Unleashing the Receptionist: ...the Receptionist, Book 3

by Juniper Bell

  “Not at all, I think it’s sweet. I really appreciate it. But what I mean is, Mr. Cowell and Mr. Dirk often assign me other duties to perform, which I welcome gladly. If you would like to do the same, I’d be more than happy to be of assistance. For instance, those files look familiar. Are they by any chance from the Caper deal?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” His baby face clouded. “I’m running into some difficulties.”

  “Maybe I could help. I wasn’t here back then, so maybe some fresh eyes would be useful.” I tilted my head and fluttered my eyelashes. “Maybe I’ll see something the others missed. It would mean so much to me if I could help you and my bosses. I want to prove to them that they can trust me with more responsibilities, you know?”

  I put out my hand, as if he’d already agreed to give me the file. He looked down at the folder, then up at me, then back down again. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Then he gave in and picked it up off the desk.

  “Here you are. Let me know if you figure anything out that might help me.”

  “Of course.”

  I took the manila folder. It had information about Margo Lang in it, that’s why I wanted it. Margo Lang and Simon had worked on that project, and I wanted to know everything about it.

  “Miss Arthur.”

  “You really should call me Dana, you know,” I said absently. Now that I had the file I wanted to squirrel myself away with it.

  “Dana. I’m not here to make trouble for you all, you know.”

  I took a look at his anxiously widened eyes. “I never thought you were.”

  “Well, some people, you know, they don’t like accountants. Not everyone makes tea for us and makes sure our ties are straight.”

  “Standish, let me tell you something. When I look at you I don’t see an accountant.”

  He blinked. “What do you see?”

  I saw someone who really needed to get laid, but probably hardly ever did and most likely had some kind of quirky means of self-pleasure. But I couldn’t tell him that.

  “I see someone who needs his tie straightened.” I winked and leaned over the desk to tweak his tie. “Loosened would be even better, but I’m not going to push it.” I was careful not to touch him while I messed with his tie. I knew he wouldn’t want that. Whatever floated his boat, it wasn’t physical contact from a woman.

  I felt his eyes on me as I left the room. He might not want my touch, but he sure liked to look.

  And that gave me an idea.

  I spent the afternoon secretly poring over the Caper file. It held all the emails, all the deal memos, all the invoices and bills paid. And it told me a lot. The numbers didn’t add up at all. To my inexperienced eye, it sure looked like our firm had cheated Caper. That kind of cheating had a name, I remembered vaguely from the newspapers. Embezzlement. Except the firm had a different name back then. Lang & Associates.

  I learned more stuff. Margo Lang was a horrible boss. She was nasty, she kept changing her mind, then blamed Simon if he went the direction she originally wanted rather than the one she changed her mind to, as if he should have read her mind and known what she would eventually decide to do. Simon stood up to her and she hated that. The undertone in every single email was her frustration that she couldn’t control Simon.

  Then everything changed. Simon suggested bringing in Ethan as a consultant. Margo’s emails to the two of them instantly got all fake-nice. She agreed to everything, acted as if Ethan was a genius and gave Simon a big raise. On the surface, Simon and Ethan bought into her act, but I could tell they were just playing along. Then Margo started making little insinuations in her emails about things like “our late-night discussion” and “fabulous brainstorming session”.

  I knew what that meant. Ethan was taking command of the situation. And then the emails stopped. It looked as if a big chunk of the file had been removed. The last emails involved only Simon and Ethan. There was one reference to the resignation of Margo Lang, but no one seemed broken up about it, especially not the Caper exec. I took note of the dates, scanned the figures once again, and hid the file deep in my desk.

  When Simon left for the day, he stopped at my desk and gave me a long, probing look. It was ridiculously hard for me to hide anything from either of my two bosses; curse their eagle eyes. “What are you up to?” he asked.

  “Nothing!” I decided to go on the offensive. “How long has this firm belonged to you and Ethan?”

  He did a double take. “Trying to change the subject, are you?”

  How could he know me that well? “I’m just curious. You know me.”

  “And you know me. You know I don’t like to talk about anything in the past. Is this about Margo Lang?” He said the name with disgust.

  “Not really. It’s more about you and Ethan and all the secrets you two keep.” I paused, biting my lip. “And how it makes me feel left out.”

  Involuntarily, his hand curved around my cheek. His scar twitched as he smiled crookedly down at me, then spoke in a husky voice. “Do you need us to give you another demonstration of how much you’re not left out?”

  I rubbed my cheek on his hand like a kitten. I often felt like a spoiled, sensual cat around Simon and Ethan. “I just love you both so much. I want to know everything about you.”

  “Listen to me, my darling. Some things you might be better off not knowing. You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.”

  I jerked my head away from his hand. Maybe not the best moment to feel like a cat. The knowledge of the file in my desk burned at my conscience.

  “Anything you want to share with me?” he asked once more, gently. I shook my head. If he wasn’t going to tell me what I wanted to know, I wasn’t going to spill either. I watched him leave, feeling a shadow fall over my perfect happiness with my job. My lovers didn’t trust me enough to tell me the things I wanted to know.

  And now I was hiding something from my sexy, beloved Simon. What was wrong with me?

  Why couldn’t I forget about Margo, listen to his advice and stop wondering about things that probably didn’t matter anymore?

  Except that it did matter. Not just to me. Margo wasn’t only in the past. She was in the present too. She was causing all kinds of trouble. It was her fault that Standish was here doing his audit. She was a pain in the ass and she’d flicked my nipple. No way was I letting it go.

  I wanted to prove myself to Simon and Ethan. If I could help with the IRS crisis, they’d have to trust me, wouldn’t they?

  After everyone had left, I placed the Caper file back on Standish’s pile of papers. I left him a Post-It note that said, “Sorry I’m not any help so far. But I’ll keep looking. Never give up, never surrender!” I figured a Trekkie-ish reference would make him smile.

  Then I did something bad.

  I may have mentioned that Cowell & Dirk is big on video cameras. Both Simon and Ethan enjoy taping things or watching on the closed-circuit video system. They have cameras stashed everywhere. We have all kinds of kinky fun with those cameras. Once I’d made the cute delivery guy go down on me while…but that’s another story.

  Back to the cameras. One of them happened to be aimed at my desk in the lobby. But the remote monitor, which usually sat in Simon’s office, had just been sent back from the repair shop. Instead of returning it to its regular position, I took it into Standish’s little room. I positioned the camera so my desk was in full view and turned it on.

  Then I activated the security camera in the upper corner of the file room. It would feed into a special software program on my computer. I’d be able to see him watching me. If he did.

  I was just…curious. How much did Peter Standish like to watch? I had a feeling that I’d stumbled on his personal fetish. Would he be able to ignore the monitor, or would he surrender to the temptation to watch me?

  I shoved aside my guilty conscience by promising myself I wouldn’t do anything to cause problems for Standish. This was a simple information-gathering mission. Hey,
the guy was gathering information on us, after all. Going through our every little email and financial transaction. Time for a little turning of the tables.

  Chapter Seven

  “Our Dana has something up her sleeve,” said Simon as he spread cheese on a cracker.

  “I’ve noticed the same thing.” Ethan popped an olive in his mouth. We were in my living room. Simon had spent a quick fifteen minutes preparing a delicious feast of appetizers. Out of all of us, he was the best when it came to food. Me, I’m fine with a Happy Meal. But they both have more refined tastes.

  I hid my face with a swig from my beer bottle.

  “A woman with secrets is a dangerous thing,” mused Ethan. “Though we could probably tease it out of her.”

  “We have the power,” agreed Simon. “But do we have the will?”

  “I think not,” said Ethan. He rolled the olive pit around in his mouth while scrutinizing me carefully. “I assume she’ll put us in the picture when she wants to. I assume she has a very good reason for her reticence. After all, if we don’t have trust, what do we have?”

  “Not much.” Simon crunched his cracker. “At least, not much of interest.”

  I swallowed hard. They were double-teaming me, and it wasn’t fair. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” I said. “Ethan’s right. I’ll tell you at the right time.”

  “But you’re being good, right?”

  I hesitated. “What are the rules again?”

  Simon snorted. Ethan laughed. “Oh, Dana, what would we do without you? The rules are, behave yourself. Pretty simple, really.”

  Pretty impossible, if you asked me. “I am behaving.” I was behaving outrageously, shockingly, unacceptably.

  For two days in a row, I’d gone into work wearing clothes that would be easy to play with. And I’d let myself play. I unbuttoned my gray jacket to show a black lace bra with a bit of nipple peeking through. I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs so the slit exposed my thighs, bare above a garter and stockings. I felt like I was in an all-day, nonstop burlesque show. I couldn’t go too far in case Simon and Ethan happened to walk in. But I could go far enough to tease Standish with provocative little glimpses and flashes of intimate flesh. And to get myself so turned on, I felt like humping my desk.

  I imagined a soundtrack, something with a slow, sexy beat. Marvin Gaye singing Sexual Healing followed by Barry White singing just about anything. It helped me move in the right way—sensually, teasingly, as if I was lost in a world of my own pleasure. I’d seen my friend Brandi’s stripteases back when she bothered with a job, and I modeled myself after her. Her laziness always worked really well on the stage. She practically yawned when she dropped pieces of clothing, as if staying dressed was just too much of a burden.

  I was constantly aware of the camera on me. But until I opened the security-camera program on the computer, I had no idea if he was seeing my performance. And somehow I didn’t want to. It felt wrong to spy on him without his knowledge. So I hadn’t yet opened the program.

  Instead I put on my little shows, lived in a constant state of arousal, and kept my eye on Mr. Yellow Button-Down Shirt.

  But I got no clues. He came and went as usual, always with a pleasant word of hello or good-bye. Nothing had changed as far as I could tell.

  Did it really matter anyway? Cowell & Dirk was screwed. And definitely not in the fun way. There was all too little of that happening.

  “There’s something we have to tell you.” Ethan’s rumbling voice penetrated my haze. “Simon and I have talked about it, and we feel you should know.”

  I sat bolt upright on my fluffy-pillowed couch. “Really?”

  “Don’t get excited. It’s nothing fun. It’s the reason Standish is here.”

  “The Caper deal?” As soon as I said it I regretted it. Ethan’s gaze sharpened to ultra-blade razor strength.

  “What do you know about the Caper deal?”

  “Nothing. That’s when Margo left, that’s all. You took over the company right after that.”

  “Do I want to know how she knows this?” Ethan directed the question at Simon, who shrugged.

  “She’s a smart girl, that’s how she knows. Let’s leave it at that.” Simon, looking tense, got up and paced toward the bank of windows that looked out over a park.

  I held my breath while Ethan analyzed the situation. “Fine. Let me fill in the rest of the story. Margo set Simon up. She stole funds from Caper and made it look like Simon did it.”

  “So what happened?” I was dying to know the whole story about the crazy bitch.

  “Ethan to the rescue,” said Simon. “Again.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  I looked from one to the other. Both men were strong and powerful, but Ethan had that extra edge of danger. He was more ruthless.

  “I bought her out, that’s all. I paid Caper what was owed to them. I made Margo sign a confidentiality agreement in return for retaining a twenty percent share of the profits. If she ever repeats her lies about Simon or the Caper deal, she forfeits her twenty percent. It’s very clear and ironclad. We thought that was the end of it.”

  I frowned. “So why is she back? And why did she contact the IRS if she signed a confidentiality agreement.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Simon turned to face us, leaning against the windowsill and crossing his arms over his chest. “Peter Standish isn’t from the IRS.”

  My mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

  “Margo must think we’ve gone soft in the head.” Ethan shook his head in disgust. His elbows were braced on his knees, his body bent forward like a lion ready to spring. His sheer animal magnificence always took my breath away. “He’s such a nervous little bloke, I knew right away something was off. So I immediately called the IRS and they have no auditors named Standish. We think Standish is here on a fishing expedition for her, though he’s clearly working in the dark.”

  “That…” I jumped to my feet and planted my hands on my hips. “That little liar! All this time we’ve been treating him like some kind of king, with his special tea and I’ve been fixing his tie and being nice to him, and…”

  “And that’s exactly what you’re going to keep doing,” said Ethan. “He doesn’t know that we’re on to him. And technically, I don’t believe he ever told us he was from the IRS. It’s possible that he’s just Margo’s tool. The important thing is to let him continue what he’s doing while we watch his every move. I’d even consider setting up the security cameras, but I’m not comfortable with that. Simon?”

  “Not yet.”

  I swallowed. I should tell them what I’d done, right now. “I’ve…actually…”

  “And another thing. Since we don’t know who this man is, I want you to stay very far away from him, Dana. We can’t trust him. And I don’t want you to get hurt or be threatened in any way. If he works for Margo, we can assume he’s a weasel with no ethics.”

  “But he’s not like that.” My protest sounded weak, even to my own ears. How did I know what he was really like? He’d been playing a part all this time. Lying to me from the second he’d stepped through the doors.

  I felt very naïve—not something I’m used to feeling. I grew up fending for myself in the worst neighborhood in Low-Life, which is saying something. But I suppose I wasn’t used to criminals who hid behind paisley ties and tan day-of-the-week chinos.

  I sank back down on the couch and dropped my head into my hands. I knew they were right, but I still couldn’t see harmless, dweeby Peter Standish as some kind of criminal mastermind. I’d always had good instincts about people. That’s how I’d survived Low-Life without getting pregnant, hooked on crack or serial-murdered. If I couldn’t trust my own instincts, what could I trust?

  Ethan put a warm, heavy hand on my back. “Sorry to upset you like this, luv.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me,” I mumbled into my hands.

&
nbsp; “Now do you want to share your secret with us?”

  I thought for a long moment, then shook my head. Peter Standish had lied to me. Now I had a score to settle with him. I had my own little sting operation already set up—I’d done it, not them. They knew nothing about it. So if anyone got into trouble it would be me.

  “All right,” said Ethan softly. “We trust you, Dana.”

  “And we love you,” added Simon. His eyes glowed tender green at me, like newly mowed grass.

  When I looked from him to Ethan, I saw a slight smile play across his lips. He looked softer than normal, more open. He reached out one long finger and lifted my chin. “Everything will be okay, luv. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  He gathered me into his arms and held me close. I nearly burst into tears as I relaxed against his strong chest. A sense of safety spread through me like warm honey. I snuggled against him and clutched at his broad back, the back that took on so many burdens. He lifted me, carried me into the bedroom and undressed me, so tender, as if I were a baby. But he didn’t touch me like a baby. He trailed his big hands across my body, stroking my skin so little starbursts of arousal came to life wherever he touched. I sighed into the darkness. Simon came in and lit some candles. When he undressed, his skin glowed gold in the soft light.

  “Our girl needs some loving, I believe,” Simon murmured. “Too much stress.”

  “Perhaps we’ve been working her too hard. I say we temporarily suspend our ban.” Ethan took one of my feet in his hands and propped it against his pelvis, next to the lump in his trousers. He rubbed each toe, one at a time, until I purred with delight. Simon lay down next to me, head propped on one elbow, and stroked my shivering sides, the slope of my neck as it joined my shoulder, the outer edge of my thigh. For such powerful men, they could be so very gentle when they chose. I lay on my synthetic down comforter printed with yellow duckies—on sale at Target—and drifted into a bliss-stupor.

  My body hummed to their four-handed rhythm. My role was simple. Moan, open, relax. My legs fell apart like the pages of a book as Simon danced his fingers up my inner thighs. My head lolled back on my pillow, my neck unable to do its job anymore as Ethan found more sensitive spots on the bottoms of my feet. If you’ve never had a four-handed, full-body massage administered by two unbelievably hot men, well, you should put it on your before-I-die list.