by TC Matson
He rubs his jaw. “You moved from Nebraska and directly began working here?”
I nod. “My parents have always had to work hard. My father works in a factory, my mother a helping hand at the local library. Even at their age, they struggle to make ends meet. Our town is small without many job opportunities. I didn’t want to become a shell of nothingness. I wanted to spread my wings and build a career, so I broadened my search. I saw Langley Security was hiring. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be hired, but it was worth a shot. After two interviews, I got the job. Immediately after, I moved.”
“Do you know how to read blueprints?” he asks like I didn’t just spill my life story to him.
I shake my head. “No.”
“If you have time, set your things down and come here.”
I drop my purse on the couch. The table is chaotic and overwhelming. Large rolls of prints are splayed across it. Suddenly, I don’t feel so bold.
Easton
She looks like she just bit off more than she can chew. But after her little speech, I feel compelled to show her more behind the scenes. Her eyes are wide, taking everything in. She listens and watches meticulously, soaking up every word.
It’s hard to focus with her beside me. I’m doing my damnedest to not pay attention to the smooth skin between her tits, but every time she bends, her blouse wavers giving me a peek of her cleavage. Her plum-colored skirt sucks against her lithe hips and flares off her legs, and every time she leans, my eyes divert to her ass.
She’s stunning. Absolutely stunning.
She’s the kind of beauty that’s understated.
Her hazel eyes pierce you and display confidence, regardless of all the shyness surrounding them. She’s sure of where she wants to go, positive she’ll make a better future for herself. Those traits alone make her astounding.
I’ve tried not to look at her—I can’t.
I’ve tried putting distance between us—I’m failing.
I’ve tried not to think of her—it’s impossible.
Her beauty, her brains, her eagerness…Zoey’s sharp but I don’t think she realizes her beauty…or the fact she has a mouth with pouty lips I’d like to taste.
Since her first day, I’ve spent too many hours thinking of her. In the shower, my dick stands to the image of seeing her bare body glistening with sweat from a fuck I know she’ll never forget.
When I saw her leave the club with that douchebag, murder ran through my blood. The amount of possessiveness she provoked surprised the hell out of me. It took every ounce of restraint not to jerk her out of that bastard’s hands and into mine. Instantly, I lost interest in fucking Sandi. I went home alone and did something I haven’t done in a long while—I jacked off with Zoey as the star of my fantasy. Wrong on so many levels, but I’m a horny man with a gorgeous and smart woman working for me.
A strand of her silky blonde hair slips off her shoulder and falls to the side of her face. I clench my fist to keep from reaching out and moving it back in place.
I shift, moving my body closer to hers, and I point. “Is this us?”
She leans down to inspect the drawing. Her skirt stretches against the curve of her ass and I wonder what it’s like to smack it and then kiss the sting away. I shake my head, taking a breath as she stands back up.
“No,” she says.
I stretch across her, my arm brushing against hers, and bend bringing my face closer to those perky tits and grab some papers that mean absolutely fucking nothing. “These…” my voice comes out thicker than I intended. “It’s all new. All the floors will be the same, which means the prints replicate the first floor, except the penthouse. It’ll have different security measures.”
I tilt my head toward her hair and draw a breath. It smells of coconut, but not so overwhelming that it smells like suntan lotion. It’s light, like a crisp morning on a tropical island.
She has a pull on me. An innocent soul. A beautiful body. I know better than mixing business with pleasure, but dammit, I’d like to hear her moan for hours.
My dick begins to ache and, knowing my limitations, I step away to grab an extra plate and silverware from the closet.
I grin like a happy bastard when I open the Styrofoam plate. A mouthwatering steak, a side of mashed potatoes and a vegetable melody instantly has my stomach begging for it. I cut her a fair slice, drop some potatoes on the plate and give her half of the veggies and all the carrots. I despise those disgusting wastes of food.
“I’ve kept you here late, so I cooked.” I place the food in front of her and chuckle.
Her smile is beautiful. “I’ll grab something on the way home. It’s no problem,” she rattles off.
“Eat,” I order lightly. “I didn’t slave over the grill for nothing.”
She puffs a giggle but takes the plate.
Distance…I need it. I make a spot on the opposite end of the table.
“I’d say you’re a woman after my heart. The food has been on point today.” I need to get a grip on the verbal distance.
She lifts a shoulder, her lips twisting bashfully. “I didn’t know what you like to eat. Figured every man likes steak, right?”
“You did well,” I say.
Contentment braids with the silence as we eat.
I glance up to her. “Your first day of work…well, the first time I saw you, you wore a blue blouse and you had your hair up.”
Hazel eyes flick up to me with eyebrows raised.
I grin. Verbal distance, my ass. “I pay attention to my company and all its employees. I may not always be able to put a thumb on the name or a name to a face, but I do see things, Zoey. You’re not as invisible as you think.”
She rubs her lips together in thought, but instead of voicing it, she looks back down to her food.
“Nothing to say to that?” I ask, challenging her courage.
“No,” she says.
“Surprising.”
She sets her fork down with a clank. “You make me nervous,” she admits.
“Why?” It’s a simple question.
She zeros in on me. It’s both frightening and erotic. “You’re Easton Langley. Not only are you my boss, but you know your reputation. And it just so happens, I work extremely close with you. There are times I feel your playeristic ways bleed into our professional relationship.”
Boss card, professional card, and the player card all thrown in one breath. Irritation rakes its nails down the chalkboard. “For a timorous woman, you’re not afraid to say exactly what’s on your mind,” I dispute.
“Most times I’m not,” she replies.
I lean back in the chair. “If I were to ask you what your true opinion of me was, would you answer it?”
She holds my stare. “You’re a strong business man. You know your worth and demand your respect.”
Such a safe answer. “What about outside of work?” I test her.
“I don’t know you outside of work,” she says straightforwardly.
I arch a brow, disagreeing. “Except from what you’ve heard from the news. You’ve stated multiple times you know my reputation. Too bad it gets tarnished over the cross-fucks of the tabloids and newspaper clippings.”
“It was all over the news about your breakup with Penelope Elliots,” she says and her eyes widen, surprised at her own bluntness.
I laugh, dropping my head back. “As you’ve said, my reputation enters first. She’s the princess to her daddy’s multi-million-dollar hotel strand. Of course, I’m the bad guy when we split. They didn’t share that we’d been split for months and it was an amiable breakup. No.” I shake my head. “They only brought light to the ugly when I’m spotted out afterward.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “It’s none of my business.”
When she stands to leave, I’m on my feet striding to her before I know what the hell I’m doing. I stop before my urges defeat my battles and grab her plate. My gaze locks on hers. “Don’t judge my worth by my reputation. I live
a full life, Zoey. Don’t form an opinion based off the papers.”
She’s frozen. I set her plate on my desk, but keep my stare on her, fighting every compulsion to kiss her. Instead, I shove my hands into my pockets. “You’re not invisible,” I say, thickly.
She grabs her purse like it’s the only thing bringing her breath. “Thank you for dinner. I need to get going.”
As she rushes out the door, I drop my head.
Dammit. I need to take a break and get my shit together. Her tough and hardened shell only adds fuel to my thrill. I can’t keep testing limits…
Zoey
The world around me zips by. People, cars, buildings…they’re all ghostly blurs as the train races past. I’ve done this every morning, every evening, and every time in between. The scenery is like a movie I’ve seen too many times but can’t quit watching.
This morning feels different. I’m edgy and so uptight my shoulders have yet to relax. Whatever intensity Easton switched on last night had me lying in the dark wide awake, wondering if crushing on my hot boss has me seeing phantom illusions and feeling imaginary sparks. I fought hard not to rub myself and think of how his mouth would feel on my body, how his hands would feel against my skin, or how it would feel to experience him rocking into me.
I won the battle and didn’t give in to my sexual desires. It’s wrong. He’s my boss. He employs me. Controls my future. Yet, I fantasize about feeling his lips on mine or his naked body on top of mine.
Desire and lust.
Sexy and hot.
I’m staring out the window at the smudgy picture when my work phone chirps loudly, scaring the hell out of me. My heart is pounding out of my chest like I’ve been busted again for daydreaming about him.
Easton: I’ll be out of the office all day.
I thumb to the calendar to double check my memory. I know he was supposed to be out this afternoon, but not the entire day.
Me: You have a one o’clock appointment with Mr. Calloway.
Easton: I know. I’ll attend.
I exhale and sink back into the hard plastic chair twisted with both disappointment and relief that I won’t see him.
Turning the phone off DND, it immediately rings.
“Is Easton in?” a woman snaps, sounding irritated as ever.
“He’ll be out of the office for the day. I can transfer you to his voicemail if you’d like.”
She sighs a frustrated breath. “I need to talk to him immediately. I left my wallet in his car last night and I need my work ID out of it.”
Even though I feel a pang of envy, I want to laugh. “Do you have his cell number? A direct line to him.”
“I don’t. Could you give it to me, please?” she sugars the question.
Nice try. Apparently, Easton works in true player ways.
“What’s your number and I’ll make sure he gets the message right away,” I say.
She rambles off her name and number, gritting the last few digits. “I have to be at work in forty-five minutes. Hurry this shit up, would you?” She hangs up on me.
Wonder if she had to do the walk of shame this morning only to have to swallow what dignity she left with, hang her head, and come back. Did he do the gentlemanly thing and take her home after a long night in the sack?
I shouldn’t be this curious.
I shouldn’t be this jealous.
I dial his number.
“Yeah?” he answers roughly, sounding grumpy.
“An Ashley just called and said she left her wallet in your car. She said it has her work ID in it and she needs it like yesterday. She sounded sincere. That’s why I’m calling you.” It’s the truth.
He grumbles something under his breath. “Alright. Thanks,” he says, his tone acerbic and he hangs up.
Seriously, I shouldn’t be feeling this jealous.
Easton was out for the rest of the week, traveling to different states to attend meetings and conferences. Despite the fact I’ve missed seeing his handsome face around, I’ve gotten a lot of things done here.
I’ve also spoken to him several times, which quells the need to see him…to an extent.
The man has a large list of demands when it comes to his comfort in a hotel. Suite rooms with king-sized beds, large bathrooms, in-room minibar, a desk, room service, a private gym, and it has to be close to the airport. He goes an extra mile to make himself comfortable for a night or two. Thankfully, Easton was patient and offered guidance since he had already been to several of these places before.
Even with his help, I was nervous as hell. His happiness hinged on my ability to find what he wanted miles away, without ever stepping foot in them. Sure, the Internet has photos, virtual tours, and testimonies, but we all know how fake they can be.
Through the headache of calling around and booking the rooms, the “thank you” I received every night from him was gratifying on a different level. It caused a shiver of arousal to slide down my spine and explode over my skin with goosebumps in its wake.
I made plans with Britney yesterday to have drinks tonight. After this week’s high-strung hotel hunting, meeting with David, the project manager to get updates on several projects and preparing a few reports, I seriously need to decompress.
After her quick knock, Britney barges in. She’s squeezed into a pair of black leather leggings and a loose fitting, sleeveless tan shirt. Her fiery red hair is pulled up into a ponytail with the top braided.
“Change of plans. Ken’s going to be at the club tonight. Let’s go somewhere else, somewhere more low-key,” she says.
The day after she hooked up with him, she came over complaining about how terrible he was in bed. He had no rhythm and was super uncoordinated, so after she faked her way through it, she acted as if she wasn’t feeling well and made him leave.
Although Britney feels he was a horrible fuck, the opinion isn’t mutual. He calls her a lot and wants more, begging for her to be a routine booty call. Britney isn’t ashamed of who she is or what she does and has blatantly told him he was only supposed to be a one-night fling. Yeah, he’s still being persistent.
I titter. “Is he still bothering you?”
“Yeesss…” she groans. “I’m such a bitch.”
“I don’t think so. You were upfront with him from the beginning. He’s just a dumb man.”
She wobbles her head from shoulder to shoulder. “Men are so stupid. So instead of the club, let’s hit up Lucy’s.”
My brows jump high. “The richy bar? That’s not your normal style.”
She tightens her lips and nods. “Exactly. Maybe by changing up my style, I’ll get a better taste of what’s out there.”
I should’ve known she had something else up her sleeve—a reason behind her sudden change of lifestyle.
He’s tall, clean cut, clean shaven with mystifying dark eyes and a smile spreading from ear to ear. His name is Garret and she’s using all her lines on him. He slides our drinks across the bar and leans, placing his elbows on the bar to listen to what she’s saying.
As she chats him up, I scan the room. It’s not loud here. There’s music playing and the tables are pretty full, but the chatter isn’t as overwhelming as it is in a night club. It’s more relaxed and I could definitely get used to this.
“Let’s get a table.” Britney links her arm with mine and takes the lead.
That’s Britney—a leader. Never follows. She controls her time, her space, and most of the time, her emotions. She never meets a stranger, always talking to people like she’s known them for years, and it was no different when we first met. I was new to the building and had just come back from the grocery store when Britney ran right into me and I dropped my bags. You’d think her first words would’ve been “I’m sorry,” but they weren’t. Instead, she unashamedly spouted, “Shouldn’t have been looking at this picture of peen or I would’ve seen you, huh?” Then she brazenly turned the phone around to show me. It was definitely peen, well-hung, rock solid, peen…
We’v
e been best friends ever since.
“He’s cute, don’t you think?” She grins, tipping her chin toward the bar.
“He is. Like really cute. Where’d you meet him?” I ask.
“We met two days ago at the supermarket. I stopped to grab a few things and there he was. It was like the heavens opened up on the cereal aisle and dropped him in front of me. Super swoon worthy moment,” she says. “He looked at me. I looked at him. It was like a movie.”
I titter. “Well, take your time with him and see where it leads.”
I can always offer good advice…
She scrunches her nose. “Had I taken my time with Ken, I would’ve wasted my time. I’d rather get the sex application out of the way and then we’ll work on the sparks.”
…doesn’t mean she’ll take the advice.
I laugh, dropping my head back. “You’ve got it all backward.”
She raises a shoulder. “I know. I like it this way. You know, test drive the car before buying it.”
I laugh as I rub my forehead.
“Sooo…. what’s it like working for Easton Langley? You must have some juicy secrets? Does he like to fuck on his desk? Anything of that nature?”
I drop my hand to the table and look at her like she’s lost her mind. “Seriously, Brit? Like I’m at his door with my ear pressed against it?”
“Yeah. Exactly like that,” she says biting back a giggle. “Wonder how he sounds?”
I bark a laugh. “Oh my God. You’re—”
“Ragging and have a freakish need to fill my horny void. Deal with it,” she snorts.
“Won’t that mess things up for you and Garret?”
Her eyes shift past my shoulder and her face lights up. “Trust me. I’ll find another way to drive the car tonight.” She finishes in a whisper just as Garret slides in the booth beside her.
“Hey, gorgeous. I’m glad you could come,” he says.
Cue overplayed, over-practiced, breathy giggles, hair twisting, flirty thing she does. “You look scrumptious in your work uniform.”
He looks down at himself. “You think? I feel like I’m attending a funeral in it.”