Promoted to Wife?

by Paula Roe

  “Right. A life that involves secret sex with your boss?”

  Zac abruptly swung from the bed, the cold floorboards on his bare feet barely registering.

  “You’re angry.”

  His jaw tightened as he glanced back to her rigid figure. “Damn right I am.”

  “So…what? Are you saying you want to change our arrangement?”

  “I’m saying,” he snapped on the bedside light, then yanked on his boxers, then his pants with sharp jerky movements, “that once in a while it’d be nice if we went out somewhere. Together, in public, instead of sneaking around like our sex life is some big covert operation.”

  “What about tonight?”

  He shoved his hands on his hips. “That hardly counted. I’m not ashamed of us—are you?”

  Zac knew his words hit home the second her breath hissed out. Her pale face humbled him, tiny barbs of guilt thickening his throat.

  “Look, Emily…”

  “No, you don’t have to say anything.” She slid to the other end of the bed, taking the sheet with her. “I… I think I should go.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I do.” She gathered up her clothes, adding, “it’s late,” as if that explained everything.

  “Stay.”

  Her face froze in an expression he couldn’t read.

  “I can’t.” She made it to the foot of the stairs. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

  Thirteen

  It was as if last Monday night had happened in a parallel universe.

  Every day that week Emily brought him lunch, organized his clients and performed exactly like the efficient assistant she was. No secret glances, no tensing up when he accidentally brushed her arm. Every time he opened his mouth, her cool blue eyes remained professional and distant.

  She remained in the office after he left for the night, always working. He didn’t text her to come over and she didn’t offer. Yet after a few days he wondered if he should’ve pressed the issue instead of letting it ride, because he had no idea what to say or what he could do to fix this. Her wall of silence shut him down before any words could form.

  Despite her aura of back off, she still distracted him. Her black suits had finally given way to skirts that now skimmed her knees, tucked-in tops and thin belts emphasizing every dip and curve of her luscious body. To anyone else, her perfectly suitable office attire wouldn’t have rated a second glance. But to Zac, who knew exactly what was under those silky shirts and soft-to-touch sweaters, it blurred the line between demure and obscene.

  He’d fantasized a hundred different ways to peel off those clothes.

  “So, who are you two backing?”

  Daniel from HR stood at the door, the racing form in his hand. Zac didn’t miss the way Emily quickly backed away from his desk, pulling the files she held protectively against her chest.

  “The race. The Melbourne Cup?” Daniel said with a grin. “We’re in conference room three—thanks, Em—with nibbles, drinks and a flat screen. We just need your bets.”

  Emily glanced at Zac, then back to Daniel, before she gave the younger man a smile. “Come on through and I’ll get some money.”

  He’d forgotten about the Melbourne Cup, the biggest day in Australian racing, when the whole nation stopped to watch a horse race. It was a major social event in practically every business, and Valhalla was no exception. And, he thought later as he made his way to the conference room, Emily had a real talent for organizing people. As Valhalla’s unofficial social director, she was the one everyone came to to organize birthdays, retirements, the annual Christmas party. More importantly, she'd jumped into the Point One launch with expert efficiency, and was currently on target and under budget.

  She’d make a damn good life coach.

  He mingled with his employees, chatting comfortably but always with one eye on Emily. A few times she caught him looking and every time, glanced away.

  It took thirty minutes to circulate and get to the spot where she stood, but he did so with purposeful deliberation, waiting until she broke off a conversation and approached the table laden with food.

  “Are you free tonight?”

  A casual observer would have missed how her outstretched hand stilled briefly before she finally took the tiny quiche and popped it in her mouth. But Zac knew he had encroached on her personal space, from the way her eyes blinked to her fingers gripping the wineglass she held. Tension radiated out like an invisible force field, yet he still itched to brush back a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail, to test the soft skin of her cheek.

  Common sense overrode desire, even though he hated holding back and his muscles ached with the effort.

  “You have a client dinner.” She solved his conundrum by efficiently sweeping back the offending lock of hair. “Eight o’clock at the Palazzo Versace.”

  He frowned, mentally reshuffling.

  “And I’ll probably be working,” she added, taking a sip from her wineglass. “The launch is less than five weeks away.”

  He stared at her elegant profile. “Right.” The subtext was glaringly obvious. He’d crossed the line and she was backing off.

  Her mobile phone rang then, which was his cue to move away.

  “This is Emily.”

  He went over to the food, selected a celery stick and thoughtfully chewed.

  She paused. “Hello?”

  Another pause, then she frowned and clicked the phone off.

  He moved back, ignoring her fleeting glance. He was in her space and it annoyed her.

  Well, good.

  She took a sip of wine, the silence between them growing as everyone buzzed with pre-race excitement. Would she say something? A thin smile flattened his mouth. Probably not.

  Just then Jenna Perkins, one of his junior architects, walked over, and she gave the woman her full attention, nodding and smiling in the appropriate places. And when someone turned on the TV, he finally conceded, giving her the space she so obviously wanted.

  Emily glanced at Zac’s retreating back, determined not to let that swoop of regret get the better of her. She should’ve put the brakes on long before now, but she’d been caught up in the sex. Amazing sex.

  She’d been obsessed with their illicit nights, enthralled by Zac’s lovemaking. He applied himself to the task of pleasing her with uninhibited enjoyment, and while she secretly reveled in every single second, she’d crept from his bed, anxious and flustered, way too many times. And after that incident in his office, she needed to take control.

  “I must be out of my mind,” she muttered, shoving a cracker in her mouth and crunching down.

  “Sorry?”

  Emily glanced up into Jenna’s quizzical face.

  “Nothing. Just talking to myself. What were you saying?”

  “I said—”

  Emily’s phone rang again. Another hang-up.

  Jenna gave Emily a gentle shoulder nudge. “I was just asking about Zac…if he’s seeing anyone?”

  Emily swallowed back a choke. “Why? Are you in terested?”

  “Dating the boss? Please!” Jenna laughed, waving her glass for emphasis. “That’d just be too weird. And anyway I’m twenty-two and he’s what…thirty?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “Yeah, too old. No, I was just asking a question.” She nodded to a guy across the room and smiled.

  Emily followed her gaze. “Mal’s in charge of the office betting pool, right?”

  “Hmmm?”

  At Emily’s cryptic silence, Jenna turned innocent brown eyes on her. “What? Noooo…”

  “Jen.” Emily sighed. “You know how I feel about that.”

  “Come on, we’re only having a little fun.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “Zac doesn’t mind.”

  “Betting on the boss’s sex life is not my idea of fun.”

  “Whatever.” Jenna downed the dregs of her wine with one gulp. “Jeez, you’d think you were one dating him the way you protect him.”

/>   Emily stared at Jenna’s retreating back, her mouth open in a surprised little “Oh.”

  An hour later, Emily made her way back to the office. She’d picked a long shot, only one of three horses left unclaimed on the office sweeps, and no one had been more surprised than she when Total Surrender had actually won, putting a nice three hundred dollars in her pocket.

  She’d laughingly accepted the congratulations and gentle ribbing before leaving everyone to finish the food and wine. Work output would be close to zero for the remainder of today. But not for her. There were simply too many things to do to justify bunking off for the rest of the afternoon.

  Total Surrender. She unlocked Zac’s office with a soft snort. Very apt, her winning horse. Definitely not a predictor of things to come, not when she’d put her foot down and Zac had backed off. Yet the sense of victory she’d expected to feel hadn’t materialized.

  She walked in the door, paused, then tilted her head with a frown.

  Something wasn’t right.

  She sniffed the air, noting an unfamiliar scent—musky and thick, definitely not Zac. Another worker, perhaps?

  Except for the cleaners, no one else had the keys.

  Quickly she tested the locked drawers. Still locked. She skimmed over the blueprint cabinet. Nothing missing.

  Then she went to her desk.

  Inside the top drawer, next to her stapler and spare pens, a note was taped. It said cryptically, “Look out your window.”

  Zac was still at the party, so it wasn’t him. She walked hesitantly to the office window, drew the blinds aside and stared down into busy Broadbeach Mall.

  Their corner office afforded her an expansive view, from the monorail tracks stretching from the Oasis Centre to Jupiters Casino across the busy highway to the traffic-ridden roundabout directly below on Surf Parade. Nothing seemed amiss in the restaurants and eateries in the mall below. At twenty floors up, she wasn’t sure she would see anything. Unless…

  Her gaze snapped up, to the Sofilel Broadbeach hotel windows directly across. Almost at eye level, a sign was taped to a window.

  “Just you. Where you buy your morning coffee. Ten minutes.”

  A thin thread of panic shot through her bones until outrage quickly overtook it. Someone had been in here, in her work area, in her things. Were those hang-ups a part of this, too?

  That anger gave her courage, straightening her back and drawing her mouth into a thin line of determination.

  Seven minutes later, she stalked into Bennetti’s. After scanning the few customers and two staff, her gaze landed on a familiar figure sitting at a secluded table, casually sipping a short black.

  When Louie Mayer’s oily smile spread across his face, she swallowed a spurt of fear.

  Showing fear gives them the upper hand. Another one of her mother’s little life truths. Emily grimly smoothed back her perfectly contained hair. Thanks, Mum. Handy advice when dealing with crims.

  “You’re looking good, Emily.” Louie smiled, easing back in his chair as he frankly appraised her. Suppressing a shudder, she gave him her best haughty look.

  “Your boss got paid, if I recall. What do you want?”

  The man really was huge, she realized as he stood and pulled out a seat for her. When she shook her head, he frowned and remained standing, his arms crossed, the black cotton T-shirt stretching taut until she was sure it groaned.

  “Looks like you got a good thing going at work, huh?”

  Emily frowned. “What?”

  “Oh, just that you seem to be enjoying some personal after-hours attention from Zac Prescott.”

  His dirty smirk made her want to slap him. Her fingers jerked before she purposefully relaxed them.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  His grin spread wider and a gold front tooth glinted in the light. “Ah, but it is. Very much my business.” He leaned in, and Emily was suddenly enveloped in a cloying musky aftershave. “Your rich boyfriend ponied up Jimmy’s debt quicker than a teenager sculling a beer at Schoolie’s week. Which tells me a coupla things.” He paused, eyeing two blondes as they walked up to the counter. His eyes lingered on their butts as he continued. “One—you and he are more than coworkers, especially now I’ve seen you both in action. And two, he has cash to spare.”

  White-hot panic made her heart surge. “You’re blackmailing me?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He reached out to stroke her hair, but she flinched away. The amusement in his smile fled. “Call it an investment. You pay up every month, and the papers won’t get to hear about Zac Prescott’s private life, starting with him boning his secretary and his ‘compulsive gambling problem.’”

  “But you took the last of my money! I don’t have—”

  “Use your brain, blondie.” His eyes hardened. “You’re sleeping with a multimillionaire. That doesn’t come for free.”

  Her heart beat loudly in her ears, deafening her to everything else. For one split second, she could imagine herself doing actual physical harm to another human being.

  She pictured herself surging to her feet and running. Running away from this café, away from this man’s threats. Away from everything.

  She’d started over before, she could do it again.

  You can’t run. Not this time. She breathed deep, once, twice, forcing calm into her limbs, her brain.

  She had to stall him.

  “I need time,” she finally said.

  Mayer shrugged and glanced at his watch. “You’ve got a week. I’ll be in touch.” And with a wink and a pat on her shoulder, he walked out.

  Zac was out at a site inspection, not due to return today. Everyone else was either still in the conference room or pretending to work. The hall was abuzz with chatter and laughter, so no one noticed Emily leaving at four-thirty.

  She couldn’t stay at the office, not when it’d been breached so easily. Grilling the security guard and watching video surveillance hadn’t brought her much joy, so now she sat in her Toyota in the basement car park, mulling through her options.

  Her body buzzed with alternate flashes of outrage and panic, her skin tight and itchy. Her foot jiggled nervously on the clutch, her fingers clicking the brake button in and out, in and out, before she suddenly realized what she was doing and shoved her hands under her thighs.

  She didn’t want to go home. What she really wanted to do was press “rewind” and start today all over again. She couldn’t afford to pay off that criminal, not even with her increased paycheck. And asking Zac for money? She’d rather earn it busking on Broadbeach Mall.

  She shivered, remembering Mayer’s fingers on her arm, the way his eyes had insultingly appraised her, the dirty tilt to his mouth.

  She rubbed her arms then crossed them. That awful aftershave still lingered in her nostrils, taunting, smothering. It was a reminder that she was trapped, a pawn for someone else to manipulate.

  No.

  Her hands shot out and she grabbed the steering wheel, hard. I will not be a victim. I will not let that thug win. Determination surged up, charging her body with renewed energy.

  He’d given her a week. Could she think of something in that time?

  She had to.

  Her phone beeped suddenly, pulling her from her focus.

  U free later? My place @ 11—2 late?

  It was Zac. The only person who’d been honest about what he wanted from her, who didn’t lie and manipulate. A man who hadn’t given up, who disoriented her with just one kiss, who made her forget the entire world when she was in his bed. Her own personal form of escapism.

  Which was what she needed right now.

  She returned the text, familiar eagerness heating her skin.

  I’ll be there.

  Zac had just walked through to the living room when he heard the key in his front door, then the lock snick open.

  The lights clicked off, plunging him into darkness.

  He whirled. “Emily?”

  The instant the figure moved fr
om the door to the window, a dark silhouette against the full moon glimmering through his open window, he knew it was her.

  Dressed in some sort of long coat?

  “What are you wearing?”

  She said nothing, just flicked on the small reading lamp. The soft light speared out, bathing her in gold from head to toe.

  Zac’s mouth went dry.

  Her hair was piled up in a tousled mass, a few strands brushing her collar, one curling seductively over one eye. She was skillfully made up, her eyes wide and mysterious, her eyebrows shaped into a come-hither arch. And her mouth…

  He swallowed, knowing he was staring but unable to look away. Her luscious Cupid’s-bow mouth was painted a deep red, the full bottom lip in a slight pout that conjured up all sorts of erotic images.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  She took one slow step forward, then another, hips swaying as her heels clicked on the polished floor. He glanced down. Red stilettos with a peek-a-boo toe. Long red and black ribbons that looped around her ankles, then tied in festive bows at the sides. He’d bought her those last week.

  She paused a few feet away and his eyes went to her hands, to the belt she was slowly untying.

  “What are you..?”

  “Stop talking.”

  As she plucked open the large buttons on her coat, her gaze firmly on him, he could feel anticipation building, bubbling up to heat his blood, shred his breath.

  She was stripping. For him.

  Unable to move, much less think, he watched her peel away one lapel, revealing a black satin strap over one bare shoulder.

  He finally tore his gaze up to meet her eyes, and what he saw crushed his lungs. Even after everything they’d done, touched, tasted, she still looked uncertain.

  How could she not know how desirable she was?

  Man, she could bring him to his knees with nothing more than a look from those intelligent eyes. She undid him, turning every bone in his body to mush.