Maliciously Obedient (BBW Erotic Romance)

by Kent, Julia

  “What do you want Jonah? I don’t have a lot of time and you really shouldn’t be coming in here.”

  Jonah looked at his watch. “It’s 7:30, none of the other doo-bies are going to be in and they don’t know who I am. I’ll just leave out the staircase and avoid the..” he paused for drama, or so it seemed to Mike. “...elevators.” A hard, wry look that made Mike stand on alert.

  “You shouldn’t have to worry. The elevators don’t have cameras. Isn’t that right, Jonah?” Hard look back.

  “Nope. No, no cameras in the elevators, Mike. That’s part of the agreement, right?” There was a subtext here that made Mike very, very uncomfortable. He didn’t like being uncomfortable. It was a state he’d been in too much, too often lately and so he cut Jonah off at the knees.

  “Get to the point or get out.”

  All pretense of friendliness smeared off of Jonah’s face within seconds. “You need to follow the script more. You need to become a hardass with Lydia and crack the Don Draper look. That is the only thing that is going to get ratings up. Right now you look like mister new-agey funky shit and that, let me tell you – I’ve been doing enough of these shows to know – that doesn’t sell. Not among the core female audience.”

  “And who is that?”

  “Women 26 to 44.”

  Lydia’s target. Hmm. “What do you want, specifically? Give me detailed behaviors that you’re looking for that you think will ping the audience, that you think will drive ratings up through the roof ,because that’s what I want. You said that production on this thing will be wrapped up in a total of six weeks and that the first episodes would be two weeks later. I am a man with very little time, so make this worth my while. We’re in week two now. Where is this going?”

  The evil grin that spread across Jonah’s face soothed Mike on some level because it meant that they were getting back to business. This wasn’t about Lydia. This wasn’t about Matt Jones. This wasn’t about finding true love, or even, true sex. This was about money and they both wanted to make it, Jonah even more so than Mike.

  He tabled that thought, for it troubled him. Jonah sat down, flipped through the script and pointed to a few key sections. Mike handed him a pen. “Just star the points that you want me to focus on.”

  Furiously scribbling, Jonah did as instructed and then stood. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

  “Oh, I was always on the same page,” Mike insisted. “You’re the one who was confused.”

  A dark look passed over Jonah’s face, his brow furrowed. “I’m in this to have a show skyrocket to the top, to be carried by some of the shows that have become iconic crap, like American Idol, or The Voice, or The Bachelor.”

  “If that crap,” Mike said, “can get me the boost in sales that you stressed, then bring on the crap.”

  “Oh, you’ll get that boost. Ten percent is nothing to – ”

  “Ten! Ten percent?” he interrupted Jonah. “You told me twenty.”

  The weasley look on Jonah’s face made Mike groan inside. “Twenty – of course! That’s what I said. Twenty.”

  “Jonah, you showed me demographic proof. You showed me statements from previous participants.”

  “Of course I did. Whatever. It’s...you know.. ten, twenty – let’s not quibble over details.”

  “Get out.”

  Jonah looked as if he’d been slapped. “What?”

  “Get out. Get out of my office. One day. You have one fucking day to prove to me that I need to waste the next four and a half weeks on this crap. One day. Show me today that it’s worth it. Go do a promo spot, go. – I don’t care what you do. Do something that’s going to get Bournham Industries out into the chattering masses. Make us hot on Twitter, make us hot on Facebook, get us on all of the gossip sites. I don’t care what you do. Just do it because right now I don’t have any reason to stay in this at all. Give me a reason.”

  “Why should I give you a reason?” Jonah’s voice went up an octave. “You need us as much as I need you.”

  “Because fuck you. Because. Fuck. You,” Mike repeated. “If you fudged those numbers and this is all a sham and you’ve been trying to pull one over on me, I will have your career so far in the shitter that you will be lucky if you can get a job changing VCR tapes at some ancient storage facility in the middle of buttfuck Indiana. And that’ll be the closest to a video camera that you ever get.”

  Jonah cut his eyes away. Mike could still see the gears turning, the manipulative sociopath in the man trying to turn this around to his advantage. “Get out,” he repeated.

  He was about three seconds away from standing up and shoving the guy out when Jonah did it on his own, quietly, without another word. He slammed the door shut and Mike gave him that. He needed to feel like he had a shred of a testicle left.

  Mike’s heart pounded in his chest, not out of fear, but out of anger, and he took a few deep breaths to calm down. He grabbed the phone and texted Joanie:

  Joanie, verify data on Meet the Hidden Boss profits for companies involved.

  He knew she had done this in the beginning; he’d requested that information a long time ago. He never would have gotten involved in this mess without quantifiable evidence. And yet, now, here he stood, tongue rolling between his cheek and teeth as his body worked to release all that tension. Decent guy, huh? His decency kept getting in the way of his life’s goals. Being a hardass with Jonah hadn’t been difficult – in fact, it hadn’t even been a blip. The real test would come when Lydia walked in that door.

  “Bring me a cup of coffee,” Matt ordered, not even bothering to gesture, as if he were so accustomed to ordering women around that he accepted it as second nature that she would be his little errand girl. Whatever happened to Mr. Decency? This guy blew hot and cold like a diva.

  “Please,” he added, shooting her a glance that was as close to sheepish as he seemed capable, but that looked more like a man closing the deal than anything else. A perfunctory social nicety intended to secure his getting what he wanted.

  Get your own damn coffee, she thought, and then she stopped and grinned, a tight flicker of a smile as she realized how she would interpret this to her own satisfaction. Week two and I'm coffee girl already? FML.

  “I will be right back,” she said, as formally as she could stomach. Where was the guy so incensed that Dave made her get his precious lattes for him? Oh. That's right. Probably with her panties. Giving up so much of herself was turning out to be one of the biggest mistakes of her fucking life. Worse than dating Dave, even – because she actually cared about Matt. And that's why this hurt so much.

  Clearly, he'd come to the same realization – they were competitors now. Career over clit, right? For him it would be career over cock. Ah, how she wanted to have her clit over his cock. No! Wait! That's not what she was supposed to be thinking. Down, girl.

  Going down, girl.

  Augh!

  Coffee? You want coffee? I'll give you exactly what you asked for.

  At the coffee counter in the tiny office kitchen she bent down, careful not to split her too-tight pantyhose as she bent down to the bottom of three shelves, dug and a bit and...ah. Yes. There it was. She stood, smoothed her skirt, and proceeded to open the jar, pouring half a coffee cup's worth of instant coffee into a paper cup.

  He asked for a cup of coffee. And that is exactly what she would deliver.

  The walk back to his office felt so light, like a giddy moment of fluff and air and freedom. What could he do? Fire her for delivering exactly what he asked for, with no creativity, no initiative, no extra ideas or inferences?

  Here's your fucking cup of coffee, you smug asshole, she thought as she put the cup down in front of him and turned around to walk back out the door.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, and she heard the cup scrape against the desk, the muffled sound of his lips closing over the cup, and then –

  Gagging and sputtering. His shout of “What the hell?” came through the door, more a roar of ind
ignation than a phrase of surprise. She smirked, glad to be turned away from him, and started to close the door.

  “Lydia!” he thundered. She halted. Too slow. Might as well accept her punishment. Heh. Spinning on one heel, she faced him with a neutral expression.

  “Yes, Matt?” he seemed piqued my her calling him by his name. She refused – adamantly refused – ever to call him Mr. Jones. Not that he had asked, but his unease whenever she called him Matt seemed to compound by the day. Something was not quite right, but she couldn't put a name to it.

  Smirk. “I see. Coffee. I asked for a cup. Cute. A little beneath you, but cute.”

  Beneath her? “Is that all? I have work to do.” She wasn't going to play this game by any rules but her own.

  “No – that's not all.” Typing furiously, he hit the “Enter” key on his keyboard and looked up. Why, oh why, did he have to be so attractive? Intense and bold, his shoulders spread nice and wide as he stretched, the button-down oxford looking slightly out of place. He should be in runner's clothes, in soccer shorts, wearing something lightweight and form-fitting. Underneath his business casual attire she knew he had hot, sculpted abs, a washboard she wanted so desperately to scrub herself on.

  He was staring at her as if he'd said something and was waiting for a response. “Lydia?”

  “Yes?” Shit. Had he said something? Those green eyes peered at her, evaluating her, sizing her up.

  “My trip? You'll book the travel arrangements.” A command. Reaching to the left, he plucked a piece of paper out of the printer. “Here.”

  The words danced on the page, her heart thumping so hard it bounced her eyeballs. The guy was a middle management nobody, but he acted with the precision of a four-star general. In his mind, evidently, she would do exactly as he asked.

  Right?

  “Detroit?”

  “Yes, one of our suppli – ” For the first time, he faltered. “Uh, there's a...” Slowing his speech, as if crafting the thought in real time, millisecond by millisecond, Matt seemed to spin in thin air, right before her eyes. He was clearly disturbed by his own behavior, a mix of ten different emotions – all of them some version of of cunning, frustration, or piquance – crossing his face.

  “There's a company that is really strong with data mining,” he declared, the words coming faster, his voice deepening with confidence. “I need to meet with their owner to talk about some list buys.”

  Blinking hard, she struggled to cover up her skepticism. “Don't we normally buy lists online, or just use calls and web conferencing for – ”

  Rolling his tongue between his cheek and teeth, Matt barely concealed his annoyance at her question and interrupted her mid-sentence. “Just make the travel arrangements and remember we're trying to economize.”

  Cold air slapped her lungs as she gasped from the sting of his manner. What a jackass. Narrowing her eyes, she forced herself to take two slow, deep breaths. He stared back, the look between them deepening uncomfortably, electricity crackling as it spread and strengthened.

  “I'll go make the reservations right away, Matt.” Add a patronizing pat on the head, why doncha, Boss?

  He scratched his cheek and averted his eyes, ignoring her in a way that made it clear she was dismissed. “Good.” As she turned, she swore his eyes looked up, surveying her body, but when she glanced back he looked away. The door was twelve football fields away, her legs tree trunks filled with lead as she left the room, feeling diminutive and pissed, needing to lash out.

  Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and let the hot, angry breath evacuate her lungs.

  What

  an

  asshole.

  “Remember we're trying to economize,” she mimicked, using a fake, mocking voice. As if she didn't know that. As if she weren't single-handedly responsible for cutting overhead for the advertising department by thirty percent last year. Something Dave had praised but that hadn't helped her get the job she'd been so focused on.

  Matt's words morphed in her head, blending with his lush lips, those strong hands she imagined on her, that washboard –

  “And get me a real cup of coffee.” Out of nowhere, as if conjured by bad magic, his voice was in her ear, startling her, the door opening as she leaned against it. As her upper body tilted backwards her feet flew out from under her, Matt saving her with one arm snaking around her ribs, the other behind her knee, his quads working overtime to keep them both in balance, palm splayed against her breast, a fingertip landing squarely on her nipple.

  Seeking her center of gravity, her body pressed into his chest, face just under his chin as he stabilized them. Ah, he smelled even better than she remembered, her earlier whiffs of musk and cologne now full aromas that filled her with a cloud of pure man. Inhaling, she took in his scent, her mind forgetting why she was in his arms. Not caring why, actually.

  Wanting more.

  “Ahem,” he said, half-word, half a throat clearing. Their eyes locked and again she was drawn to the verdant green, how brown his hair was, a glint of silver at the temples today. Pushed against his body, her shoulder and ass could feel how rock-hard his abs really were, body a wall of muscle that began to move to right her. He wasn't in a hurry, though, and was she imagining that he was drinking in her scent, too? The way he tilted his head at her neck and took a deep breath made her wonder.

  Not wonder – hope. Were those arm muscles so taut not because he was supporting her as he put her back on her feet but because he was working hard to restrain himself? Could the heat emanating from his chest as she twisted, pushing one hand against him to stand, come from desire? As her face flushed and her stomach fluttered, their eyes connected.

  Intense and serious, Matt's chest expanded and contracted, their breathing in sync, unrushed but at a near-pant, attraction asserting itself – like it or not.

  Oh, how her body liked it, her hand reluctant to pull back, to stop feeling the heat of him, to end the flesh connection.

  What was she doing?

  “What are you doing?” Matt echoed her thoughts, a quizzical frown on his face.

  “I was just, uh,” she stammered. Think, Lydia. Think! “I was leaning against the door to fix my shoe, and you opened it, and then...abs.” And then abs? AND THEN ABS? Did she really just say that?

  “Abs.” A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth, the outer edge of his eyes, little folds making him suddenly look younger, tousled, casual and free. An extraordinary shift from his uptight, alpha-male self, the effect was disconcerting. Intoxicating, even. More like she remembered him in her apartment, casual and kind.

  “Abs....olutely! I absolutely fell over.” Lame, lame, lame, and they both knew it, but Lydia would take lame over aroused and mortified any day.

  He just nodded, backed out the door, and whispered, “Black.”

  “What?”

  “I like my coffee black. And, preferably, with water in it.” As he closed the door and she swore she heard him chuckle, the sound a rich baritone of genuine emotion that made her just find him more appealing.

  Oooooo! That man.

  Two minutes later she set a cup of coffee on the ground in front of his closed door. Two tablespoons of coffee grounds with cold water mixed in. She returned to her desk and sent him an email:

  Dear Matt,

  Your coffee is outside your door.

  Best,

  Lydia

  Seething, she opened a new window on her computer screen. Economize? A trip to Detroit, huh?

  Oh, she'd show him how well she could economize.

  “Jeremy?” Fingers flying fast on her keyboard, she looked up to see a familiar face. He grinned, and she smiled back, instantly comfortable and casual. Some quality in him did that; it was hypnotic.

  “Lydia! You remember me?” He seemed simultaneously surprised and nonchalant, dressed today in a nice tan polo, jeans, and Chuck Taylor tennis shoes.

  Way better that the Beetlejuice getup from the ball.

 
“You're kind of hard to forget.” She held her hand up to indicate his height.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, his face animated and – was she imagining it? – a bit overly-fake. His hair was a mess of waves and those soft, brown eyes invited her to smile.

  “I work here!” she answered, smiling. “What are you doing here?”

  That stopped him cold in his tracks. “My friend M – uh, Matt works here.” Gazing at her, he added, “Your eyes really are speckled – the colors are intoxicating.”

  Pulse racing, she held his look. Familiar warmth flooded her belly, clit beginning its light cha-cha-cha of arousal. No! You're attracted to Matt, her mind chided. No! You're attracted to no one, the feminist in her roared. Career over clit.

  “You know Matt?” she whispered, finally breaking a growing tension she couldn't name, but that felt a hell of a lot like extreme attraction. What was a high roller like Jeremy doing hanging out with Matt, of all people? Maybe there was more to her knew boss than she'd suspected. The resemblance to Michael Bournham was uncanny. Her earlier suspicions that he was related roared back.

  Lydia stood and beckoned Jeremy to come closer, which he did, a lascivious grin on his face. This guy didn't hide his attraction, and it was quite pleasant, oddly enough. Nothing condescending or creepy. He struck her as one of those rare guys who simply enjoyed women.

  Which just made her panties hot and wet, damn it.

  “Is Matt related to Michael Bournham?” she blurted, desperate to stop being one big, sensual nerve.

  Choking, he pulled back, a strangled laugh braying out of him. Just then, Matt walked over to her desk, a look of utter outrage and consternation twisting his features. “Jeremy? What the hell are you doing here?” A quick look at Lydia, then at Jeremy, his eyes wider as he looked at the man, transmitting some kind of message she didn't understand.

  “Oh, just in the neighborhood and thought I'd pop in to visit my old friend,” he replied, his words fading with the Doppler effect as Matt grabbed his forearm and marched him rapidly into his office, the door nearly slamming.