by Fiona Murphy
Closing the door, I lean against it, my knees too soft to hold me upright. I look down to see my nipples vividly outlined against the cool soft silk. They are tightened to the point of pain. Oh fuck oh fuck, he saw that. Ivan saw everything, I realize as I stare down in horror at how the robe clings to my still damp body.
I bump my head against the door. Stupid, dumb, idiot. He is so going to fire me. There is no way in hell he’s going to think it was an accident I answered the door in a robe where everything was on display.
A knock reverberates against the wood. “Room service.”
I push away from the door to grab the thick fluffy hotel robe I should have put on after my shower. “Just a minute.”
***
Christina
I’m staring at the email Ivan sent. He wants me to come to his room, to give him my personal take on the best buttons to push on Hungry Harvest. No saying what I thought he wanted me to say, and without any inhibitions of Tim hearing. He had sent it from his personal email account, not the work email. Go to his room, right, okay. Taking a deep breath, I push off out of the chair, and freeze.
How the hell am I going to go to his room, knowing I’ll be all alone in the room with him? I think about Anna’s call. Do I even have the time? What if it works, though? It would be worth every minute if it kept me from being a weirdo around him. How can I not?
I push off the robe I had changed back into and remove the underwear I had put on. Even being naked for longer than the time it takes to get in and out of the shower and dressed again is odd. But I need this to work as quickly as possible. God, I cannot believe I’m doing this.
Lying down on the bed, I’m so inhibited I get under the covers. Then I bring up the story and holy crap, this stuff. Words I’ve never read or said before, pussy, cock, cunt. Things I can’t imagine doing, finding pleasure in, are written so well they are actually intriguing.
Finishing the story, I understand why Anna sent it but...I don’t know. I’m not really interested in doing anything. Even though the book had a very vivid description of the woman doing this, which is helpful as I have never even imagined doing this before. I’m not an idiot—I know where my clitoris is—but I’ve never done more than brushed against it as I cleaned my body, and Brandon sure hadn’t known where it was.
Tentatively, I touch myself, but I’m not exactly turned on. If it had been Ivan in the...oh, ah, okay, now it’s happening. Okay, so if the guy in the story were Ivan. There it is again. Let’s try this one more time.
I begin the other story, this time I replace, hmm...Jake with blond hair and leather jacket with Ivan, thick black hair glittering lightly with silver. What would it feel like if I ran my hands through it? Ah, yes, now my juices are truly flowing. Ivan in his expertly cut silk suit hinting at the delicious body beneath. Then Ivan in the tight white shirt showing more than hiding those gorgeous muscles of his. The sound of Ivan’s voice rumbling along the skin of my neck. Those large hands running down my body, oh god.
A steady river is flooding me now. My folds are swollen, hot to the touch. How would it feel if Ivan was touching me instead, here where I long for him the most? I’m trying to draw it out like they did in the book, but I can’t, it feels too good. I’m too close. I need this so badly. Once, twice, again and again my fingers swirl around my clit. Yes, yes, it feels so good. So fucking good. I shudder and tremble with the force of my climax.
Floating back down, it’s almost annoying the way the warm tingle slips further and further away. Okay, I get it now. Man, do I fucking get it. And all at once anger builds inside me at Brandon, at myself.
How the hell did I let him get away with getting all this pleasure and me getting not a damn thing, not even a cuddle when he was done? Why the hell did I wait so long to do this, exactly? I totally understand why I was all fizzy and dumb around Ivan, and now I’m sure Anna was right. Now that I know what I’m missing and that I don’t need Ivan and can do this all on my own, I’ll be fine around him. I’m sure of it.
Optimistic, I get off the bed and go into the bathroom to clean up. Then I go into the closet. I grab a pair of black pants and plain button-down white shirt. I’d put my hair up so it wouldn’t get wet while I took a shower, then took it down when I got out. After all day of it in a bun, the thought of putting it back up gives me a headache.
Would going to his room without shoes on be weird? I had only brought a single pair of shoes, the plain black flats I usually wore. The idea of putting shoes back on after getting clean settles it, I’m not wearing them. Out of all the dumb things I’ve done today, going barefoot has to be the least embarrassing one.
Another deep breath and I grab the notes I have been making on Hungry Harvest and my room key. I knock on his door. Don’t screw this up. Don’t screw this up.
6
Ivan
What the hell am I doing? Exactly what I would be doing with any other new assistant. What I had done with Rebecca, Tim, Ashley, Ryan and the other personal assistants who had come before Christina. I wanted to gauge her insight, to determine her ability to discern what she learned today.
Never mind she would not remain my assistant for long. There is no need to go through this with her. The better to avoid time alone with her. Only this, giving her the ability to freely give her opinion on how to proceed, how she thought I should handle the purchase, needs to be done for a completely different reason, and the sooner the better.
Based on her work today, there is no limit to how far she can go, how invaluable she could be to my company. I needed to know who she was before I gave her the leeway I am considering for her. First, and most importantly, would her plan be a good one? Second, would she be honest or choose flattery thinking it would advance her?
None of that has to do with the agony I am in. Every time I blink the image of her standing in front of me, her gorgeous ripe curves outlined in vibrant red silk, taunts me. Those heavy breasts swelling in front of me, her nipples tightening against the silk. The way those hazel eyes glowed green, locked to mine. I know without a doubt her eyes will glow just like that when I am deep inside her.
Fuck. Even now I have no idea how I stayed standing. How I kept from reaching for her and taking what she so clearly wanted to give me. It played out clearly in my mind: backing her into the room and burying myself deep inside her body for hours, for days.
Until a noise knocked me out of my fantasy into harsh reality. I remembered who she was, who I was. How I would be condemning myself to a shit ton of aggravation if I started something with an employee that would end with more trouble than it was worth.
It was humiliating, the way I had been unable to force my body under control and had to jerk off like a horny teenager to relieve my swollen cock. What is even more aggravating is how I am hard again for her. It has been years since I had to masturbate. There was no need to take things into my own hands when I had only to make a quick call or text to have a woman in my bed very willing to satisfy my desires. Going without release is a new, unsettling experience. I do not like it, at all.
I am pacing again. Damn it. The knock I have been waiting for for more than twenty minutes finally comes. Taking a seat at the small table I had set up for us to work at earlier, I call for her to come in. I lean back, the better to take the pressure off my thickening cock.
Her beautiful silky hair is flowing down around her. Even though she is wearing clothes that hide her body from me, my memory recalls it all too easily. At least her face is clean from the makeup she wore before. A knot of tension is furrowing her brow. I do not like seeing it there. I long to make it go away, only I cannot bring myself to do so. Better to maintain the distance I need, until I can find someone to replace her and move her beyond easy reach.
“Have a seat.” I motion to the chair across from me as I review the questions I have lingering. “I cannot shake the feeling you are holding something back. What is it?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t be sure, which is why I hav
en’t said it, but I think the decision is with the two sisters. It’s clear the father and brother want to believe what they say goes, since they are the ones doing the heavy lifting. But the two women, they did all the research, they reached out to every one of the artisan sellers. The men might be doing heavy lifting, but it wouldn’t be close to what it is without the women.”
I agree with her. “It was clear the young women are the driving force behind this.”
“Yes, but they don’t feel they can say that out loud. You know, take the credit. If they do, they alienate their dad and brother. They’re too young; they don’t know what they are talking about. But obviously they do.
“While you did a good job of pushing Volkov Holdings as behind the scenes support only, I think they are wary you’ll come in and push them to the back like their brother and dad are already trying to do. Which is why I suggested showing them the other companies we’re invested in and downplaying our sales once we turned a company around.”
As she focuses on her notes it’s back, the way her spine straightens. Her tone is clear, her confidence brings her chin up and clear green eyes meet mine.
Why the fuck do I want her so badly when I have had women far more beautiful than her? “I do not like how unwilling you were to share this with me. You could have cost me this deal.”
She shakes her head slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “You knew it too. I might not have said it, but you were already going there from the very beginning. I watched you with them. You don’t need me to tell you anything. Which is why I didn’t. Maybe you would have given more away in negotiations, but you would get all of it back in returns.”
My instincts were correct. Christina Connolly is good, very good. “You would have said nothing at all?”
Her eyes drop from mine. “If you had pushed too hard on the women when you came back from talking with the dad and the brother, yes. The way you divided and conquered isn’t something I thought you were going to do. I’ve never been involved in anything like this. It worked getting there when the sisters and the mom were in the office of the farmhouse working together. You handled them nearly perfectly.”
I would take it as a compliment if I were not annoyed at the way her eyes widen as she comprehends my actions were not by chance.
“Then you made sure to meet the men in field on their turf; you pushed but made them feel like they were calling the shots. And then ending it with bringing them all together in the house, where they could all kind of air out their grievances and concerns to each other over the pressures they were under, and you laying out how we could resolve those issues.”
I give no quarter. “Regardless, I want your full appraisal of the situation as it is happening. Not after I have put a step wrong when it is of no fucking help at all. Do you understand me?”
She flinches; her head drops as she nods.
“If you do not feel comfortable voicing it directly to me, then you will put it on paper or an email or a fucking text. I do not care. All I care about is knowing that I can depend on my support staff with their damn support. I cannot be all-seeing and all-knowing. I depend on you, Tim, and Connor to see things I do not, to be aware of things I cannot always focus on and bring them to my fucking attention. Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes.” The word is barely audible.
“I did not hear that. Do you understand?”
“Yes, okay, yes. I fucking understand. So are you firing me or what?”
The question and her spark of fire stuns me. No one has ever answered me back the way she has before. Why the hell do I like it? “Why would you think I’m going to fire you?”
“Ah okay, so you’re just always going to be this much of an asshole all the time.”
Her eyes go wide and she slaps a hand over her mouth. It is hard not to laugh, very damn hard.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just—I didn’t get much sleep. I am sorry. I’ll um...go pack and just—”
“Sit down.”
She hesitates but does not move.
“Sit. Down.”
Crossing her arms protectively across her chest, she complies.
“I have never proclaimed to be nice, kind, or any other myriad of soft traits. I am demanding. I am impatient. I am blunt. I want what I want and I want it now. If those things make me an asshole, so be it. I will not apologize for who I am.
“If you have a problem with working for me then you are free to leave at any time. I am not terminating your employment. After reviewing your acquisition proposals and seeing how you work today, you are far too valuable to my company to end your employment.”
When I ran the numbers I could hardly believe it: the proposals she submitted have made me over two hundred and sixty million dollars in the last three years. None of my other acquisition managers come close to her performance. She could name her price and I would pay double. I am not above chaining her to a damn desk rather than losing her. “I have plans for you. The decision, of course, is yours.”
“You have plans for me?” It is clear she is unsure how she feels about my statement.
“Yes.”
Her throat works. Such smooth, soft skin; the desire to mark it with my teeth explodes.
Shaking my head does not help to clear it. “However, if you want to know what they are, you have to stay.”
Fighting back a groan, I cannot take my eyes off the way she is torturing her bottom lip with her teeth. Longing to suck on that bottom lip, to taste her mouth, has me flexing my hands to keep from reaching for her.
Green eyes sparkle up at me. “I would hate to disrupt your plans. And there is still the matter of the mortgage to pay off.”
Is she teasing me? A ghost of a smile plays on her pouting, swollen lips. Fuck, she is teasing me.
“When would you share your plans with me?”
I rip my eyes off her to focus on getting my traitorous body under control. “When I think you are ready. After I have found a replacement for Rebecca, giving you the freedom to focus on those plans. What is the balance remaining on your mortgage?”
She hesitates, then sighs. “Eighty thousand on the principal, but the interest rate is ridiculous. If he had taken less money the rate would have been lower. Abuelo was grasping at straws. There was experimental treatment available for Abuela’s cancer that the insurance didn’t cover.”
There is defiance in her shoulders, daring me to judge her grandfather for what he did.
“When I took over paying on the loan, I increased it to double the regular monthly payment. It’s helped. It would have been at least another nine years.”
“Once you have it paid off, will you put in your two weeks’ notice and disappear on me?”
Her eyes fall from mine. It is all the answer I need. She will be out the door like a shot.
“Or is there an inducement enough for you to stay?”
A blush runs all the way down her neck; her breasts sway with her deep breath and the erotic dreams from last night rush straight back to my cock.
Her chin comes up. “Money is not the be all and end all. I don’t want to spend ten hours a day in the office. I don’t want to take work home. I want to come in and do my job and go home.”
Her fire is back, defying me to argue with her. No woman has ever challenged me before. Is that why I want her? Was it that simple, wanting what I cannot have?
“When I’m home I don’t want to worry about work and reports and deadlines.”
“I hardly demand eighty-hour workweeks from my employees. If they have been doing so, it is on them. All they need to do is submit at least one company for acquisition every week to be presented Monday. You came in early. I am well aware Simon did not.” I am curious where she is getting this picture of what her workweek will become.
Her brow furrows in thought. I do not like how easily the frown appears. It is clear she has had many worries. She shakes her head. “Just one? Simon said three. I had to give him at least one and he put together th
e other two. He said he picked which one to put up after he saw mine on Thursdays. Doing mine then putting his two together is the reason why I was working so hard. That jerk. He made it seem like he was working at home into the night.”
“Simon seems to have spent the majority of his days lying to everyone around him. Would you see the one proposal as too demanding going forward? Does it change your mind at all?”
A tilt of her head as she considers my question. Then a careful, measured nod. “Yes. I never thought I would really enjoy what I do, it was a means to an end. Yet I have grown to like the challenge. The thrill of finding a buy and diving deep into the company, their financials and history and what drives the person...” She trails off, then looks up at me.
“I like it, but I don’t know if I want it to consume me the way it does you. The balance in my bank account is only about how it can make me and Abuelo’s life better; it’s not how I define myself.”
It is an insult. I do not see it as one. I love my life. I love what I do; it consumes my day because I want it to. Filling my day with parties, sport, or any other hobby does not excite me.
At first, I was driven to make money for security. To make enough money to bury the memories deep; memories of hearing my sisters cry from hunger I could not satisfy. I worked to forget my own gnawing hunger I endured almost daily for years. To know that I never again would be forced out of my home, stuck in a freezing cold corner of a one-room bedsit with my sisters and mother.
Then it became something else entirely. The thrill of picking up a company and making millions off it when others ran the other way could not be summed up in mere words. Some saw my purchases as reckless, certain I would fail, yet I have never lost money on a single venture. I will not apologize for the satisfaction I get seeing the value of my company increase, my personal bank balance increase year after year, or for how I live my life.
I allow a soft chuckle. Interesting—she is not inclined to watch what she says, simply speaks her first thoughts. This time there is no apology, daring me to argue with her. As I do not apologize for how I live my life, I expect none from others.