Regardless of how he thought, I was all too familiar with how Trevor acted with me—domineering, condescending, the way he seemed to relish watching me squirm. How did he interact with Susan? Had he ever bent her over his desk? Though that mental picture was a little hard to fathom—and unsee—I wouldn’t put it past him.
Part of me imagined another scenario: What if I had been the one to go with Trevor to Vegas? The thought of two days alone with him in Sin City sent chills down my spine.
“And this is how you discipline a naughty personal assistant,” Trevor says to the roomful of CEOs seated around a large boardroom table, where he sits at the head. I stand next to him, clipboard in hand, and he seizes me by my wrist and drags me across his lap, lifting my skirt to bare my ass to dozens of strange men.
He’d stolen every pair of my panties the second we’d gotten to the hotel and I’d been forced to go bare beneath my high-waisted black skirt. There had been several instances out on the strip when the desert wind had nearly exposed me to passers-by.
Trevor had only laughed.
I yelp as he begins spanking me at the front of the room, the slap of his hand against my naked butt echoing throughout the space. “Your personal assistant needs to learn her place right away,” he continues, spanking my other cheek. “Otherwise, you’ll never be able to control her.”
Murmurs of agreement fill the room as his hand comes down hard on my rear again. And again. And again. I’m positive my face is as red as my burning ass. The humiliation from the entire situation is completed when I realize how turned on I am. I wriggle my hips to increase the pleasurable contact of my pussy against his muscular legs.
He chuckles. “What did I tell you, gentlemen? Start early. You’ll have her wrapped around your finger soon enough.”
Jordan’s massive frame suddenly rounded the corner.
“Morning, Lori,” he said casually, professionally like it was just another day at the office. He began pouring the steaming brew into a stainless steel mug. I figured he just got in because he was still wearing his trenchcoat. It was black, expensive-looking and made him seem even taller than the few feet he already had over me.
“Good morning,” I said cooly, thankful that he couldn’t my read thoughts. Otherwise, he would’ve realized I’d been engaged in a hardcore sexual daydream about his brother. And I’m sure that would’ve gone over well.
“I don’t know if you realized it, but Susan’s in Vegas with Trevor.”
He sipped his coffee after blowing on it for a bit. Seeing those lips pursed like that made me remember how soft they’d felt against my own.
“She left me a note.”
“Trevor had wanted to take you,” Jordan stated.
I blinked rapidly, tugged unwillingly back to my earlier fantasy.
“I told him no, that I needed you here. I didn’t mention that I knew about yesterday’s little incident with your panties, but I’m sure he knew I knew. He’s kind of freaky like that.” Jordan looked over my head, lost in memories of his own. “Then we had some not-nice words and Susan stepped in. She hates when we fight. It was pretty amazing for her to clear her schedule to go to Vegas.”
Guilt, gratefulness, and trust all warred for my attention. The fact that Jordan had, essentially, protected me from his brother spoke volumes to me. God only knew what would be happening to me right now if I were with Trevor. Another, darker part of me suggested that maybe I didn’t want to be protected from Trevor. Maybe I wanted him to dominate me. I tried my hardest to shoo that thought away.
“I would never want to cause trouble between—”
Jordan quickly waved his hand. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, laughing dismissively. “That’s the thing about siblings. Trevor and I can say awful things to each other over the most ridiculous matters, but at the end of the day, we’re still brothers. The beauty of blood, I suppose.” Jordan went somewhere far away, his coffee still clutched in his hand, but then came back suddenly. I could only guess what memory he’d been pulled into.
“So what’s on the schedule for today?”
I pulled out the ledger, riffling through the pages until I found the entries for the day.
Good Lord.
Sometimes Sam complained bitterly about one of her bosses and how he never seemed to be working. The opposite was true for Jordan. Nearly every minute of his day was booked with meetings. When was he even going to have time to eat?
“Your first meeting is in the boardroom at—” I looked up at the clock and gasped “—well, right now.”
“Let’s go.” He strided away.
I hurried to my desk to grab my pen and a notepad and darted after him.
He never failed to attract attention as he crossed the office, I realized, but now my female coworkers were staring at me, too. They probably wondered why the hell I was chasing their gorgeous boss across the office.
Most of the larger meeting rooms were on the 27th floor above but we headed towards a smaller one across from Susan’s desk. On my initial tour through the building, Susan had explained that the meeting rooms above were for the three P’s: planning, process, and powerpoint. This one, dubbed the “Emerald Room” from the luxurious green decor, was used by Trevor and Jordan to meet with only the most important people. Glancing at his schedule, we were going to be in this room all day.
I followed behind Jordan as he pushed the doors open to reveal two people. “Alejandro, qué tal?” he said, shaking the hand of a portly olive-skinned man with thin hair. He was well-dressed and carried himself confidently in front of Jordan despite being the same height as me. “Todo bien, espero. Were you waiting long?”
“Claro que no,” Alejandro said. “I just got here, myself, afraid that I was late.”
After I shook hands with Alejandro and his male assistant, the two men wasted no time discussing business. The meeting that followed was conducted flawlessly in English and Spanish, Jordan and Alejandro switching back and forth between the languages with the same ease as flipping a light on and off. Jordan repeated much of what was said in English for the benefits of my note taking and I noticed that Alejandro was doing the same for his assistant.
Alejandro was the CEO of one of the largest Spanish television networks in the Western hemisphere. This was only the second meeting between him and Jordan to discuss a mutually beneficial advertising partnership but it was clear the two men had already established great rapport during their first meeting when Jordan visited their headquarters in Mexico City.
There was one tense moment where I sensed that Alejandro was upset about something, but Jordan was able to make him laugh with a short, casual statement coupled with a hand gesture. I felt fiercely loyal to my boss and proud to be working with him. Despite his young age, I could see how his business savvy and charisma led him to his success.
As the day progressed, I witnessed more and more of Jordan’s business prowess. We met with media magnates from around the globe, Jordan able to keep up with several in their native tongues. I took copious notes, eager to do my job as well as my boss was doing his. From the notes I’d been previously transcribing, I knew that Bishop Corp. was pushing toward a merger with their main competitor Hyperion Media. Each of today’s meetings seemed to be an amassing of allies—with Jordan as the general, looking to build his media army. He cajoled, scolded, preached, and won nearly every person over to his side. His business style was warm, inviting—nearly the polar opposite of Trevor’s cold and calculating style of negotiating.
In the ten minutes between two meetings, Jordan had yawned and stretched, joints popping. His business mask slipped for a second and I saw a deeply exhausted man sprawled out in a chair.
“Can I get you some lunch?” I asked for the third time. A man his size had to eat the equivalent of a cow each day, especially when coupled with his exercise regime.
“Nope,” he said, his hands behind his head. “I can’t eat in the middle of meeting with all these people.” He laughed shortly. “Ea
rly in my career, I wolfed down a wrap in between client meetings. It wasn’t until hours later that I realized I’d had spinach wedged in almost every single tooth. Didn’t make a good impression.”
I winced, unable to imagine the most basic things—like eating—analyzed and foregone.
“How do you do it?” I was tired just from trying to keep track of everything said during the meetings. I couldn’t fathom leading them.
“Caffeine.” He drained his fourth cup of coffee to punctuate the statement.
I snagged it before he could set it back down on the table. “Let me go make a fresh pot of coffee really fast,” I said, standing up. “That’ll make you feel better.”
He smiled at me. “Thanks, Lori.”
Warmth buoyed me across the office and I bustled self-importantly around the coffeemaker, taking care to wash out his mug in the sink before refilling it with freshly brewed java. I remembered to stir in a packet of sugar, watching it dissolve in the inky depths.
When I pushed open the door to the boardroom with my hip, I realized the next meeting had already begun. An attractive woman with dark lustrous hair and exotic eyes was leaning toward Jordan, speaking aggressively in what I guessed was French. Her position revealed more cleavage in her lavender blouse than she might have intended. I found it hard to take my eyes off it as I set his mug on the table. He didn’t even look at it.
“I can understand that you think you’re getting, in your eloquent words, ‘screwed’ in this deal,” Jordan said, switching to English so I could take notes. “But what we’re offering is worth every penny. Only the best for you, Isabel. You know no one else can deliver like I can.” The innuendo was heavy and I suspected that Jordan was dancing along the line of professionalism. I couldn’t ignore a prick of envy at the way he was holding Isabel’s attention, the way she licked her lips at him and immediately softened.
“I know you have my best interests in mind, Jordan,” she said, her English attractively accented. “You always have.”
The meeting wrapped up warmly. Thank God it was the last one. Even though my chair had plenty of cushioning, sitting for nearly eight hours on it would make anyone’s ass sore. I flashed through the events of the day, amazed at Jordan’s ability to charm every person he met. Was I was just another victim of his wiles? I shook my head at myself and smiled.
“What’s funny?” Jordan asked, eyeing me curiously.
“Nothing,” I answered quickly. “That was your last meeting for the day.”
“Ah, finally,” he sighed.
I stood up, eager to start typing my notes up.
“There’s just one last thing I want to ask from you,” he said, making me pause from gathering up my things.
“What can I do for you?”
“It’s short notice, but would you do me the favor of joining me at a charity ball Saturday? I don’t have a date and I thought you might enjoy it.” With the way I’d seen women act around him during today’s meetings, I found that last statement hard to swallow.
Would I go on a date with him? Uh...do chickens lay eggs?
“I’d love to but I don’t know if I have the right dress to attend a ‘ball.’ ” I banished a horrifying image of me asking my mother to ship my high school prom dress to me from my mind. I was mentally rifting through Sam’s closet when Jordan’s grin distracted me.
“The hard part was getting you to say yes. The easy part is the dress. We’ll just go shopping for one tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.” I bit my lip, weighing the cost of a new formal dress with what Sam expected from me in rent. Jordan leaned close to me, still smiling. “The dress is on me. It’s the least I can do since you’re agreeing to put up with me on your day off.”
I laughed lightly, wondering if Jordan was delusional. There was no possibility in the universe that I would ever just “put up with” him.
“Okay,” I said, smiling. “I look forward to it.”
“So do I,” Jordan said, grinning and rising to leave.
I strolled from the boardroom back to my desk, glowing happily at the thought of the next two days, as Jordan walked the opposite way. I hoped he was going downstairs to get something to eat. It worried me that he’d gone the whole day without any food. My huge breakfast, courtesy of Eric, had helped tide me over. That, and the granola bars I’d snuck between meetings.
I was hoping to knock out a couple of transcriptions before meeting up with Eric and Sam for dinner, as we’d planned. I’d used up dozens of pages in my notebook, my handwriting hopelessly messy. I squinted at one page, deciphering it word by word until the gist of the meeting came back to me in full force. I hurried to type it before I forgot the context again. I went through the notebook carefully, a few words illuminating the core issues well enough for me to record entire meetings.
I thought I was doing well until I heard my cell phone buzzing inside my desk. Reaching into my tote, I realized I’d missed one call from Sam and two from Eric. It was Eric who was calling me now.
“Lori, thank God I got ahold of you. Where are you?” His voice was full of concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m still at work,” I said, my mind lingering on the meeting I’d been recording.
“Still at work? Lorikeet, it’s seven. Do you work for slave drivers?”
“It’s seven already?” I yelped, twisting around to glance at the clock. “Oh my God! I’ll leave right now.”
“We’re already at the restaurant. We weren’t sure what to do when you didn’t answer your phone.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling like an idiot. How could I lose track of time like that? “Give me the name of the restaurant and I’ll just grab a cab and meet you guys there.”
“Are you sure?” He sounded dubious. “Why don’t you just give me the address where you work and I’ll meet you with a cab.” I had to smile at his protectiveness. I rode the bus by myself to work every day. Of course I could take a cab to a restaurant.
“Yes, definitely.” I scrawled down the name he repeated to me on a piece of paper, then scratched it out and took the time to write it neater. How would I be able to tell a cab driver where to take me if I couldn’t read my own handwriting?
“I’ll be there in a little bit.” I said before hanging up. I saved my work and left the rest of my notes in my drawer to finish typing up tomorrow.
***
The cab ride was short—if I’d known where the restaurant was, I could have made the walk in about fifteen minutes. I was barely able to pull my hair back into a bun before I saw the restaurant’s glowing sign in the darkening evening. The days were getting shorter and shorter this time of year.
I chuckled as I saw Eric standing next to the valet, looking worried. What could he be so concerned about? It was equal parts amusing and endearing that he was anxious about what amounted to a five-minute cab ride.
“There you are,” he exclaimed, helping me out of the cab and paying the driver before I could even reach into my purse. I waved off the driver’s offer to give us back change and dragged Eric away before he could protest. Everyone deserved a nice tip every now and then.
“Before we go in,” he said, pausing as he held the entrance door open for me, “you should know: Sam brought a boy.”
I gasped, scandalized and completely interested all at once. “Who did she bring?” I demanded. “I thought this was supposed to be our little high school reunion.”
“His name’s Anthony.” He pushed a strand of my sloppily styled hair behind my ear. “She says they work together.”
“The shoes guy!” I exclaimed excitedly.
“The what guy?”
“She told me he keeps asking her out and the only thing she doesn’t like about him are his shoes. Well, that and mixing business with pleasure.” A wave of guilt shot through me as I said that. I was most definitely mixing business with pleasure. Hadn’t Sam said it always ended messy? I didn’t need to worry about that. It was already messy. Though I hoped it never ended.<
br />
“I don’t think his shoes are ugly,” he said so thoughtfully that I burst into laughter. He was so cute sometimes. Eric stared at me quizzically until he smiled and kissed me on the forehead. We walked into the restaurant, the feeling of his lips on my skin lingering too long for my liking. Sam waved from a table across the restaurant and a man who I could only assume was Anthony stood up.
As we approached the table, I assessed Anthony’s appearance. He was suave and very good-looking, his auburn hair carefully combed with a reasonable amount of gel. I sneaked a peek at his shoes and saw nothing out of the ordinary—simply clean, recently polished dress shoes. I looked at Sam, raising an eyebrow in question, and she rolled her eyes at me. Anthony stayed standing until I’d seated myself. His chivalry was old school, but I couldn’t pick out any reason why Sam shouldn’t be into him.
The Bishop Affair (Dominated by the Billionaire Brothers - Part Three) Page 2