Seduction in a Suit: An Office Romance Collection

by Monica Corwin

  Bound to the Boss

  When Addison Blevins lands a job at kink.club.com, she never expected to be bound by rope to the man she used to be in love with.

  1

  Addison

  I had $37.21 in my bank account, so unless I impressed at my interview today, I was screwed. More than face-planted-on-the-sidewalk screwed like I had been an hour ago. Starving screwed. Homeless screwed. The worst kind of screwed.

  The heel to my navy pumps had twisted free on the way to the bus, and of course it had to happen in front of the bus stop. Of course it did. A kind old woman had helped me to my feet and had helped brush the gravel and dirt from my skirt suit. Luckily I hadn’t torn anything, but my chin throbbed where it’d smashed the sidewalk and my eyes burned with embarrassed tears. I hadn’t had time to run back home, so I’d limped inside a hardware store and grabbed the first bottle of super glue I could find.

  Now, I sat in the reception area of kink.club.com’s Kansas City office with tiny globules of super glue leaking out from my broken heel toward the plush, white carpet. Classy. Hopefully no one else noticed.

  But even without my shoe problem, I obviously didn’t belong here. Kink.club, a dating website and company that dealt in…well, kink, had to be raking in the money. Everything here was made of glass and chrome, including the perfectly coiffed receptionist, who had taken one look at me and rolled her eyes.

  “Addison Blevins,” she said, “Mr. Robinson will see you now.”

  I guessed that meant I would need to stand up. Sucking in a breath, I stood, putting as little weight as I could on my broken pump. Under the receptionist’s sharp judgement, I stepped carefully over the carpet, remembering to lift my feet so my heels wouldn’t catch. About fifteen minutes later—yes, I’m exaggerating—I arrived at Mr. Robinson’s double doors and entered a massive corner office.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, and to the left was what looked like a full bar. To my right near the windows, a large oak desk took up one corner, and a few yards away in the opposite corner, several leather-upholstered chairs sat around a circular coffee table.

  Out of one of those chairs rose a man that stuttered my careful steps. I knew Mr. Robinson, had known him since I was an impressionable teenager. And what an impression he’d made. Still did. Although older now in his late twenties, his brown eyes sparked with intelligence, a slightly darker shade than his short hair. He no longer wore snug T-shirts and jeans, but now had exceptional taste in four-piece suits. My gaze snagged on his full mouth. The man was quite a sight.

  “Cyrus,” I breathed, but then I caught my mistake, my face heating, and corrected with, “Mr. Robinson.” Best to go with formalities for the sake of the interview.

  “Ms. Blevins. Nice to see you again,” he said in a deep, pleasant voice and offered me his hand.

  I shook it—firmly and with eye contact—but the feel of his skin on mine hijacked the tempo of my heartbeat. His hands were callused and rough, totally unexpected for a man in a suit with a corner office.

  Cyrus Robinson worked at kink.club. That was something I couldn’t quite wrap my head around because I’d always figured he’d go into law like his dad. When I’d learned my interview was with Mr. Robinson, it hadn’t even occurred to me that it might be him since it was a common name.

  “Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chair he’d been sitting in, and then did so himself in the chair beside it.

  I sat, clearing my throat nervously and avoiding his steady gaze. It had always disarmed me and slammed my heart faster when he looked at me, as if he’d sensed that I’d thought about him at night when I squirmed between my sheets. I’d crushed hard on him as a teen, even thought I’d been in love with him, and those old feelings ignited once again in his presence.

  “Ms. Blevins, are you all right?” Genuine concern tinged his voice. He popped a tissue from the box in the middle of the coffee table and handed it to me. “Your chin is bleeding.”

  My cheeks flushed as I took the tissue and blotted it to my chin. “Yes, thank you. I had a bit of a run-in on the way here, but I’m fine.”

  His brow furrowed and his mouth tightened, giving him an almost dangerous-looking vibe. “A run-in with a person?”

  “Uh, no. A sidewalk.” As soon as it fell out of my mouth, I inhaled sharply to take it back. Sidewalk adventures weren’t what impressed potential employers, whether they knew me or not. He probably thought I’d grown up to be clumsy or careless or drunk, when on a normal day, I wasn’t any of those things. He might’ve known that if we’d stayed in touch, but I hadn’t seen him since I ran away from home when I was seventeen. Apparently a lot can change in nine years.

  His face relaxed some, and he sat back with his elbow on the armrest. The force of his dark eyes pressed against my skin, blooming warmth from head to toe. “Tell me about yourself.”

  He knew a large portion of it already, or at least I thought he did, but I decided to recap just in case he’d forgotten. Besides, he was being so formal, like he preferred we pretended we didn’t already know each other for the sake of the interview.

  “Well, I grew up in—”

  “No,” he said softly. “I want to know about you, not where you grew up.”

  I nodded and sifted through all of my rehearsed answers for one that fit. “Well, I’m highly analytical. For example, I’m pretty obsessive about crossword puzzles. I can never leave one undone, even if it’s at the doctor’s office. But at the same time, I like to think I’m also highly creative. Definitely not in the artistic sense, but in the idea sense.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Are you saying you have all the answers?”

  “No, but I’m working on it.”

  “What else?” he asked.

  “I enjoy helping people, and I think they can see that I enjoy it. Back in college, I worked at—”

  “Carb Farm,” he finished for me, and it took me aback, even though it shouldn’t have. Of course he’d looked at my resume. And memorized it, too, I supposed.

  “Yes, and there was an elderly gentleman there, a bit on the cantankerous side, but I always got him to smile.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “By giving him extra butter, of course.” I grinned but it quickly slipped off my face at his non-reaction. “I also listened to him talk about his daughter.” I shrugged and smoothed my palms down my skirt.

  His gaze ticked to my lap and back up again, the rest of his handsome face impassive. “What else?”

  This interview was like pulling out all of my teeth, slowly and with a dull-bladed shovel. Why not just ask me real questions with solid answers? Yet I knew this was all part of the process, this jumping through hoops for a chance at a paycheck. I would jump even if the hoops were on fire, and I had a feeling Cyrus knew that and liked watching me squirm.

  “I have an open mind, which seems obvious since I’m here, but I don’t pass judgement on kinks or those who have them,” I said.

  “How well do you read body language?”

  Was that part of the job description? “Uh, pretty well, I think.”

  He studied me for a long moment, absently tapping out a rhythm on the armrest. “What does my body language say to you right now?”

  “Relaxed,” I said with a slight shrug. “You look like you feel confident in your own skin. Maybe a little bored.”

  I was nothing if not honest, and I never knew if that was a good or bad thing.

  “Far from it, Ms. Blevins.” He smiled, which briefly melted away some of the tension on his face and did wonderful, devilish things to his full lips. He stood, a towering stack of muscle, and offered his hand once again.

  Hesitantly, I stood and took it, ignoring the thrill of his rough hand in mine. Was that the whole interview? Had I completely blown it? Wow, that must really say a lot about my interview skills if I couldn’t even get through a five-minute one with only three vague questions asked of me.

  He released me an
d led the way to the door. I followed against a crushing wave of disappointment, mentally rewinding everything I’d done and said to see where I went wrong. Sure, there was always room for improvement, but…oh god, had he seen the super glue leaking out of my heel?

  He turned, his hand on the doorknob. “I wish you a safe and sidewalk-free trip home.”

  I swallowed back tears. “Cy—Mr. Robinson, I-I really need this job.”

  “Good.” He opened the door, his dark gaze never wavering. “Because you start tomorrow.”

  My mouth popped open, but I quickly closed it. I slid closer to him so I could pass through the doorway, and his body heat enveloped me in an odd mix of a soothing balm and a pulse rocket.

  I licked my lips nervously as I glanced up at him on my way out. He tracked the movement, and something in his eyes sparked, a vivid shock I felt curl between my thighs.

  It stole my breath as I said, “I’ll make sure you don’t regret your decision, sir.”

  2

  Cyrus

  I’d already begun regretting my decision while I watched Addison walk away from my office.

  It had been about nine years since I’d last seen her. There had always been something about her that made me sit up and take notice, and it wasn’t just her looks, though they did help. She was pretty, in a nontraditional way, with deep, expressive brown eyes, a bit of a prominent chin even without the bloody scratch drawing attention to it, and a simple haircut I suspected she gave herself. Paired with her cheap navy skirt, jacket, and a broken heel with glue seeping from it, she shouldn’t have affected me the way she always had.

  Maybe it was because I knew so much about her past. And the fact that I blamed myself for some of it.

  A runaway at seventeen, she’d put herself through college and had graduated near the top of her class. She was quoted her junior year in the college newspaper that her dream was to open her own psychology practice, but something must’ve changed to land her here at kink.club. All of this and more had been gleaned from a thorough background check that was required of all employees. I started that process as soon as I saw her resume. I’d already known I was going to hire her, not just because of my guilt, but because of her grade point average and educational background. Pair those things with her obvious desperation for a job, and I knew I’d made the right choice.

  Except seeing her again had stirred those old feelings up. Working with her might turn into more of a punishment for me rather than a way to rid me of my guilt. It had been all I could do to keep my eyes level with hers instead of devouring every inch of her womanly curves. Those curves that were currently swaying into the elevator. Those curves that hadn’t been nearly as pronounced nine years ago as they were now.

  Darla, the receptionist, sent me a withering look, then cut her gaze to the closing elevator. Point taken. If it were up to Darla, I would never look at any other female except her. I’d thought about doing more than looking with her, but she was just…Darla. Addison, or Addie as I used to call her, was so much more.

  With a bored nod toward Darla, I retreated back inside my office and closed the door. The cityscape view spread out in front of me with a bright blue backdrop and sunlight winking off skyscraper windows. I loosened my tie and stepped toward the window, my windpipe narrowing despite my large office and never-ending view.

  Darla buzzed the office, a sound I’d once found pleasant before she’d replaced Mrs. Hanover, the elderly receptionist, who claimed to be everyone’s grandmother.

  “Tate’s here to see you,” Darla said.

  I reluctantly straightened my tie again and then hit the answering buzzer on my desk. “Send him in.”

  A moment later, Tate strolled in, his blond hair slicked back and his Hollywood smile on full display. “Your receptionist is hot, Cyrus. You think she enjoys a little knife play?”

  “If the knives have been dipped in dry ice first, then sure.” I shrugged. “How the hell would I know?”

  “So you’re not tapping it, I see,” he said, taking the seat where Addie had been just minutes ago.

  “Are you here to talk about my sex life or your lack of one?” I couldn’t help my impatience around Tate. It must’ve had something to do with his face. He was regional manager of kink.club and enjoyed reminding everyone of that when he wasn’t breathing down everyone’s necks.

  He chuckled as he sat back and crossed his ankle on his opposite knee. “It’s a good thing I like you, Cyrus. Otherwise, I might have to fire you.”

  Empty threats and he knew it, the fucker.

  “Kink.club’s investors will be here Monday,” he said, watching me closely, because that was a threat I had to take seriously.

  “You’re shitting me.” I knew this day was coming, when I’d have to pull out charts and graphs and tell them exactly what they wanted to hear, but we were so far behind. They’d find out whether I told them or not. They’d point fingers.

  The truth was the whole company was in over its head. We didn’t have the staff, and even if we did, there weren’t enough hours in the day to match all the accepted applicants up with their perfect match. Because there was so much pressure from the investors and the owner of kink.club, I suspected some offices—including this one—weren’t being completely ethical in all the ways they tried to maintain the company’s overall 97 percent match success rate. When and if I saw any wrongdoing in action by my own employees, I would deal with it. Swiftly.

  “I think you know what you have to do before then.” Tate plucked an imaginary piece of lint off the leg of his suit, only a couple pinstripes different than mine. “The KC office is two weeks behind the contract date, and the complaints are starting to pile up.”

  It was actually closer to three weeks behind. Our office, like all of kink.club, had become flooded with people signing up. Of course, we couldn’t choose everyone, but those we did required a ton of time to determine who their match would be. We’d guaranteed an eight-week turnaround time between acceptance and a match, but we were rocketing toward eleven weeks, even though the whole company was working their asses off. I saw to that every day, at least in the Kansas City office.

  “You said yourself once that you run a well-oiled machine here,” Tate continued. “Now it’s time to see how fast your machine can go without breaking down.”

  I leveled him with a glare. “By Monday.”

  “They also want to see our 97 percent success rate go up, not just in this office, but all across the world.” His smug smile made me want to karate chop his throat.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “By Monday.”

  “No.” He bounced his foot dangling over his knee, seeming to enjoy the impossible situation he was putting me in. “But soon.”

  “My field psychologists are already overworked, so I’m to tell them to speed up the lag time while making fewer mistakes than they already do?” I sat back in my chair, shaking my head. “It’s Thursday, Tate. You’re asking the impossible if you want us to be all caught up by Monday.”

  He shrugged. “Hire more people.”

  “I just did.”

  “See?” He stood and slapped me on the shoulder. “A well-oiled machine.”

  3

  Addison

  Little did I know I would be working inside Cyrus’s office with him. Sure, it was larger than my entire apartment, but every move, every sound, every stretch of silence only heightened my awareness of him. After showing me around the building and introducing me to a few people, he’d requested I sit across from him at his desk with his laptop to go over the latest kink.club potential matches based on the applicants’ backgrounds. So it wasn’t as if I could look away from him while he worked on his other laptop, a deep frown pulling at his mouth.

  But soon I grew immersed in the work. People were so fascinating with their kinks, hang-ups, and desires involving relationships. As long as I studied them from behind a computer screen, anyway. In person, it was a different story altogether. Yet in person with Cyrus, it was di
fferent. He didn’t make me uncomfortable, just…attentive to his every move.

  “Ms. Blevins,” he muttered without looking up.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you going to drink your coffee?”

  I glanced at the paper cup sitting on a coaster next to me on the desk. “I guess I forgot about it.” That was only a half-truth since I didn’t want to reek of coffee breath while sitting across from him.

  He lifted his gaze to mine, igniting my awareness of him into a pulse-pounding storm. “You can take a break whenever you need to.”

  “Thank you.” I sat back slightly, trying to catch my breath and wondering if now might be a good time to ask the question I’d meant to yesterday. He’d told me earlier that I should simply ask if I had any questions, after all.

  The corner of his mouth kicked up as he watched me. “You look like you’re about to say something.”

  My face heated. He was being slightly less formal with me today, which I appreciated, but I couldn’t seem to control my body temperature around him. “I meant to ask at my interview why this executive assistant position was available.”

  “Like this company, the position is brand new.”

  “Oh. But I sent in my resume for a field psychologist position. With my degrees, I guess I was surprised I wasn’t considered for that, though I imagine you get thousands of resumes.”

  “We do. And you were considered for a field psychologist position.”

  Well, I guessed that answered that. At least some of it. But if I were honest with myself, this position suited me more since it didn’t involve face-to-face interaction with people, excluding Cyrus and Darla, though I wasn’t convinced Darla counted as people.

  People were unpredictable. I’d learned that firsthand when I volunteered at a mental health clinic and a man attacked me. It had shaken me to the core, roused memories of why I’d run away from Dad, and had almost prevented me from pursuing my doctorate degree. Almost.