by Taryn Quinn
The affable asshole.
I returned to my desk and pushed the button for April’s line. She took three rings to answer. “Hi there. Miss me?”
She sounded breathless and amused. I liked her voice that way too much, despite knowing who had made her smile—and it wasn’t me.
“Don’t let him take you to lunch.”
For a moment, silence reigned on the line. I had a feeling that didn’t happen often with Ryan. “Oh, your charming younger brother?” She chuckled. “Dex, were you going to ask me to lunch? PMS says I shouldn’t go.”
PMS? What the fuck was that all about?
It took me a few seconds to recall my unfortunate initials. No one had ever dared call me that, at least to my face. Leave it to Miss Moon.
Who was grinning up at Dexter while he raked a hand through his dark hair and grinned back. He was probably telling her I had a stick up my ass and I was jealous of him, because of course I was.
The worst of it? He was telling the truth. Everything was easy for him. He didn’t have a care in the world, and sometimes it felt as if my shoulders would crack under the weight of all I carried.
“PMS? Oh, he isn’t going to like that.”
“He doesn’t like much from what I can tell.”
“Mr. Prim and Proper has never had a nickname. Not a public one, anyway. But he gave me a good idea. Do you have lunch plans, Ry?”
He had already shortened her name. Wasn’t that sweet? He was just the best at inter-office relations.
“You know, I don’t. I didn’t even get breakfast since my fritter was in his sack.”
Dex laughed. “Sounds kinky.”
Listening to their banter through the phone was akin to hell. If I leaned to the right just far enough, I could catch a glimpse of Ryan painting her big toe and flashing entirely too much leg at my irritating brother. He was looking at her as if she was a tasty snack, if not the whole meal.
And suddenly, I was more than a little tired of watching Dex eat his way through a sea of women. Especially when it involved my assistant.
Temporary assistant, I reminded myself.
“You do have lunch plans, Miss Moon.” I cleared my throat. “With me.”
She didn’t answer right away. “I think I’m busy.”
“You are not.”
“Says who?”
“Your boss.”
“Only temporarily and I’m already counting down the hours.”
I hung up.
After that, a couple of things occurred almost simultaneously.
I developed a raging headache which required a double dose of Tylenol. My brother texted me to inquire if I was cool with him “pitching to Ry,” to which I did not respond. And possibly blocked his phone number.
Knowing Dex’s love of sports references, that question probably hadn’t been sexual. But I wasn’t taking the chance.
During lunch—which I still could not believe I’d suggested—I was going to make it clear that Ryan understood the strict no fraternization policy.
So strict it just had popped into being a few minutes ago while Ryan was painting on toenail polish that matched her celery green pumps.
Shortly after that, Colleen stepped off the elevator. Since I was watching to see if Dex slunk back to Ryan’s desk to try again, I caught Ryan’s interaction with Colleen. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but Ryan’s bright smile faded as Colleen pointed at my door and shook back her efficient brown braid.
I had no reason to be pleased at Ryan’s smile disappearing. Yet I was positively sunny when Colleen knocked and opened my door, poking her head in. “Have time for me now?”
“I always have time for you. You know that.” If I replied a touch louder than was necessary, so what? I was allowed to express appreciation at a friend doing a favor for me.
Colleen shut the door behind her and propped her hands on her hips. “You neglected to tell me one thing about who was blowing up your email.”
“Blowing up is a bit harsh.”
“It’s a figure of speech, Pres. You need to get out more, you know that?”
“Tell me that after I think you’re having a ménage with Ben and Jerry.”
That she didn’t even blink as she came to my desk said plenty about how long she’d known me. She grabbed my pen and a piece of paper and block-printed a message.
I wasn’t sure why Colleen had resorted to notes, but perhaps she suspected Ryan had her ear pressed to the door.
I wouldn’t put it past her.
With trepidation, I read what she’d written.
She’s a hottie.
I grunted.
“C’mon, you don’t think so?”
“She’s my assistant while April is on vacation.”
“She’s sitting at her desk, but not sure she’s really assisting you. She’s reading Cosmopolitan.”
I waved it off. “Whatever keeps her busy and not bothering me.”
Frowning, she leaned over the desk and touched my forehead as if she was checking for fever. “You okay?”
At that instant, a knock sounded at the door.
It opened before I had a chance of answering in the affirmative. Not that I would have. I was much safer when Ryan stayed on the other side of the threshold.
Now she was glaring daggers at me as Colleen leaned precipitously across my desk and pulled her hand away from my face.
One part of my brain logged Ryan’s reaction as fascinating. The rest of me decided the better part of valor was to dig deeper into my metaphorical hole.
“I’m okay as long as you’re here,” I said to Colleen, who was not moved by my shenanigans. Then I cocked my head and acknowledged Ryan. “Can I help you, Miss Moon?”
“You sure can, boss.” She sailed in and gave Colleen a thin smile before she snatched the bakery bag off my desk. “I know we have lunch soon, but I’m just famished. And you took my fritter.”
I was about to tell her to take the bag and go, but she didn’t want the bag itself. No, she just withdrew one plump pastry, positively dripping with glaze and caramel. And proceeded to bite in, sending a spray of crumbs into the vee of her dress like roadmap leading to a not-so-buried treasure.
She might as well have said checkmate.
Damn, she was beautiful. With her flashing blue eyes, smirk around her mouthful of pastry, and sex dungeon scent, she was dangerous in more ways than I could count.
Probably because watching her eat had sucked all skill at mathematics—and everything else—out of my head.
“Lunch soon.” Colleen blinked innocently. “I should hurry up and fix that pesky issue with your computer then. You know, why you called me down here.”
I grunted again. I wasn’t one to outright lie, especially when I had no clue what the hell I was doing right now.
“I’ll just get back to work.” Ryan’s smile was as close to a non-verbal fuck you as I’d ever seen.
It was obscenely hot.
“April needs to come back from vacation,” I said as soon as Ryan vacated my office. Which was not fast enough to suit the stiff column in my trousers.
I hid it by walking over to my mini bar while Colleen tinkered with my desktop. I had another half glass of bourbon since it was there, and my head was about to explode.
It was up for debate which head of the two would combust first.
“She’s been gone, what, half a day? You’re in deep.”
“This is only my second glass, and a half at that.”
“I wasn’t referring to your alcohol consumption, although that says plenty.” Colleen spun around in the chair to face me. But I didn’t do the same, since I was currently willing the pole in my pants not to embarrass me. “Why can’t you just ask her out?”
“What?” I sputtered and tried to swallow. “Why would I do a thing like that?”
“Other than you swallowing your tongue as soon as she walked in here, you mean? She sent you so many nice emails too. My favorite was ‘your brother is cuter than you.’”
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“She did not say that.”
“Okay, that’s true. She said your brother was sexy. Didn’t mention you at all.”
Since my cock was now fully deflated, I turned back and glimpsed the twinkle in Colleen’s green eyes. “You’re not the least bit funny.”
“Sure I am. You’re just too twisted up to appreciate it right now.” Colleen rose and sauntered to the door. “Computer’s fixed by the way. You’d toggled the notifications back on just for mail somehow. Should be good now. Catch you later. And good luck with your hottie.” At least she lowered her voice for the last part.
As soon as she left, I returned to my client notes. It wasn’t long before a knock sounded at the door once more.
Shockingly, Ryan did not wait for my approval to enter.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
Deliberately, I didn’t look up from my notes. Between phone calls and texts and emails—including ones not from Ryan, imagine that—I’d thus far gotten approximately no work done today. This was the last Monday I should be jetting off for lunch with a woman I’d yet to spend more than three minutes with in the flesh. But fuck, I was hungry. The smell of that fritter coming from the bakery bag was making me lightheaded.
Or it was those damn night-blooming florals wafting from Ryan’s skin. Probably both.
Dammit, she was poking at the bag yet again, toying with the fritter she’d purportedly gotten for me.
“Well, you’re not eating it,” she said when I pinned her with a look.
“I’ve been busy. Unlike you. See anything good in Cosmopolitan?”
She gasped. “Why that traitor. She broke the code of the sisterhood.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. Then I stuck out my hand. “Give me some of that.”
She held the bag against her chest. I almost warned her about grease transfer before shrugging it off. At least I couldn’t see her cleavage that way. “You don’t really want it.”
I arched a brow. “Do you want me to beg?”
Ryan eased a hip on the corner of my desk, the one with the mile-high slit. “Do you ever? Seems improbable.”
“If I were to start, I doubt it would be over an apple fritter.”
“It’s really good.” Almost gleefully, she took a large bite, and apple filling spilled across her lip. I wanted to lean in and lick it off. See what she tasted like mixed with the fruit. Would she be tart or sweet?
All over.
But I already knew. She would taste like a Granny Smith green apple. A quick tang followed by that delicious finish that made you crave even more.
She was still nibbling and shamelessly licking her fingers, openly enjoying the pastry she’d proffered for me and stolen away. Almost daring me to grab it out of her hand.
Instead, I sat back in my chair and crossed my ankles, watching her without restraint. “Going to leave me a crumb?” The question was lazy, as if I wasn’t the slightest bit invested in the outcome.
“Well, you don’t want to spoil your appetite.”
“No danger of that happening.”
She edged her painted nail over a flaky section of crust. “You never answered. Is she your girlfriend?”
“Who?” I was so consumed with watching her fondle that fritter that I truly had no recollection.
“The pretty brunette. Her hair is a shade away from cinnamon.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Are you blind?”
“No. I see you quite well. Give me that.”
Committing the most unwise act in the history of off-limits office gestures, I rose and leaned forward, planting my hands on the desk. And rather than snagging that purloined bit of pastry with my fingers, I grabbed it with my teeth.
Stunned, she stared at me while I chewed, our heads entirely too close for workplace propriety.
She had a crystal lodged in her belly button. Or freaking close, because yes, her summery dress dipped nearly that low.
The stone was clear. Shimmery. An icy chip against her bronze skin.
“Good?” That husky question made me think many thoughts, and not one of them was about the fritter I’d just swallowed with a damn near orgasmic groan.
“It’s buttery,” I managed.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Flaky.”
“Definitely.”
“Just the right amount of caramel coating the apples.”
“Moist apples,” she agreed, delicately licking the corner of her mouth.
“The moistest.” Was that even a word?
Were we still talking about apples? I suspected not. But it had been so long since I’d done this particular dance that my moves were rusty.
What wasn’t rusty was my eager cock, threatening to split a seam in my Hugo Boss trousers if she so much as commented on sticky juice.
“Since you’ve waited so patiently,” she licked her lips, “you can have the last bite.”
I started to argue. Foolishly, since I really wanted that fritter. It was surprisingly good and would have been even better if I’d been able to eat it off her thighs.
Apparently, that was the body part I was fixated on today.
But she shut me up before I even got going by dangling that last piece over my mouth then sliding it between my lips. Slowly. Like nothing had ever been slid into my mouth before.
At least that I could remember, which wasn’t saying much considering I was pretty sure my name was now John Doe.
“What do you think?” She placed her hand close enough to mine on the desktop that our pinkies touched. “Should I pass along your appreciation to Dre?”
I chewed and swallowed. “I’m definitely appreciating.”
I had no clue who Dre was. Did not care.
Ryan’s eyes were the exact shade of aquamarine, surrounded by the densest darkest lashes. Inky black like her hair. Her dress.
My supposed cold, dead heart that was now practically a glowing ember in my frigging chest.
Her eyelids lowered a fraction. “So…lunch. Where are you taking me?”
To bed.
The thought arrived unbidden into my mind. And then the followup.
Why wait for a bed when we have so many convenient walls? And this handy desk…
Without warning, her eyes popped wide. She slid off the corner of the desk so fast that she tripped and would’ve landed on her ass if I hadn’t grabbed her wrist—and nearly suffered a contact burn from the fiery bolt that traveled up my arm.
What the hell?
“Are you okay?” I hoped I didn’t sound as dazed as I felt.
“Fine. Dandy. I just need mouthwash. My dentist freaks if I don’t spit—I mean, gargle after sweets. I had cavities as a kid, so I have to listen to him. Sorry. Bye.” She ran out of the office, practically limping, and slammed the door with the same gusto I had after meeting her in the flesh approximately two hours and twenty-nine minutes ago.
I sagged into my desk chair. I was breathing hard, my pulse chaotic. The honeyed sweetness on my lips tasted so delicious that pressing them together made my dick throb.
My fucking fingers were still tingling. Who was that woman? Had she put some kind of sex hex on me? Was that a thing?
I pulled up Google and was typing in those very words when my email dinged.
Bypassing the other fifty emails from her, I opened the latest.
We can’t go to lunch. I mean it this time. I’m not hungry. Too much fritter.
For probably the first time all day, I smiled. Slowly, like a shark scenting blood. I sent back a reply.
We’re going to lunch. You need some protein to balance all that sugar.
With her usual speed, she responded.
Actually, I’m allergic to protein.
I volleyed back.
To salt too?
I received her quickest answer yet.
Unfortunately, yes. All I eat is apples and whitefish. Sorry.
Whitefish it is. Be ready to go at precisely 12:45. I’ll make reservations.
And I knew just the place that was far enough from town we would never be spotted by curious onlookers.
Not that we were doing anything untoward. Of course not. This was a business lunch.
I brought up a fresh Word document. Said lunch would start with this To Do list for my brand new temporary assistant.
If she wanted to be told what to do, I would abide.
Six
We walked into The Longshoreman seafood restaurant at nearly one-thirty, a full half hour past our reservation.
Silly me, I’d forgotten one of us could never be on time. I just didn’t realize that didn’t only apply to arriving in a timely fashion for gainful employment.
“You’re still glowering,” Ryan hissed somewhere near my shoulder.
She was the perfect height for me, a rarity among the women I’d dated. A fact that was neither here nor there.
“This is just my face. My apologies if you don’t like it.”
“Well, my apologies if you got pissy because I was late due to the heel on one of my favorite shoes snapping on your stupid uneven floor.”
“My floor is not uneven. Perhaps you shouldn’t wear such high heels if you aren’t able to walk in them.”
“I can walk in them just fine. Getting your stupid sweets this morning probably weakened them structurally. When I was almost flattened by the bike messenger, you unfeeling toad.”
Her ire was still as blatant as it had been on the fifteen-minute drive from my office building in Kensington Square to the opposite side of Crescent Cove. The ride had been chock full of tense silence punctuated by frustrated sighs. Mostly hers. Along with the occasional comment about my choice of vehicle.
Apparently, she didn’t like beige as a color option, so I was tempted to buy a beige suit just to annoy her. Even if it violated my personal preferences.
Irritating Miss Moon would be worth it.
“Perhaps you’ll be able to speak in coherent sentences once we get some food into you.” And into me, since my stomach was roaring loudly enough for the other patrons to hear.
“I’m not hungry.”