by Emily Bishop
“Not yet, but likely upscale. Think ball gowns. That may change. I’ll keep you posted if it does.”
My gaze skims the room once more, and I notice Sasha looking down. Not in a shy way.
She’s texting under the table. In the middle of one of my meetings.
Oh hell no.
“Hey, Sasha. Is your mother dying?”
Her head shoots up, and her green eyes are wide as saucers as she drops her phone on the table. “Uh, no, Mr. Knight.”
“Ah, then your house must be on fire, yes?”
“Um, no. The apartment is fine.”
“So happy to hear it. Can you tell us all, then, why you’re texting during a meeting and wasting everyone else’s time? We’d all really love to hear what excuse you have for that.”
Her mouth hangs open like a fish’s, and I feel a grim sense of satisfaction in putting her in her place. There’s much to be said for public shaming. Anyone I’ve done it to has never exhibited that behavior again.
Works like a charm.
“Perhaps you can pass your phone to the head of the table, and I can read what you’ve been writing. I’m sure we’d all love to hear what’s more important than being present in a work meeting with your boss at the head of the table. Don’t you think, everyone?”
Her face blanches at that comment. “I was texting my… my sister. She’s flying in tonight and the plane got delayed, so I was letting her know that I can still get her.”
“And that was a matter of vital importance, was it?”
“It was to my sister,” she mumbles.
“I see. I suppose we don’t need to see that exchange then. Does anyone have any questions about what we’ve come here to discuss? Otherwise, we can end this meeting, so Sasha can get back to more important things.”
A few people clear their throats. Sasha’s mouth is drawn tight, her gaze glued to the table. Her skin color has gone from stark white to puce red, and she nearly matches the color of her hair.
That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention at one of Booker Knight’s meetings. After a few moments of silence, I slap my hands on the table. A few people jump.
“That’s that, then. I’ll get you more details when I have them. Until then, keep up the good work.”
Sasha dashes out of the room as fast as her black heels can take her. The rest of the group exits shortly thereafter, leaving me alone in the conference room. I pull out my cell and see that Angel started to type something.
“Let’s see here. I think maybe I’ll…”
I try and scroll, but there’s nothing else there. I fight back a stab of disappointment as I tuck my phone away. Maybe she was just busy and got interrupted.
I’m looking forward to exactly what she has to say, when she gets a chance to finish that thought.
Chapter Eleven
Sasha
I’m screwed.
I’ll get fired for sure. Because of one stupid slip-up. I’d thought Booker was done. He’d conveyed the information he wanted. Things were wrapping up, weren’t they? I couldn’t resist the urge to think up something to say to Master, and now I’ll likely lose my job for it.
And him.
Tears well up in my eyes at my own failure. This is all my fault. What is the matter with me? Why would I make such a terrible mistake? A tear spills from my eye, and I brush it aside as soon as it hits my cheek.
No crying at work. Not professional.
A pair of women walks in, and they give me the side-eye. Their conversation dies when they see me, and I brush a few strands of hair from my face before flashing them a smile. Probably more like a grimace, but I can’t help that now. I can hear their whispers as the bathroom door closes behind me.
Great. Now I’m the source of office gossip. Just what I want.
Tears threaten again, but I don’t let them flow. I square my shoulders and ignore the stares of my colleagues as I march back to my office and close the door behind me. I move over to my desk and pull up some back files on the app, determined not to let the meeting get to me.
Ring!
I jump at the sound of my office phone. When I see the name on the screen, my blood turns cold.
This is it.
I take a deep breath, then pick up the receiver on the third ring. “This is Sasha.”
“Miss Ellis. Would you be so kind as to come into my office? Immediately?”
“Yes, Mr. Knight.”
He hangs up the phone without another word. My whole body is a ball of nerves, and it takes me a moment to stand. I can do this. I can face failure and meet it head on. I’ll find a way to pick up the pieces and succeed in this field. I know I will.
My legs are lead pipes as I walk to my door and open it. I have to pause. I want one more moment of time when I have a job in New York. I release a breath and step back out into the hallway and over to the office next door.
Booker’s office.
The beginning of the end.
The door is closed, so I knock with the tips of my knuckles. Maybe if he doesn’t hear me knock, I can get off the hook.
Clearly, I’m not much of a realist.
“Come in.” His voice is muffled through the door, but it manages to pierce right through me.
I think I’m going to throw up.
I grip the door handle and steel my resolve. I’m not going to go without a fight. This job means too much to me. I’ve got to be able to redeem myself. I press open the portal and step inside.
Booker glances up from his computer and nods at me. His eyes are pure jade, and I remember in this moment that it was his face I pictured during my, uh, session with Master last night.
Weird.
“Please close the door, Miss Ellis,” he says.
His voice is even and calm. I imagine he’s had to fire many a person in his time. This is just par for the course, right?
I do as he asks and close the door behind me. I stay next to it. If he’s going to let me go, I want to be able to make a quick exit.
“Please sit down,” he says.
There goes that idea.
My knees buckle as I step forward, but I catch myself and slide onto the sofa across from his desk. For such a plush piece of furniture, it sure is terribly uncomfortable. Does he know how uncomfortable this couch is?
My gaze locks on my hands as I build up the courage to look him in the eye. When I finally do, he’s watching me with an interested expression, like he’s trying to gamble with himself about how long it will take for me to faint.
Jerk.
His elbows rest on the desk, his fingers locked beneath his chin. He continues to stare at me in silence, and I stare back. I may be terrified of losing my job, but when it comes down to it, I won’t cower or break down now. Not when it really matters.
“Do you like working here, Miss Ellis?” he asks.
“I love it. It’s one of the most interesting jobs I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” His perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifts, and I find myself resisting the urge to drool. I sit back in my seat and keep my gaze locked with his. He’s issuing a silent challenge. Just how far am I willing to go to prove I belong here?
Let’s find out.
“What is it that is so… fascinating to you about this position?”
Master. I’m not about to tell my boss about the actual relationship I’ve managed to develop using his app, though. I wrack my brain for a better answer.
“I like the concept. I like the technology. The ability to bring people together in a new and dynamic way.”
“This isn’t a job interview, Miss Ellis. You’re already hired. You can give me the real reasons.”
“I am giving you the real reasons. I love being a part of a booming cutting-edge industry. It’s what I’ve wanted my whole life. This right here is my dream.”
“And yet you disrespect your employer at every possible turn. Is that how you treat all of your dreams? With self-sabotage?”
His tone remain
s calm and cool, as though he is just honestly curious as to why I would put my professional life at risk for a text message. He’s not wrong there. What the hell was I thinking?
“Mr. Knight, if I can just explain about the text…”
“Do you consider yourself a team player, Miss Ellis?”
I’m taken aback by that question. I sit back in my seat as Booker leans forward, predatory.
My panties go wet. No, no, no. This is all wrong. Why did I picture his face last night? Now I’m betraying Master by tricking my body into seeing this man as my paramour.
Not good.
“I think so. I like to work with others and collaborate to produce the best product possible.”
His eyes narrow as he takes me in and considers my answer. His gaze combs over me as he sits in silence, the tension in the room thick. I can’t tell if its good tension or bad tension, frankly. It’s as if he’s prepared to bound over the desk and take me in his arms. Or maybe that’s just how he normally looks.
Booker Knight is sex personified.
“I agree with you. In spite of all your shortcomings, and there appear to be many, you have proven yourself a reliable and resourceful worker. Because of this, I’m not going to fire you for your insubordination at the meeting today.”
“I hardly call a quick text to a family member insubordination. What ever happened to work-life balance?” I’m going to cling to that lie as if my life depends on it. Frankly, it might. Without this job, my life falls to shambles.
“It exists, surely. Outside of the boardroom.”
“I understand. Now that I know your rules, I will be certain to follow them to the letter from here on out. No texting during meetings.”
“I should think that’s an obvious rule.”
I glance down into my lap then back up into his emerald eyes. Don’t look at his mouth. Don’t.
“You’re right. It was a foolish and unprofessional thing for me to have done, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, Mr. Knight.”
His eyebrows lift again. I might surprise him at least once a day… at least, on the days that we see one another. Have I seen him every day? It’s impossible to keep track anymore.
“I accept your apology,” he says.
“Good. Because it’s contingent on the agreement that you never belittle me in front of my colleagues like that ever again. Unprofessionalism goes two ways, Mr. Knight.”
His lips press together, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. He leans back in his chair and locks his gaze with mine again. I can hardly breathe.
What would Master think of me? Guilt, guilt, guilt!
“Agreed. Perhaps we both have our flaws to work on.”
I’m stunned. His voice is soft, his demeanor changed, somehow. I can’t explain it, but I know I should take my victory and run with it.
I nod and stand. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss, Mr. Knight?”
“No, Miss Ellis. That will be all for the afternoon. If I need anything, I’ll call you.”
“All right,” I breathe.
I hesitate, but he says nothing as he looks back at his computer. I am effectively dismissed. I turn on my heel and open the door, closing it quietly behind me as my heart races.
I’m not fired! I still have my job!
It takes everything in me not to skip with glee back to my office. Instead, I keep my shoulders back and glance around. Every pair of eyes in the office is glued to me, and I smile and wave to the room at large.
Let them wonder what was said in there. I’m from a small town. I know how valuable a week of gossip can be until the next big event occurs.
I slip into my office and close my door again. I need to feel safe from the penetrating stares out there. I’m grateful that I even get an office and not just a cube. Not many places you can hide in a cube.
My phone dings, and my heart soars. He couldn’t have picked a better time. There’s no one I’d rather speak to than Master right now.
I reach into my bag and pull out my phone.
“You were saying?” he asks.
Oh, right. I was trying to be coy and then got derailed by Booker.
“Sorry. I got sidetracked.”
“I hope it was by something very, very sexy,” he says.
I laugh. Hardly.
“Not exactly. The nutshell version of it is that my boss is a complete and total asshole. He has some kind of inferiority complex and likes to take it out on the people who work for him.”
There’s a pause, then I see Master typing.
“That sounds frustrating. Good leadership can be hard to find.”
“So can good relationships,” I say. I don’t want to talk about work. I want to talk about us. I want to see Master before time is up. I send him a question to reveal more of the picture.
“How are you today?”
Not exactly penetrating, but I want to see him. I need to get a little closer. If I don’t, I could lose my job before I get the chance.
He responds. “Good. Better if you tell me what happened.”
Our images clear a little more. I can tell that he has dark hair now. Dark hair, broad shoulders.
Dreamboat.
I type back to him. “Nothing too terrible. I just really messed up in a meeting this afternoon. I got so distracted over wanting to write to you that I pulled out my phone in the middle of a briefing and my boss raked me across the coals. It’s fine now. We talked it out. Still sucks. I wish you were here.”
To this, I get no response. After a moment, Master leaves the chat entirely.
Was it something I said?
Chapter Twelve
Booker
My phone is face down on my desk. I can’t look at it again.
I can’t not look at it, either.
The image cleared just a little bit more after her question. Enough to show a general idea of what Angel looks like on the other end.
An awful lot like Sasha Ellis.
Then there was her comment. About an asshole boss who humiliated her in a meeting. Sounds like something that just happened to a very similar-looking woman an hour ago.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I can’t help myself. I reach over and grab my phone. I flip it over and take another look at the image of Angel. It’s easy enough to discern that her hair is a vibrant shade of red. Her eyes green. Color is discernable now. The curve of her face, the proud stance of her shoulders.
There’s no way it can’t be her.
The things I’ve confided in this woman… my assistant.
I run a hand over my eyes. This was a huge mistake. I should have ignored Kieran. I shouldn’t have taken the bait. Now I’ve officially had sexted with my assistant, who, for all intents and purposes, hates my guts.
Great fucking job, Booker.
Then again, who’s to say that Angel really is Sasha? Maybe I’m just reading into it. There are plenty of redheads with green eyes in New York. Just because this one happens to resemble a woman at work doesn’t mean that’s who it is.
I don’t want to stop talking to her. I don’t want this to end. I’m addicted to Angel. I love talking to her, confiding in her, guiding her hand as she touches herself.
I love everything about her, even without knowing what she looks like. Clearly, she’s attractive. That is a good thing. In this moment, I can half-convince myself to hold onto doubt that Sasha and Angel are not the same person.
Angel is someone I can actually be with, in the end.
Sasha is… well. I don’t know what Sasha is. A pain in the ass, for one thing. I don’t care how perfect her lips look, how sexy she is when she bites into one while she’s thinking. If Angel really does turn out to be Sasha, all of this will have to end.
Let’s just hope that’s not the case. Thinking about a life without Angel, someone to talk to, to confide in… I don’t want to think about it, so I don’t.
I leave the phone on the desk, and for
the first time since the meeting, I step outside my office. I take a lap around the floor and glance around at what everyone’s working on. As I approach, each person’s back straightens, each screen suddenly looks busier. Maybe I should be doing these scans a little more often.
When I reach the other end of the floor, I see Kieran’s door standing open. I peek in with a knock.
“Anybody home?” I ask.
“Surprisingly, yes,” Kieran replies. “What brings you to this neck of the woods? Have you even seen my office before?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I say. Kieran’s office is a complete disaster, which is surprising since I rarely see him in the building as it is. I step around two beach balls and sit in a straight-backed office chair across from his desk. It’s more comfortable than the sofa in mine.
Not that that’s hard to do, I think with a grin.
Kieran looks at me with expectation in his eyes, and I laugh.
“Can’t a guy go for a walk around the office once in a while? Sometimes, I need fresh air, too.”
“This air isn’t fresh, it’s stifling. I was about to leave to be rid of it. Did you have something you want to go over?”
“I…” I don’t really know why I came here. Am I looking for a friend? Someone to distract me from my potential problem?
“Booker Knight, speechless. What the hell happened to you? Is it that girl from the app?”
“What girl from the app? I never told you I met someone on there.”
“Correct. I caught you blushing over it before you kicked me out of your office, insisting that she didn’t exist. Being a person who can actually read other human beings, I surmised, using my gift of deductive reasoning, that you, sir, are using your own app, and not only that, it’s working!”
“You’re full of shit,” I grumble.
Kieran claps his hands together. The sound echoes out the door. “Booker Knight, brought to his knees by a dating app of his own creation! You can’t make this shit up, Bo! Who’s the lucky lady?”
“No one. I came here to say hello to you, not to get annoyed. You’re worse than a fly stuck in my car. Stop circling around the same made-up issue.”
Kieran sits back and grins at me. I want to punch him in the mouth. Mostly because he’s right, and I fucking hate it when Kieran is right. It rarely, if ever, happens.