by Linnea May
“I was actually glad for the opportunity,” I tell her, and that’s the truth. When Mr. Stark asked me if I was willing and able to work overtime right around Christmas, I didn’t hesitate to tell him I was. And it was not because I have trouble saying no to that gorgeous man, but because I really need the money. This city is expensive and that whole making-it-on-my-own dream won’t get very far if I can’t pay my rent while paying off my substantial credit card debt at the same time.
Melanie wishes me Happy Holidays and disappears down the hall. While carrying my freshly brewed tea back to my office, I realize that she must have been the very last person to leave the office tonight. I’m all by myself.
“Well, this is a first,” I whisper, my voice breaking through the silence in an odd way. It’s strange to hear my voice without anyone responding to it, even though I’d developed this habit of talking to myself a long time ago. I’ve received some unwanted attention because of it more than once, and I might be known as quite the weirdo among my coworkers.
But I don’t care. I have enough to worry about and can’t be bothered by their gossip for more than a moment.
The snow continues to fall outside, holding my attention as I sip on the tea. Now that everyone has gone home, and the city is about to turn into a scene that looks like it’s straight from a Christmas movie, I do feel it. The loneliness, the pathetic sensation of feeling sorry for myself, because I’m still here working, while pretty much everyone else is enjoying the first of many holiday dinners, complete with children, grandparents, a friendly dog, maybe even a warm and cozy fireplace with stockings hanging from the mantle.
I don’t have any of that. Even if I was home with my family tonight, there would be none of that picture perfect Christmas atmosphere. It would just be my drunken father, my overly concerned mother, my slightly racist grandparents and my insufferable brother with his pregnant wife. And all of them would be throwing reproachful looks in my direction, for leaving Jack, the perfect son-in-law. He was perfect looking, perfectly nice and even more charming, the perfect man to impregnate me and grant me eternal happiness.
Except that he wasn’t any of that. He was an abusive asshole who treated me poorly, because he knew he could. I’d lived with it for long enough and I’d told myself for way too long that I deserved to be treated like a cheap servant. He lacked the most basic respect and it’s a surprise that he never hit me. I should have left him a lot sooner, long before my family could fall for his fake game and fall in love with him the way they did.
I could see the disappointment in my mother’s face when I told her that I would be leaving Jack and moving to the city for a new job. I saw, in her expression, all her hopes and dreams for me fall apart as she stared at me with disbelief. They had all been expecting us to announce our engagement at any moment, but instead I delivered that final blow.
It's been nearly a year, and I have yet to be forgiven by any of them.
I, on the other hand, have never felt happier or as free as I do these days. I moved to New York City on my own, I have a cute little studio apartment that is just mine, I have a social circle and a job that I like and that still has so much potential for more. I’m working as a paralegal for one of the biggest and most respected law firms in town.
I’m working for Landen Stark, for God’s sake. His father built an empire and he’s not only keeping it alive, but making it thrive on his own. He’s stupidly rich, but he still works his ass off.
And he’s so dreamy! Only a few years older than I am, Mr. Stark radiates a confidence and wisdom that is beyond his years, and so damn sexy. He’s very tall and even in his suit it’s easy to tell that he works out regularly. His custom-tailored jacket stretches over his strong biceps when he gestures while he’s talking and his shoulders are so broad that even I feel like tiny gazelle next to him, even though I’m anything but short myself. His strong jaw is somehow always speckled with a three-day stubble and his eyes are of a very unique color, I can never tell whether it’s green or more of a gray tone. He has a very intense way of looking at people, which makes all the female employees think that he must be flirting with them. I’m no exception. When I first met Mr. Stark, I was so confused by his intense way of looking at me while we were speaking that I even found myself avoiding eye contact with him altogether. It felt as if he was unraveling me with his gaze, looking right at the depths of my soul, seeing all the dirty little secrets that I like to hide from the outside world.
As if he would see all the naughty things I fantasize about when I see him. I can’t help it. He makes me wonder. I wonder if he’s as assertive and commanding in the bedroom as he is at work. Watching him during our monthly division meeting is a secret joy of mine. He’s so eloquent, so powerful and influential.
When he looks at me it’s as if he’s thinking about it, too. As if he’s thinking about controlling me as he pleases…
Of course, all of that is nonsense. It’s just how he is. But this is what Melanie meant when she said that it’s hard to say no to him. She’s absolutely right, but Mr. Stark's demanding aura is still not the reason for me to be here tonight.
It’s the tough reality of my independence. I have no one to take care of me anymore, like Jack did. Part of his abusive behavior was to make me completely dependent on him, so I never really had a real job until I finally left him. Earning my own money was the most liberating experience in all of this, but it’s also tough when you're just starting out, especially in combination with the high living cost of Manhattan.
I pull myself back to reality and out of my daydream. There are not that many files left and if I get to work instead of letting my imagination run wild all evening, I might actually get to go home earlier than expected. Who knows, I might even have time to see the Rockefeller tree downtown on my way home.
Chapter Two
Sybil
Two hours have passed since Melanie left the office and I became the only remaining soul on this floor.
That’s why the unexpected noise coming from the hallway scares me this much.
I hear the main glass door to our floor being opened, then steps. Masculine steps that are approaching my office with a firm certainty.
I sit at attention, my heart racing. Who could this be? The cleaning team usually comes in the early morning hours, and I don’t think they would stroll through the hallway like this.
What if it's a thief? My heart almost stops at the thought. If this person is here to rob us, then he certainly won't be happy to see me sitting here. What if he attacks me? I hastily look around to see if there's anything within reach that could serve as a weapon to defend myself. A pen? A ruler? Scissors! Just as I grab them, another thought pops up.
He opened the door with a key. Whoever this is, he does have a key to our division. Maybe it's just one of my coworkers who forgot something?
But why on earth doesn't he say anything? The steps are approaching my door and the intruder must see that this is the only office where the lights are still on. Wouldn't a normal person announce himself and say something?
Maybe I should say something?
"H-h-hello?" I croak. For the first time ever, my voice breaks beneath the silence and I sound as if I'm scared of my own shadow.
The steps pause and I listen for an answer that doesn't come.
The intruder—I'm pretty sure it's a man—has stopped mid-stride, but he doesn't say anything.
I'm so freaking scared. I never understood why women have a tendency to faint when they are startled or scared, but now I do. This is nerve-wracking. Why is he not saying anything? Why did he stop moving?
As if he's heard my thought, the steps continue as he approaches my office.
Fuck!
I hold on to the scissors and turn around to face the door, holding the scissors up next to my face. I'm breaking a sweat and trembling like a leaf. This is ridiculous. Even if he were to attack me, I would probably manage to hurt myself with the scissors before I managed to do any d
amage to him.
The steps are getting closer and closer and a mere moment before the man reaches my office door, he finally speaks up.
"Miss Young?"
I gasp in surprise.
It's him.
Just as I realize that this deep and pervasive voice belongs to none other than my boss Landen Stark, he appears in my doorway, looking as dashingly handsome as always.
His eyes widen when he sees me and he raises his hands in defense.
"Whoa, there!" he says, calm but loud enough for me to flinch.
I realize that I'm still holding the scissors up in the air, ready to attack him. I blush and lower my hand while letting out a huge breath in relief.
"God, you scared me!" I tell him, before covering my mouth with the palm of my hand. I shouldn't be speaking to him like this, it's his building after all.
But Mr. Stark just chuckles, now leaning against the doorframe with his hands buried in his pants pockets. Just as he does every day, he's wearing a dark suit and a tie, but tonight's ensemble appears to be a bit more upscale than his everyday suit. The black suit hugs his masculine frame perfectly and the silver silk tie looks as if it cost more than my monthly rent. It probably did.
"I'm very sorry," he says, casting me one of those gorgeous smirks that make all the women in our office giggle like school girls. "I didn't mean to scare you."
I try everything within my power to hide the effect he has on me and lower my eyes, while my cheeks are burning with heat.
"No, sure, I'm fine." I mumble, turning back to my desk to put the scissors away.
"I'm glad to see you're here," Mr. Stark adds, catching my attention.
I turn back to him and am once again met with those piercing gray eyes. Tonight they truly are gray, and I wonder how I could ever see a hint of green in them.
"You asked me to," I remind him, sounding more reproachful than intended. "I'm almost done with the files and was just about to-"
"It's okay," he interrupts me. He doesn't even have to raise his voice to stop me from speaking.
"I'm actually here to tell you that you can call it a day," he says.
I tilt my head to the side, pursing my lips. He came all the way here to tell me to go home?
"That's why you're here?" I ask. "To tell me to go home?"
He shakes his head.
"No, I'm not telling you to go home," he clarifies. "I'm just telling you to stop working."
What does he mean?
I glance around my tiny office as if I was looking for answers on the walls. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
He watches me without saying a word, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think that he was flirting with me. Obviously, he can't be. He's my boss, he's way out of my league, I'm no one—and I must look terrible. I've spent all day at the office and in addition to speaking to myself I have another weird habit of ruffling through my hair while I'm working. In combination with my used up makeup and the tired eyes, I must look like a scarecrow, while he looks just... perfect.
"I-I-I just have very little to finish this up and-" I stutter, but he shakes his head and causes me to shut up.
"It's Christmas Eve," he reminds me. "It was wrong of me to ask you to stay late tonight to begin with. You should be doing something more enjoyable."
I lower my eyes.
"I told you, I could really need the money," I say. "And I won't be able to see my family before tomorrow anyway. I have nowhere to be tonight."
Oh my God, that sounds so freaking pathetic. What the hell am I thinking, telling him this? Besides, he knows all of it. I rambled on about all of this before, which is why we made the deal of me working late tonight in the first place.
But why is he here now? It's close to 7:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Even for someone like him, this is not the time to be at work.
"Neither do I," he says, answering my unspoken question.
I lift my eyes up to his, furling my eyebrows with disbelief.
“I have nowhere to be either,” he clarifies, reciprocating my gaze with a smile that is hard to read. "Is that so hard to believe?"
I nod. "To be honest, yes, it is."
He chuckles and shakes his head.
"For my family, Christmas has always been more of a business meeting than anything else," he explains. "I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything."
"So, you decided to come back to work?" I ask, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Was that the most enjoyable thing you could think of?"
Mr. Stark looks at me, his gray eyes fixating on mine, holding me in place while he slowly approaches me. I instinctively want to retreat, but for some reason, I don't.
What is happening here? Why is he looking at me like this?
He stops when he's standing right in front of me, so close that I can feel the warmth of his body and smell his familiar eau de cologne.
"No," he says. "I could think of more enjoyable things to do, but if you don't mind, I'd like for you to join me."
I'm dumbfounded when he lifts his hand and starts to caress my left cheek with the tip of his finger. He's barely touching me, but the sheer promise of his touch send electric sparks through my body. It's been too long since a man has looked at me like this, let alone touched me like this.
And it's never been a man like him before.
"Join you?" I breathe. My voice is so faint that even I can barely hear myself speaking.
He nods.
"Yes, Miss Young," he says. "I must admit, I've had my eyes on you for quite some time now."
"Me?" I blurt out.
"Yes, you," he confirms. "I don't know why that surprises you. Have you never looked at yourself?"
I furl my eyebrows. Is he toying with me? Is this some kind of test?
Am I about to lose my job?
He seems to see all of my concerns written across my face without me needing to voice them.
"You can trust me," he says. "I'm just a man under a woman's spell, asking if she'd allow me to change her Christmas Eve for the better."
He leans forward, suggesting a kiss that he doesn't execute. His lips are so close to mine that I can feel his breath on my skin. I'm drawn to him and find myself leaning forward, closing in on his marvelous lips, but not daring to seal the kiss unless he closes the distance between us.
"How?" I ask, my voice hardly more than a breath.
Instead of speaking, he chooses a different approach to answer my question and presses his lips on mine, claiming me with a kiss that has no equal.
Chapter Three
Landen
She tastes just as delicious as I imagined. It's obvious that she's innocent, scared, wants to be careful, but is eager and willing. I've noticed the way she looks at me, the way she started to tremble when I laid my eyes on her, her shy gaze when I walked past her.
Sybil Young is the perfect little lamb. Her big, brown eyes clash with her surprisingly light hair and when she's lost in one of her whispered monologues, her eyelashes flutter in that involuntarily seductive way that drives me insane. I've wanted her from the day she was hired, but I couldn't do anything about it until now. I had to feel her out first, get to know her without making any obvious approaches.
I couldn't blatantly flirt with her during office hours, but I could watch her. Our interactions have been strictly professional until this sinful kiss, but even with all that distance and polite conversation between us, I learned all I needed to know about her.
She's single, and she's not used to being looked at the way I look at her. She's not an attention seeker, not a girl who flaunts her assets as much as she could, but a subtle beauty. The most endearing part about her might be the fact that she's not aware of her effect on men like me.
She melts beneath my touch, and while there was a moment of doubt on my part when I first went for it, I'm now more than certain that she wants this—and that she's perfect for me. I invade her mouth with relentless force, letting her know how much I crave her luscious body
, and she agrees with every breath as soft moans escape her lips between our hungry kiss.
"Mr. Stark," she breathes in protest, but I briefly break our kiss to give her a look that tells her everything she needs to know in this moment.
She looks back at me with that naive expression I live for, that look on a woman's face when she's confronted with her naughtiest desires and the possibility of those fantasies coming true. Her eyes seem to be pleading for permission, but her moral center is wrestling for control.
I will make her fantasies come alive tonight.
"We shouldn't," she adds, biting her lower lip.
"That's exactly what people say before they finally dare to do something they've been wanting to do for a very long time," I say. "Something forbidden, something sinful, something they know they have to do or the need will drive them mad."
I pause and grab her by the back of her neck, pulling her closer.
"I know, because that's how feel about you, Miss Young," I add, and her brown eyes widen. "I know I'll go mad if I don't get to fuck you tonight, if I don't get to do all the things that I've been thinking about while watching you day in and day out."
"Watching me?" she asks, her voice high with disbelief.
I narrow my eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."
The blush that appears on her cheeks is enough of an answer for me. Of course, she noticed. She’s been casting me coy looks in search of confirmation for weeks now, as she was trying to allure me.
“I don’t understand why-”
“You don’t have to understand,” I interrupt her. “Just trust me on this. I have things to show you, things to do to you – and I’m positive you’ll enjoy yourself.”
I lean forward and she flinches when I place a kiss on her exposed neck. Soon, my demeanor will change and gentle teasing will be replaced by rough taking.