by Kim Karr
“Did she say anything else?”
“No, only that Tate contacted her and told her to clean out my desk first thing in the morning, that he had fired me for insubordination.”
“Fuck him. And you don’t know for sure that he’ll blackball you.”
She shrugs. “I’m sure he will if he can. Besides, honestly my own business has turned into more of a catering company than an event-planning one. And the truth is, I enjoyed the whole thing more when I did it for fun.”
“Come work for me.” The words just come out without any forethought or warning.
She quirks a smile and turns to look out toward the ocean. “Right!”
I reach across the table and turn her head to face me. Planned or not, it’s a great idea. “I’m serious. You’re brilliant. I need someone like you. My goal is to bring my publications into the modern era. Beck is working on the technical side of things—development, computer support, links, servers. But I need someone who can handle the social media. You’d be perfect.”
“I don’t even have a college degree.”
“Hey, stop selling yourself short. Come in today. Spend the day with me. Tell me what you think at the end of it. If you don’t like it, no harm, no foul.”
She takes her hand in mine, kissing each finger one at a time in the most provocative way. “If you’re my boss does that mean we can’t . . . you know?”
“Fuck?”
“Yes.” She drops her chin.
I lift it and lean across the table to whisper in her ear, “Baby, it means absolutely no such thing.”
Her smile grows bright and with a lift of her shoulder she says, “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
An hour later I’m sitting at my desk waiting for her feeling a little nervous. On one hand, I think her talent is a match, just what I need. On the other hand, I can’t get her off my mind and having her close isn’t going to help that at all. I can’t forget the weekend—threading my fingers in her hair, kissing her neck, sucking on the skin behind her ear, letting my teeth graze her skin, and those sounds that drove me wild.
My phone jolts me from my erotic thoughts. “Hello.” My voice comes out a little hoarse.
“Ben, it’s Aerie. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m great. How are you? How’s Jagger’s father?” I realize I never asked S’belle this weekend.
“I’m hanging in there. Jagger’s dad is doing as well as can be expected.”
“Don’t forget, if there’s anything you need make sure you let me know.”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. The January issue is ready for press, but the social media column is still blank. Have you had any luck finding someone to fill it? You said you wanted to launch that piece in January and we’re getting down to the wire.”
A slight tap at my door snaps my head up. I cover the phone. “Come in.”
The door cracks open and a very prim-and-proper-looking S’Belle Wilde walks in. She insisted she go home and change before coming to the office. My grin grows as large as the tent in my pants. Fuck me, working with her might be a bit more of a challenge than just getting her out of my mind.
“Ben,” Aerie calls from the line.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve actually been trying to fill that position all morning. Let me get back to you in a few hours.”
“Okay. Thanks,” she says.
I disconnect the call, my eyes trained on S’belle’s every move. I can’t help whistling a catcall. “You look fucking incredible.”
She has on a black pantsuit with a white silk blouse unbuttoned just enough but not too much. Her hair is done in curls, but they aren’t wild; they are somehow tamed. I prefer wild, but I’ll save that for the bedroom.
She twirls around. “Do you like it?”
I push my chair out and pat my lap. “Come here so I can tell you how much.”
Her eyes are cautious and slide to the door.
“Lock it,” I tell her.
“But I thought you had to work and wanted—”
I don’t let her finish the thought. “Lock it and come here. We’ll start the workday after I get a better look at you. After we do a little boss/secretary role exploration.”
Her eyes gleam, and I know she’s intrigued by the idea of some dirty role-playing. She sits on my lap and I peel off her jacket. My lips find her mouth, and my tongue dives in. It’s only been a few hours since we left my house, but I’m starving for her, for the feel of her lips on mine. I want to devour her. She shifts her weight to straddle me, and desire flares hotter than ever between us. I slide my hand inside her blouse and under her bra to thumb her nipple. My other hand finds the center of her thighs and I circle her clit through the fabric of her hose. “No underwear?”
She shakes her head no.
“You’re so fucking sexy.”
She pushes her clit against my palm.
“You like that?” I ask her.
Her head drops back and her body arches into my touch. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” she moans.
With my teeth grazing the skin of her neck, I stop at her ear. “I want you to come to work for me. You’re going to be my social media correspondent.”
She doesn’t answer.
“Would you like a job like that?”
She nods.
“Then you’ll work for me.”
“I can’t do that.” Her voice is ragged as my thumb continues to work her clit.
I apply a little more pressure, bringing her to the edge, and then I stop before starting again. “Why?”
“You don’t have to give me a job.” Her green eyes meet mine.
I lift her breast and drop my mouth to suck on her nipple. I pause and feel her heart beating faster and faster. “I’m offering you something that I need. Please help me out. Give me a month.”
“If I work for you I don’t think we should do this in the office.”
My mouth skirts up her body to her lips. “You can start at noon. Now be a good secretary and do as I say. Stand up and take your clothes off so I can fuck you on my desk.”
CHAPTER 34
Dark Horse
Bell
Three weeks later
“How about this one?” Josie asks, picking up a large crystal bowl formed in the shape of a heart.
I shake my head no. Josie and I have kept in touch, having lunch every now and then. She told me Tate replaced me with a hot young guy who seems to jump every time he says fetch. Whatever works, I guess. Today her blond hair is tied back in such a way that none of the blue streaks are visible and her makeup seems lighter. She’s also in jeans and a simple top. Her punk rock edge isn’t visible. She looks really pretty, not that she’s not anyway. But it’s a softer look that I like on her.
“Why the change in style?” I ask with a smile.
She pats her hair and laughs. “Oh, my parents are in town for Christmas. They would die if their little girl didn’t look like the beauty pageant queen they raised.”
“Really? Well, I like it, but why not just let them see who you really are?”
She blows a piece of loose hair from her eyes. “Says the girl who won’t bring her boyfriend around to meet her family?”
“You know it’s more complicated than that.”
“What I know is something has you all worked up this week. Has Glow Boy’s glow diminished?”
“No, and stop calling him that.”
“Well, I’d say you got it bad, but I’m afraid you’d bite my head off. Bad case of PMS or what?”
She may be onto something. I can feel my mood shifting constantly but can’t stop myself. I laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”
“If Midol doesn’t work you might want to check yourself away from everyone for the week, because you’ve got crazy written all over you right now.”
“That’s enough. I get it.”
“Hey, you know I’m a good listener if you need one. After all, I have no life, so listening
about yours is better than nothing.”
I nod in her direction. How can I talk to her about it when I don’t understand it myself? I deflect the conversation from me. “What about Hot Boy in the office?”
“I wish.”
“What does that mean?”
“He doesn’t even know I work there.”
“I find that hard to believe, Josie, since, A—he has to pass your desk to get to his and, B—you’re beautiful.”
“He usually goes straight to Tate’s office.”
“Brownnose.”
“Ha, right.”
“Why don’t you ask him out?”
She makes a face. “No.”
“Okay, then.”
“This one?” she asks, picking up a red-lacquered square dish.
“God nooo!” I exclaim as I squish my nose.
“Now, what exactly are we looking for? After all of yesterday’s nos, I’m not sure I can help you.” She moves closer, standing at least a head taller than me.
“I don’t know. Something that looks like magic.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, then we’ll keep looking.”
Eclectics is a small boutique featuring blown-glass items where I always find unique centerpieces or table accessories. Xander and Ivy’s wedding is just over a week away and I still haven’t pulled together the table décor. All I know is I want them to look like magic. My eyes flutter to the shelves laden with vases of every shape and size, and then I see it—magic in the shape of a fishbowl. I place my order for two dozen silver-and-gold-star-etched glass bowls and hug Josie good-bye.
“Call me if you need to talk,” she reminds me
“At least think about asking him out,” I chastise her.
She ignores me. “Oh, I almost forgot, mouthwatering boy Romeo stopped by this morning asking about you. I guess Tate didn’t tell him anything after all.”
I shrug over Tate and the job. I’m over it. I have a new job now. In fact, Kale asked me to join him and Ben for lunch today, but since I’d already asked Josie to help me shop for the centerpieces, I told them I’d meet up with them. Ben doesn’t mind if I take an extended lunch as long as I get my work done. He’s like that with all his employees. I’ve made sure he doesn’t show me any favoritism. Yet today even his generosity seemed to irk me.
But in general working at Plan B has been the best decision I’ve ever made. I love my job. Love, love, love it. I get to tweet, surf the Web, go on Facebook, post on Instagram. I’m building the company’s social platform—me! My career is finally just that—a career. But my relationship with Ben has not been so easy to define. I’ve tried to keep things casual between us, I really have, but I know we’re so much more.
Together I feel we’re magical, more alive, two halves made whole. We have no obstacles left between us. He knows about the baby. I’ve told my family about him, even River, although that wasn’t fun. River stayed silent, looked agitated, but didn’t say anything bad, that I could hear anyway. Still, I haven’t brought Ben to see my family, because I’m concerned he might not be as committed to the relationship as I am. And the reason is stupid. I shouldn’t be thinking about it so soon—I shouldn’t be thinking that those three little words I want so badly to say to him will make him run away.
As soon as I step onto the sidewalk, I spot his mop of dirty blond hair. He’s sitting at an outdoor table with Kale.
“I don’t know, man, but I’d say that’s an easy one,” Kale says to Ben, removing his black sunglasses. His light eyes almost disappear as he squints against the sun.
“You’re a lot of fucking help,” Ben says.
“What’s easy?” I ask as I approach Ben from behind.
His head snaps around. He looks a little guilty about something. This past week I have felt that something’s going on. My mind might be reading too much into everything, but I can’t stop myself. He seems to be pulling back.
“Hey, you made it.” Ben stands up.
I glance over at Kale to see if he’ll answer, but obviously he isn’t going to either. He’s wearing khaki cargo pants, canvas slip-on shoes, and some kind of terry-cloth sun-blocking shirt that buttons up the front. His hair is long but swept back. And he’s a man who calls it as he sees it. Sometimes I get nervous around him, but I try not to let him intimidate me.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not late,” Ben says, lowering his head.
I turn my cheek so his kiss lands on it.
His eyes sweep me in my short skirt and jacket and I know he has sex on his mind. He always does. Not that I don’t, but I’m also starting to feel that maybe that’s all we have. I didn’t go over there last night and we still had sex—phone sex but sex nonetheless.
“Don’t like kissing the boss?” he jokes, and pulls my chair out.
When he leans down to place my napkin on my lap, I whisper, “You know I do.”
I’m full of mixed signals and even I know it. If it’s driving me crazy it must be driving him crazy. I should tell him—tell him that I love him and maybe that will set my mind at ease.
Kale sits there with an amused look on his face.
Ben rolls his eyes. “What?”
“You’re different when you have a girlfriend.”
Ben flinches at the use of the word girlfriend. I see it. How can I tell him how I feel when he can’t even call me his girlfriend?
“Hi, Kale. Thanks for inviting me,” I break in, wanting to change the subject.
“Hey, sunshine, anytime,” he answers. “You ever have wheatgrass before?” He opens one of the menus on the table.
“No.” I twist my head around to look at the restaurant name again—Sprouts. I’ve never heard of it until today.
He waves the waiter over and points to the menu. “Three to start.”
“I’ll get those right away, sir,” the waiter answers.
“What kind of restaurant is this anyway?”
“Raw food,” he answers, licking his lips at his choices.
Ben opens his menu. “Kale chips, sunchokes, seawitch? Are you kidding me? What kind of food is this?”
I look at him with a zip it now look. “I’ve never eaten here. What’s good?” I ask Kale.
Ben bursts out laughing. “Let’s just say you’ll want an early dinner.”
I glare at him again.
He tosses me a questioning look as if he doesn’t know why I’ve reacted that way. Conversation during our meal is strained and once we’ve finished I feel a little impatient to leave. I stand up.
“Where are you going?” he asks me.
“I have a lot to do.”
“I’ll walk back with you.”
“I have some stops to make before I go back to the office. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Okay.” He lowers his head to kiss me.
Again I turn my cheek.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers.
“Nothing. I just have a lot to do. See you, Kale,” I say, and turn and walk away. Tears leak from my eyes and I can’t stop them. Okay, so PMS it is.
About an hour later I feel really guilty for my behavior and for what I haven’t told Ben yet. I pick up my phone and use the intercom to call him.
“Hey, sexy. I’ve been thinking about you. I was hoping you’d stop in when you got back.”
“I have work to do, Ben.” I stress this, but the truth is I really want to see him. I want to feel the touch of his skin on mine.
“Well, come in here and let me see what you’re working on.”
“I can’t. I’m just calling to see if you want to meet me at Pebbles tonight.”
“Sure. We can go together.”
“I’ll meet you there. I want to stop by my mother’s first.”
“I’ll go with you,” he says, and I know he’s trying really hard to help me bridge the distance between my family and him, but I’m not ready for that. I mean he flinched today when Kale called me his girlfriend.
“
I have a bunch of other stops to make. Can you just meet me there?”
“Sure thing, but anything I should know about ahead of time?” he asks, sounding a little annoyed at me.
“No. I’ll see you then.” I hang up as more tears prick my eyes.
Six hours later I’m sitting in the dimly lit restaurant that seems extremely crowded for a weeknight and I can’t help wondering if I’ve turned into a sex addict. All I can think about is him—having him, wanting him, touching him. I even send him erotic messages. A few days ago I sent one that read:
Went to spin class at lunch and got wet thinking of you.
And another one that said:
Have you ever done it in an elevator?
With just one look from him as he joins me at the restaurant, it’s stronger than ever. Now as I stare at him across the table, I can’t help wondering how he feels about me. Does he feel the same?
He clears his throat. “So, are you going to tell me what this is about or make me suffer through dinner trying to figure it out?”
There is an incredibly long silence before I push my plate aside. I take a deep breath and exhale, deciding I can’t do it. I can’t tell him how I feel. I’m too afraid he’ll leave me sitting here again. So instead I tell him the other thing I needed to let him know. “My whole family is flying to New York City to be with Jagger for Christmas and they want me to come with them.”
He looks at me a little blankly.
“Did you hear me?” I snap, wanting to see that he at least cares he won’t see me for Christmas.
He waits another moment before answering, “Are you going?”
I can’t tell how he feels about it. “Yes.”
He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Stay here with me.”
“I can’t,” I say, lowering my voice so I don’t cry. I knew he felt more for me. But why won’t he tell me that?
My phone rings and at first I’m grateful for the distraction. But then our eyes dart to the name Romeo Fairchild on the screen. I ignore it and all is silent until Ben says, “Why is he calling you?” His voice is edged with anger.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.
A text message scrolls across the screen.