“Yes, sir?” Brian yells back.
“Another round, please. And keep them coming.”
Two hours later, I’m drunk. Mind you not the sloppy, falling down, dry heaving every few seconds drunk. This is a silly, impulsive drunkenness that makes me ask stupid and random questions. Merrick seems to be sober as a judge despite matching me drink for drink. This is the craziest night of my life by far. We have discussed childhood—he’s seven years older so we filled each other in on the latest crazes during our times—pets—both dog people with allergies to cats—and wild college stories, I drew a blank as my mind had been all about maintaining a perfect average and formulating my revenge fantasy; he went to Yale and peed off the roof onto the track team for a fraternity prank.
We have laughed together like crazy, talked about important things, and not once has it felt like this was Merrick Monroe, boss and my favorite tormentor.
A band has set up in the front of the bar playing some fantastic nineties alt-rock, which we both seem to love and have been singing a bit off-key to. Actually, I have been the one singing off-key while Merrick watches me and chuckles.
“I thought that was pretty good considering my lack of vocal training and the sheer amount of alcohol, causing me to slur slightly!” I say after I sing a shaky but passionate version of Fiona Apple’s “Criminal.”
“I would say yes to the performance, but as far as carrying a tune, eh.” Merrick shrugs his shoulders. He took off his suit coat a few songs back as the sheer amount of people packed into the bar is giving off some massive body heat waves. Strangely, we still have the back of the bar to ourselves. It’s like there’s an invisible queue rope barring off patrons from heading back to us.
I fake indignation and slap my hand at him. He frowns, and I realize I may be getting a little too familiar. Turning my body slightly away, I hear the band start to play a personal favorite of mine, “Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star. My musical taste is extremely eclectic, given my age. But I love this era because they had lyrics that read like poetry
The singer begins to sing the first few lyrics, and when the chorus arrives, I find myself singing again. “Fade into you, strange . . .” My memory falters for a moment.
“Strange you never knew,” Merrick sings softly, and we lock eyes. I feel my body turning back toward him, and like a dream, our knees touch under the table.
I slide my arms across the table toward Merrick. I make it seem like I’m stretching, but truthfully, I’m seeing if he takes my hands into his.
“I think I am a bit tipsy, Mr. Monroe.” I slip back into formality, but the way I say it makes it known this is just for effect. And I seriously hope it has an effect.
“Yes, Miss Adams, I would agree with that assessment. And you know what I think as well?” He doesn’t reach for my hands, but his chair scoots closer to me, and he nudges my knees apart. My legs open, and he inserts his knees between mine so close I can almost feel him at my entrance.
I shake my head slowly as his fingers raise up to trace their way across my lips.
“Maybe more than little aroused as well. You need a snack perhaps to satisfy you. Maybe a pretzel dip.”
Wrinkling my nose, as I hate pretzels, he grins and leans toward my ear.
“It’s a sex position, Miss Adams.” His lips tickle my ear. My eyes grow wide as he explains, and I have never wanted a pretzel more.
“I take it that’s not something you were aware of previously.”
“Yeah, right! My ex thought doggy-style was about as unique as it got!” I stop and cringe. Okay slow down, Ainslee. My head is spinning, and his legs between mine aren’t exactly helping matters.
Merrick grins and downs the rest of his whiskey. His legs push against my thighs, and I gasp like I'm having a fit of the vapors. My whole body goes still, and my eyes grow wide. He’s too much for me. This is not a man I would be able to handle in any sexual shape, form, or fashion. Fuck, this was Merrick Monroe, who up until yesterday had been my sworn enemy for years. Now we were cozying up in a bar, sharing intimate truths, and acting like we were on a steamy first date.
He must have noticed the change in my demeanor because his face becomes a steel mask in seconds. Pushing back in his chair and signaling to Brian he stands and reaches in his discarded suit coat.
“Well it’s late, Miss Adams, and we both have work in the morning. Thank you for a very illuminating evening. It’s one I won’t forget for some time to come, I’m sure. Take care getting home. I suggest a cab given how much you’ve had to drink.”
And just like that, the Merrick Monroe I know is back, and he’s apparently had enough of my company. I watch him walk to the bar and pay the tab. He never bothers to turn around to see if I follow and leaves the bar within a matter of minutes.
Standing on incredibly shaky legs, I hold onto the table to steady myself. Weaving my way through the sea of people, I almost start to fall but feel a hand grabbing my arm.
“Ainslee? Are you alright? Do you need help?” The evening’s bizarre events continue as Grayson Gamble is holding me up.
“I’m just peachy. Excuse me, I need to hail a cab.”
“Wait, I’ll go with you. You look like you could pass out at any moment. Here, let me escort you outside.”
An intimate evening with Merrick and now Grayson Gamble helping me to hail a cab? Lord, please take me now, because I have seen everything.
We step outside, and Grayson quickly manages to hail me a cab. Helping me inside, he gives the driver my address, which I don’t find odd since everyone in Manhattan knows I’m at the Manning’s, and everyone in town knows the their home.
“Ainslee, you never did call me about lunch. I would like to meet with you. I think there are some things you should know.”
“I know enough to know I’m drunk. Manhattan has apparently gone fucking nuts, and the only thing I will be eating for lunch is Alka Seltzer. Nighty-night, Grayson.” I slam the cab door, and three blocks later, puke all over myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE NEXT TWO days pass without incident. The men all seem to be out of the office on business trips, and personally, I couldn’t be more relieved. My night out with Merrick is still playing through my mind. The only conclusion I can draw from our time together is we both were inebriated, and shit happens. No logical explanation can truly be given despite the hours I have spent obsessing over the need to find one.
Wednesday finds me taking in the enormous Barney’s order and signing for about fifty parcels. I have no idea where to stash them, so I clear out some space around and behind my desk. No use in trying Jamison’s door as it will be locked. I briefly consider asking security, but decide after my last escapade in getting them to open up PJ’s door, I might be best to just to leave it alone.
Savannah has yet to call me, and I have decided that perhaps she needs time too. I’m sure she thought my rebuffing of Mr. Barrett’s services was a slight against her, but nothing could be further from the truth. I consider texting or emailing, but I feel it’s too informal for what I have to say.
Thinking of email reminds me I need to let the men know I will be here only for a half-day Friday. My boxes are packed and Manuela surprised me by sneaking me a box of assorted kitchen goods. I thanked her profusely and she just sort of nodded at me. My IKEA card’s limit had increased dramatically since I graduated, and I was able to pick up the additional furnishings I needed. Chelsea and Colleen—I decided it was high time to let go of the pretense of Aunt—haven’t spoken to me since Monday’s confrontation. This didn’t stop Chelsea from showing up looking like a burn victim, gauze wrapped around both arms. She wasted no time in distorting what happened and saying I threw the coffee on her. One of the interns had asked me if it was true she was suing me for the cost of reconstructive surgery. I shook my head and walked away, refusing to get sucked back into the drama that was the Mannings.
I decided I had time before lunch to email the men and explain I would be leaving Fr
iday at noon to move into my new apartment. I offered to make up the hours the following week and told them to please let me know if it was an issue. My inbox pinged immediately with Out of Office responses from Evan, Jamison, and PJ. I was about log off to go grab something from Panera when I heard one more ping. It was from Merrick. It read simply, come to my office without delay. Shit. He had been out of the office for the last two days, and I hadn’t seen him come in the morning.
With a heavy sigh, I made my way over. Hopefully it was just him needing a quick errand run or a document typed. Knocking on his heavy wood doors, I was surprised when he opened it himself. His face was a thundercloud. He seriously looked positively murderous.
“Come in here, Miss Adams. We need to talk.”
He stalked back to this ornate desk and chair that resembled a throne more than a chair. “I had an interesting conversation with Grayson Gamble this morning. He was telling me he escorted you into a taxicab Monday evening.”
I think, You ditched me to wobble my way outside to find a way home, knowing I was seconds from a blackout.
“At a loss for words, are we? Let me speak slower. Did. Grayson. Escort. You. To. A. Taxi?” He enunciates each word, and again he’s treating me like a moron.
“Yes. He. Did.” Two can play that game, Merrick.
“Did he fuck you?”
“Excuse me?”
He steeples his fingers under his chin, and his black eyes almost physically hurt my face he’s being so intense in his gaze.
“Did Grayson Gamble take you home and fuck you?”
“What the hell business is that of yours?”
“It’s my business when my assistant, who has knowledge of dealings and goings-on in my company, decides to associate with my biggest rival. So, spill it, did you guys have a little pillow talk session after you fucked?”
“Grayson hailed me a cab as I was too drunk to barely even walk because someone had been feeding me drinks for hours! As to my sex life, it is none of your business. I can assure you if I did decide to go home with someone that night, it would not have been Grayson. And can I ask you a question now? Why does it sound more like a jealous boyfriend asking me and not my boss?”
Merrick slams both hands down on the desk so hard the room reverberates from the sound. He looks tortured and angry. But he also looks so carnal I am afraid he’s going to jump over the desk and start stripping the flesh off my bones.
“You’re dismissed. Get out of here.”
I hold my ground. This is the moment. That defining moment where you either make a move or just slip into a million lifetimes of what if. I will be damned if Merrick Monroe is a what-if. He may have been my nemesis all these years, but I need this. I need this to know I’m still a red-blooded woman who has a heart. I need this to know I am the boss. I am the boss of my own destiny. And my destiny says I will not leave this room until he kisses me with the need of a thousand men. He will kill me with this kiss. But I have to have this from him. My fear from the other night falls away, and I’m left without any emotion but desire. I need this like oxygen as I gasp. Okay, panic attack, go away. I’m kissing Merrick. The fourth and final order of business for the new me.
“No.” I put my hands on my hips and stare him down with a gaze that matches his own. I want to hurt him with this gaze so much that he loses all control.
He looks at me like he wants to throttle me. His coat is heaving, literally heaving. Wow. Does he really want this? Or is he just supremely pissed? Why can I not get a read on this man? He’s like a fortress. He was so open the other night, but now we’re back to an impasse.
“I said dismissed! Get the fuck out of here!”
“No!”
We stand in a battle of emotions, and for once, we stand as equals. His eyes wild. My hands on my hips. This is it. The epic battle. Who gives in first? I refuse. I will perish in a pillar of salt before I turn around and leave this spot. This man’s glance, I’m truly hypnotized. This man’s scent, I can breathe every fiber of everything he is. I won’t, no I can’t, walk away.
He turns in his chair, effectively breaking the standoff. Damn. I was so sure he was going to relent. How is he able to do that? This man has the self-control of a monk. But I need him on me. I just want a taste. Give me a tiny taste, a little lick. He’s Baskin Robbins Peanut Butter and Chocolate. I want to know how sweet he can be under all that sourness. Licking my lips, I come around the desk and yank his chair around until he’s facing me.
“I know the rules,” I say over my shoulder. “But I think they’re bullshit. You’re my boss; I’m your assistant. But for just one single solitary moment, can you go back to the other night and be like that now? You want to kiss me, Merrick. Oh, yes you do, you’re in a personal hell of your own right now because you want me too much to continue to ignore me. I want you to kiss me. Hell, I want way more than that. But you won’t do anything to break your facade. I know you have feelings. You have a heart. A dick. A soul. So, stop pretending like I’m too moronic not to realize what you would have given me the other night if I hadn’t shied away. I’m not shy now. But maybe you can’t be bothered to see me as anything other than your lowly assistant when we’re here in your ivory tower. So, tell me, Merrick, am I such trash to you, here on the thirty-eighth floor, that you can’t bring yourself to touch your lips to mine?”
He huffs and spins back around. “How could you possibly want more? From the men and our locker room talk, you’ve become quite the office stapler, passed around without a permanent destination? Are you gagging for it that badly?”
I don’t need this shit. I’m tired of trying to make him see me as more. The others have been all over me at one point or another. But it’s like I’m an immunity to him. But it’s not like that for me. I stop kidding myself and realize a very scary truth. He’s the one I want the most. Probably because I know he doesn’t want me enough to give in. When did I become the guy? Chasing the unattainable? I’ve lost enough pride to know when to call it. He’s not going to relent, only reject. Fine, I tell myself, straightening my shoulders, I start to walk away. But I can’t. It’s Merrick. The one I keep wishing for. The one who cycles through my dirty thoughts like a washing machine. He must want me. I stare at his back. His muscles are strained. I cannot ignore this.
“Well, maybe I kiss you. You pretend you’re defenseless. I startle you. You walk through the door, and I’m just immediately on you.”
He turns. His breathing is shallow. When he begins to speak, he gazes at the ceiling. “Ainslee, please don’t.”
The fact that he says my name has me panting. The two syllables gliding off his tongue is intoxicating. This is the moment. I need this more than I need anything. I think of the stakes. I could bet or lose. But I’m going to bet no matter what happens, I know. This has become my new purpose; I’m the one in true power. This is a no brainer. I want him; I can’t be my true self without his lips and body on mine.
I walk slowly toward him, and for once, he looks scared. He’s the one cowering to me. He isn’t immune to anything. He’s just flat out terrified to see how far this will go. And I am praying it goes all the way. Pushing himself up and falling slightly backward, he puts up a hand as if to ward me off.
“Please, no more, go. You don’t want this. Go and find Jamison or PJ or Evan. They can ease your needs. But not me, I’m the worst one to seek out. Go. I don’t want this. I don’t want you, not like this.”
I only walk forward with a confident stride. I have cornered Merrick. I am taking him down, maybe not the way I thought, but this is a victory.
“Ainslee. It’s over. Go away. Game, set, match. You won okay? It’s over. It. Is. Over.”
I suddenly feel like Ryan Gosling in The Notebook. I take off in a short sprint, exceptionally short as I’m feet away. Part of me expects him to drop me, but he doesn’t. He grabs me around the waist and holds tight.
“It’s not over. It’s still not over.” I plant my lips against his. His hesitation decima
tes almost immediately. He begins to kiss me so deeply I draw back to get a breath, but he draws me in closer. This is the pinnacle of passion. We’re clashing teeth and literally sucking every moment out of this kiss. He’s holding me so tight I try to mold my body further into his to find there is literally no more room to be had. I am sliding firmly down his body, and he’s dragging me up and down on his delicious lips and erection.
He breaks off. Cupping my head, he leans me back on the wall with the most feral expression I have ever seen from a man and not an animal.
“Aren’t you glad we did this?” I ask jokingly biting his lower lip.
He responds by carrying me to his desk. “If you think I’m stopping now, you’re deluded. Honey, this is just a warm-up. Get ready for a full day dictating my notes.” He grabs my skirt rips it into two pieces.
“Make a note that I owe you a skirt.”
I smile, but I’m scared. I broke the beast so now what? He takes my skirt and wraps it around my eyes. Good, I’m blinded. I can barely handle the emotions. My mind racing, my heart racing. This is real.
I hear a whoosh. Was that a belt? What is he going to do? I’m equally intrigued and terrified. He takes my wrists and binds them behind my back. Oh my.
“Well, Miss Adams. You want me? Well, I'm not the knight in shining armor. I want control. I’m not Christian Grey so save your erotic cliché fantasies. Or maybe your deepest fears? I just want it how I want it, when I want it. Right now, I want you submitting. But make no mistake next time, I may want you dominating, though it would take a lot for me to be able lose control. I go where my lust takes me.”
He tightens the belt and brings me forward to him. He licks my collarbone and between my breasts. I shake, and he laughs.
“Relax. I still need you to dictate my notes. Didn’t you make some mention of a photographic mind on your resume? Well remember this. You started this. And now I’m yours. So, lay back and enjoy. I’m about to explore what’s between those thighs you squeeze so tightly when I’m around.”
Boss Page 17