary he poached from me, yesterday actually. He’s the reason my new acquisition is on the ropes, and why half my portfolio is tanking. He’s manipulating shit behind the scenes and is probably in violation of a number of FTC regulations doing it. But I need to prove that to get them off my case and onto his.”
Julia smiles. “I can do damage control.” She sighs. “Actually, that’s most of what I did for the last two years with my dad’s company.”
I stop myself from telling her that I already know everything about her. Her father’s illness, her education, all of it. Hell, I even know that she’s single, and that she doesn’t have any profiles on dating sites or any hookup apps. My people are very, very good. The one relationship they could find was an on again off again thing from years back, which is astounding. The fact that this fucking incredible girl standing before me hasn’t been wedded and claimed yet makes absolutely zero sense to me.
“Did Kelly give you the paperwork on the way up?”
Julia nods quickly and raises the manila folder in her hand. “She did, yeah. I signed the NDA packet and the rest of it.” Her brow worries slightly. “Mr. Danforth…”
“Maybe just call me Evan.”
She flashes a quick smile. “Evan, the employment paperwork was already filled out for me to just sign.”
“Yes.”
She frowns. “My address, my social security number? They were already on there.”
“I have…people.” I shrug. “And my people are good.” I hold her eyes with mine. “My intention wasn’t to be invasive. I knew your name and where you were currently employed. The rest was just public filings and putting dots together. I wanted things to be easy for you today.”
“Well, filling out the employment paperwork for me does it.” She looks half amused and half irked. I shrug it away. I’m thorough, and when it comes to her, I’m not holding back on a thing. “Oh, one thing though.” Her brow worries again. “There’s a mistake on my payroll form. Kelly swears it’s right. But, well…”
I frown. “Let’s make sure.” I step closer to her, and my skin tingles hotter. My desire for her swells harder and aches for her. I swallow it back, and Julia hands me the file. I open it, and I smirk before I close the packet and hand it back. “No, there’s no mistake there.”
Julia’s eyes widen. “Mr. Dan… Evan, this says you’re paying me ten-thousand dollars a week.”
I allow myself a small smile. “Is there a problem with that?”
“It’s an obscene amount of money!” she blurts. “Evan, I’m just your secretary. That’s insane.”
“Assistant, and believe me that you’ll be working for it. We’re at war here.”
She looks at me cautiously, worrying her bottom lip. “Why are you doing this?”
I take one second before answering. “Because you’re very good, that’s why. I saw the way you jumped right in yesterday. You were flawless and decisive, and you hit the ground running, quickly. I was impressed, Julia.”
“Impressed enough to pay me, what, ten times what most assistants would make?”
“I pay good talent good money.”
“Do all the assistants in your company m
ake half a freaking million dollars a year?” she asks tersely.
I smile. “Ms. Summers, you can walk right now if you’d like to. I won’t stop you. If not, I need to get to work. Like I said, there’s a war going on right now.”
I stand my ground and look at her. She blinks, and I can tell she’s thinking it through thoroughly. Fuck me, that pencil skirt is corrupting my willpower. Those heels are destroying my professionalism. Her lips make me want to break every rule I have.
“Can I have a week?”
I frown. “No. I need someone today to—”
“No, no,” she murmurs blushing. “I mean can I have a week here, while working for you, to think about it? If it’s clear I have no business being here, I’ll make it easy and quit.”
“Fine.”
But it’s far from fucking fine. Whatever it takes, I’ll keep her here. I need her near me. I’ve gotten too close to the girl I shouldn’t have gone near. Yesterday took my obsession with her past the breaking point, and now I only want more.
My restraint is hanging by a hair. Having her here is like sleeping with a loaded, unlocked gun under the pillow. One thing—one move, or one goddamn word, and I’m pretty sure this whole thing is going to go bang.
4
Julia
What the hell am I doing? I stare at the screen in front of me in disbelief. I’ve used word processors, and spreadsheets, and email systems before, obviously. But nothing I’ve ever done comes anywhere close to the magnitude of what I’m doing now.
Evan isn’t just my boss. He’s my multibillion-dollar boss, running a multi-multi-multi-billion-dollar empire. For God’s sake, my first job of the day is forwarding him a sell offer from some company that think’s they can “settle” for his offer of six-hundred-and-forty-million dollars.
But first, actually, I need to set up some calls with some of his portfolio board chairmen. Whoever this Petrov guy is, he’s really going after Danforth Acquisitions hard. He’s apparently using his huge assets to tank the share prices of medical companies held by Evan. Then, now that they’re floundering, Petrov is contacting each company with an offer to bail them out with pennies on the dollar. It’s some evil genius level bullying. I might not know a ton about the legality of the finance world, but even I’m pretty sure that has to be illegal in some way.