by Alexa Riley
The office is masculine and overlooks the city. Grayson Maxwell sits in his desk chair with his back turned to the door. I can see the top of his messy espresso-colored hair but every other part of him is hidden by his chair.
“Mr. Maxwell,” I say, a nervous wobble to my voice. I’m not sure why I get tongue-tied around this man. After six years, you’d think I’d be immune to how handsome he is and not act like a teenage girl every time. “I brought you some coffee.”
I’m just approaching his desk when he says in a warm tone, “Thank you.”
My surprise catches me off guard, and I struggle with what to say. However, a genuine smile graces my lips, and I feel my cheeks heat. “You’re welcome, sir. I mean out of all the years I’ve worked here, I don’t think you’ve ever thanked me.” I let out a small, nervous laugh.
“You’re an asset,” he says, his voice firm.
This time, it’s my neck that’s on fire. I fidget with my pearls as I set the coffee down on his desk.
“That’s so nice of you to say, sir. While I have your attention,” I start, my voice wobbling slightly. “Mr. Collins—”
“Mr. Collins,” he says with a chuckle. “You have nothing to worry about.”
I begin to speak when he swivels around in his chair, his phone pressed to his ear. Mr. Maxwell exudes power and strength. The solid muscles in his shoulders and upper arms stretch the suit fabric to its limit. He’s hot as hell—all chiseled jaw, scarred eyebrow, icy blue eyes, just-fucked hair, and scruffy five o’clock shadow. His full lips keep moving as he speaks—lips I’ve often fantasized about. An air of arrogance surrounds him. And, my God, does he smell good. He continues talking to who I now realize is Mr. Collins, and not me. I stumble back, horrified. I thought he was actually speaking to me.
But then I remember that Grayson Maxwell doesn’t speak to me. Hell, he doesn’t even look at me. Just waves me away, as if me bringing him his obligatory ten o’clock coffee is a nuisance.
Well, fuck him and fuck his stupid scheduled coffee.
I storm away from his desk and can’t help but slam the door shut. The sound has several other employees jerking their shocked gazes to me. I give them a scathing glare before smoothing out my hair.
I’ve had enough.
Nobody here appreciates a damn thing I do. And I do everything. Hell, Mr. Maxwell wouldn’t be closing on one of his most annoying clients yet if it weren’t for my interfering. All it took was a little reverse psychology to have Mr. Collins begging to sell his resort.
I did that.
Not Grayson Maxwell.
Me.
Seven years ago, I could barely look at myself in the mirror. Much less waltz around a corporate office with my chin held high and confident in what I was doing. During the first year after Vaughn, I struggled to find myself. The job I landed at Maxwell was the beginning of that change. I evolved from the broken woman I was into someone strong and capable. I’ve put in my time. I have experience. This entire office runs like a well-oiled machine because I see to it that it does.
Absolutely nobody recognizes any of this.
I should have been the newest associate. Not weasel-eyed Truman. The kid looks fresh out of college—this is probably his first job. Yet, they’re probably paying him double what I make simply because he has a pair of balls between his muscular thighs.
Fuck balls.
Fuck the Boys’ Club.
Fuck them all.
“Where are you going?” Darlene, a woman old enough to be my mother calls out to me. She’s Jeff Barker’s assistant, who’s the CFO.
“I’m going home,” I hiss over my shoulder. “I’m sick.” The lie feels easy on my tongue. I’ve never taken a sick day. Six years and not once have I called in sick.
“But Mr. Maxwell has the board meeting at three. Who will serve refreshments?” she questions, her voice quivering because, heaven forbid, she have to prance around in that room full of monsters and wait on them hand and foot.
I swallow down the rage threatening to consume me. I could run circles around Truman, and yet he’s the one with the cushy office. With the attention of the board. All I get is to ask them how they like their coffee. I’ve been here six years too long.
“Violet,” Darlene whines, using my full name, probably in a half-assed attempt to soften me. “Please. You know I can’t do what you do. They’ll eat me alive.”
Slowly, I turn around and pin her approaching frame with a fiery glare. “Why do I have to be thrown to the wolves every first Friday of the month?”
Tears well in her eyes at my harsh tone. I’ve always been nice to her. We’ve even gone out to lunch on the rare occasion when both of our bosses have been out. I like Darlene. Her grandkids are cute, and I like watching her eyes light up when she talks about them. My misplaced anger at her simmers to a slow boil. I heave out a heavy breath and place my hands on my hips.
“Fine,” I concede. “But I am taking an early lunch. I’ll be gone for a while too. Make sure you get Mr. Maxwell his one o’clock coffee.”
Her head is nodding emphatically like a bobble head. “Of course. Enjoy your lunch, sweetie.”
I give her a clipped nod before clacking my heels on the marbled floors toward the elevator. I’m going to finally give in and call back Slante Mortgages. Sean Slante has been trying to recruit me for months now. A part of me suspects it’s because he has a thing for long legs and brunettes. But a bigger part of me hopes it’s because my résumé is solid.
His reason for wanting me there doesn’t matter. The pay is better and at least I’d have the ability to move up in the company. It isn’t antiquated. There is no glass ceiling I’d have to beat my fists on.
I’m no longer Violet Simmons, a victim under Vaughn’s thumb.
And soon I’ll no longer be just another pretty face who makes coffee at Maxwell Subsidiaries.
I’ll be a valued employee.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
To be cherished and noticed.
“LETTY,” Ralph Darden, one of the board members, calls out to me. “A refill, please. Not so much sugar this time,” he chides. He licks his lips as he shamelessly gawks at my breasts when I bend forward to grab his mug.
When I jerk my gaze along the twelve faces in the room, each and every one of them is buried in their paperwork. Nobody notices Ralph’s sexual advances. I wonder if they’d notice if I smacked him upside his balding head.
Just once I wish Mr. Maxwell would look up and notice. I’ve had countless fantasies of him rolling up his shirtsleeves and revealing his veiny forearms before landing a punch in Ralph’s face. It’s stupid. Laughable really. Nobody can save me but me. I proved that seven years ago with Vaughn.
“Mad Max won’t rescue you, honey,” Ralph murmurs with a chuckle when he catches me staring blatantly at Mr. Maxwell. As much as the nickname for my boss irritates me, I know he’s right. That’s one of the eccentricities about Grayson Maxwell. He’s hyper-focused to a fault. When he’s working on a deal, he puts every ounce of his attention into it until it is solid and indestructible. It’s what makes him one of Forbes magazine’s most successful men in America.
Ignoring Ralph, I make his coffee and set it down in front of him with a clonk. He gripes when it splashes over, but I start making my way over to Mr. Maxwell to check on his coffee. We’ve been in here for nearly two hours as they’ve been hashing out the Collins resort acquisition. As soon as this meeting is over, I’m going to force Grayson Maxwell to look me in the eyes as I slap my two weeks’ notice on his desk.
A phone call to Sean Slante this morning turned into lunch where I finally accepted his offer. Sean is a fairly good-looking man, and in another life, I’d probably have gone after him. He’s the type of guy who’d make a good husband and father one day. Successful and handsome. Friendly and polite. His interest in me is obvious, but I want this job to be about my skills, not about anything else. I want to prove to myself that I have what it takes. That I am more th
an a nice rack and a pair of smooth legs. Thankfully, Sean seemed to have sensed my strictly professional demeanor because he quickly slipped into business mode. By the end of our lunch, I’d accepted a position as a sales associate at Slante Mortgages. It entailed a lot more pavement pounding than I was used to, but I was looking forward to the new challenge.
“Excuse me,” a man murmurs as he grips my wrist.
I’m jolted to the present as I glare down at none other than New Guy Truman. His weasel eyes rake over my chest, and he winks. Jesus, he’ll fit right the hell in around here. When I start to pull my arm from his grip, he tightens it, forcing me to let out a gasp. I wonder if I’ll have a bruise later.
“Let go of me,” I seethe, under my breath.
Mr. Barker clears his throat and pushes his black-framed glasses down his nose to look over them at us. “Is there a problem?”
Truman releases me and shrugs. “I take Splenda in my coffee, sugar.”
My eyes flit over to Mr. Barker’s. He wears a frown on his face and darts his gaze between Truman and I, but when Mr. Maxwell begins speaking to him, he turns his attention back to our boss.
Boss.
Not for long.
I almost laugh knowing today will be the last board meeting I’ll ever have to serve at. Next month, it will be Darlene, or some newbie, who’ll have to endure the sexist remarks and unwanted advances. It will be someone else who has to feel like they’ve been blasted back to the fifties when women were nothing more than an ornament on a successful man’s arm.
Two weeks and I’m gone.
So long, assholes.
CHAPTER TWO
GRAYSON
“I CAN’T BELIEVE he caved. What do you think was the deciding factor?” Bull questions from across my desk. My best friend of thirty-two years sits with his dress shoes propped up on the edge of the solid mahogany surface, a suspicious glare on his face. For a moment, my focus is drawn to the side of his shoe. A scuff discolors the leather, and I wonder how he got it. It wasn’t there this morning.
Shrugging, I draw my attention back down to the signed contract and away from his insignificant shoe. “I’m not sure. I’ve been wooing his ass for months. The prick liked dangling that carrot. I’d planned on taking him to a Knicks game, but before I could even tell him about the tickets, he called and said he wanted to sell.” I run my fingers through my dark hair and let out a sigh. “Feels too easy. I don’t like it.”
He’s tense as fuck, so I know I’m not out of line here.
“It’s airtight,” I mutter as I thumb through the contract. The wheels inside my head click and whir as all of the data flits through. Nothing stands out. But Collins gave in sooner than I anticipated for a reason.
I want to know that reason.
“Come in,” Bull hollers.
I didn’t even hear anyone knock. He’s my eyes when I’m focused on the sole thing in front of me, whatever that may be. We’ve been this way since we were scrawny little thirteen-year-olds. I was blinded to everything around me by what was right in front of me even then, and he always had my back.
My eyes narrow on the sales price. Fair. Not too high and not too low. Collins and Maxwell Subsidiaries both leave the sale feeling good. Nobody screwed the other. Just business. But that stubborn old fuck has been yanking my chain for months. Milking it for all he could. He knows I wanted that resort. Not because I wanted to plow it down and sell the land. Because I just wanted it. A beautiful New England high-end resort overlooking the glorious Atlantic. I’d stayed there on a business trip and fell in love. I’ve torn apart the owner’s financials, the land records, every single builder who contributed to the construction, the staff, the—
Slap.
I blink away my daze and dart my eyes over to my spotter. His eyes are widened and his feet are no longer on my desk. Something is happening, but I’m so wrapped up in my head I don’t even realize it. This is why I need him. I’m vulnerable without him. Always have been.
“Gray,” he bites out in a firm tone. “Miss Simmons is here to see you.”
I frown at him before dragging my attention to the heavily breathing female standing in front of my desk. Her palm is flat against a piece of paper that she has pinned to the surface of my desk.
My eyes travel up her nicely manicured nails, past her delicate wrist, along her slender arm that’s still visible despite the sheer white blouse she’s wearing. By the time my gaze is on her shoulder, I can’t help but skim across her pert breasts and then up her throat. A strand of old pearls hangs at the base of her neck. These aren’t the type of pearls you find at Tiffany’s or some other high-end shop. And they sure as hell aren’t cheap. These are an heirloom, probably passed down to her. Something my mother would have worn when she was herself. Something that would have belonged to her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. The pearls are unique and—
“I quit.”
Her throat is bright red and her chest still heaves. I skim the rest of the way up, bypassing her feminine features, to meet the fiery, brown-eyed gaze of a woman. Miss Simmons, as Bull says.
“What?” My brows furrow together in confusion. This woman, whom I don’t even know, is pissed at me. As if I’ve personally wronged her. I’m careful about the women I sleep with. I have certain requirements. Certain expectations. Not once has that ever come back to bite me in the ass.
“You have my notice,” she snaps, her brown eyes narrowing at me. “Two weeks.”
Her nostrils flare with anger, and the pieces begin to slot together. She works for me. I think. Why the hell didn’t she just take this nonsense to Clint in HR?
“Gray,” Bull says in a calm tone, forcing me to drag my attention to him. “This is your assistant. Miss Simmons. She’s been bringing you coffee and doing other administrative tasks for you for six years.”
“Unbelievable,” she huffs.
Jerking my gaze back over to her, I take in her face more thoroughly this time. She’s pretty. Really pretty. High cheekbones dusted in a rouge color that may or not be dark because of her apparent rage. Intense brown eyes that hold a story locked tight behind them. A small upturned nose that fits her face perfectly. And the most succulent lips I’ve ever seen on a woman. Full. Slightly parted. Painted a color that reminds me of blood. Her silky brown hair has shimmering strands of gold in it. And every time she moves, they catch the light. She fucking sparkles.
How did I not notice her until now?
Bull leans forward and motions for me to look at him. I do. I always do. He knows how I get. And right now, all obsession over the Collins deal is swept to the side as something pretty and shiny takes its place.
“Focus.” His one word helps clear my mind. I stare him down as he pops a piece of gum in his mouth.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
“Hello,” Miss Simmons says in an exasperated tone, waving her hands to catch my attention. “In case you missed it, I won’t be here any longer to bring you your scheduled coffee. I won’t be here for the next board meeting where those old pricks get to paw all over me and say crude things. I will no longer be here to save you. If it weren’t for me,” she motions to the contract still in my fingers, “you’d still be having to take that disgusting old man out to dinners and for rounds of golf!”
Click.
Bull’s smacking is helping my focus. The pieces all connect. My constant haze lifts as it always does when I locate my target.
Adjust.
Focus.
Her eyes and mine are locked again. She’s furious and I’m…curious. I want to know how her hair smells. I want to know how her voice sounds when I draw pleasure from her. I want to know how the curve of her ass feels with my cock pressed against it.
“Mr. Barker,” she huffs and waves toward me while speaking to Bull. “Is there something wrong with him?”
He chuckles. “Please, Letty. Call me Jeff. And yes, there’s a whole lot wrong with him.” I don’t tear my gaze from her but I can sense him smirking
at me. Unwillingly, I break my stare from her and pick up her résumé.
Letty?
I don’t like the name Letty.
The résumé reads Violet O. Simmons.
Violet?
I like the name Violet.
“Violet,” I mutter and bore my eyes back into hers.
Her withering stare falters a bit as her sexy mouth parts open. I want that mouth. I want to taste it and suck it. I want to fuck it, goddamn it.
“Why don’t you take the weekend to think on it?” Bull interrupts as he stands. His hand takes her elbow, and she stiffens. As if his touch frightens her. Bull would never hurt a woman, but I don’t like the fear rippling from her.
“Release her,” I growl. The words are low and threatening.
Bull sends a shocked look at me but lets her go. The tension in her shoulders relaxes. If I weren’t paying attention to every single detail on her face, I’d have missed the flicker of gratitude in her eyes. I’d have missed the relief.
“There’s nothing to think about,” she tells us both, her chin lifting in a brave way. “I’m leaving in two weeks. You’ll need to hire someone who can do everything I do for this company. In fact, you’ll probably need to hire three people to replace me.”
Bull lets out a grunt, but I find my mouth twisting up.
A smile.
Violet Simmons, my little quitter, made my lips do something they really hate fucking doing. And with it, I feel a strange tightness in my chest. I like the way it feels. The foreign ache that matches the one in my cock coupled with the goofy grin on my face has me feeling more alive than I’ve felt in a really long time.
Oh, dear Violet.
You’re not going anywhere.
I’m still staring at her when she storms off toward the door. Her skirt is tight and hugs her curves in a way that leaves little to the imagination. Irritation flits through me that every other male in this building has probably been drooling over what’s been mine for six years. And my stupid one-track mind is just now seeing her for the first time.