by Penny Wylder
Stopping a foot away from me, she tilts her head. “Don't think I won't fire your ass, remember that the next time you come through my doors half an hour late. I liked your résumé and your portfolio, but that doesn't mean I need you. There are a million other people out there that can do what you do. It's simple: you need me, otherwise you wouldn't be here.” Sticking her nose in the air, she brushes past me.
My eyes drop to the floor as she glares at me on her way by, and I'm trying not to make eye contact for fear she'll turn around and snap at me. Her heels click as she walks out the door and disappears down the hall.
The air in the room is stifling hot, and I'm suddenly aware that Lyle is still here. He’s still standing in the same spot, his hands tucked into his pockets. He's staring at me. . . Staring at me like I have something he wants.
Jesus, why is he staring at me like that?
Lyle takes a few slow steps in my direction, stopping at the edge of the desk. He drops to his haunches, picking up the pens on the floor, and putting them back. Keeping one, he rolls it between his fingers, and rests back against edge of the desk.
“So, tell me, why were you actually late today?” Arching a brow, his fingers keep spinning the pen around and around. “And be honest, let's not make this worse with a lie.”
I'm mesmerized, suddenly oblivious of everything around me that isn't him. He's like a hypnotist, and his muscles are the secret words making me go numb. Everything I know is gone, blown away as if it never existed.
My eyes lick his torso, tracing hard ridges and sharp angles. He crosses his legs with thick thighs, and his package bulges behind the tension of his pants.
“Well?” he asks, moving the pen around as he talks.
My eyes jump back to his. He smiles, letting that second of silence linger as if he's reading my mind. Did he see me looking?
Tapping the pen against his palm, he dips his chin into his chest. “This is where you give me some sort of story, something at least mildly believable.”
Biting on my bottom lip, I fiddle with the strap on my purse. Come on brain! Get it together!
Lyle's brows raise to his hair line as he tilts his ear in my direction. I'm stuck, unsure if the truth is more believable than a lie.
I can't lie, I won't. I'll tell him the truth, and he'll either believe me or he won't.
It's a risk I need to take. I'm already on their shit list for being late, I don't want to cement myself there longer because I lie about why.
Believing me, well, that's up to him.
“Actually, it was something pretty serious. I was on my way here when I came upon a kid who was lost. The poor thing was only seven, balling his eyes out on the sidewalk. So, I did what I thought I should do, I helped him. And because of that, I ended up late my first day.” Clapping my hands together, I smile through thin lips. “I'm really sorry for being late, but to be honest, if I had to do it again, I would.”
Splaying my arms open, I stand still. I'm not lying, I'm not making up some elaborate excuse to get a free pass. I give him exactly what he wants, the truth.
“Really?” he asks, so I shake my head with a closed smile on my lips. “Huh, well. . .” He opens his eyes wide, looking back over his shoulder. “Let me get you familiar with our systems. At least let's get you doing some work to keep Sandy off your back for a bit.”
Lyle walks around to the other side of the desk, drops the pen into the cup, then lifts his eyes up to mine. I just smile awkwardly, moving my purse to the other shoulder.
He flicks his eyes down, then back up. It takes a second to register that he wants me to come over there.
“Oh, yes, of course,” I say, taking quick steps to his side.
He pulls out the chair, and fans out his arm. “Please,” he says with a tender smile.
Sitting my purse on the floor, I take the seat, and he helps push me in. Lyle grabs the mouse with his huge hand, clicking it to turn on the computer screen. He leans over, his shoulder almost brushing mine.
My heart skips inside my chest, lurching into my throat. I can smell his cologne, and it takes me back to the night of the party when we were seventeen. A flutter skirts through my belly, coalescing into a heat between my legs.
Shifting in my seat, the side of my arm brushes against his shirt. I can almost feel how strong his muscles are beneath his blue button-up. Thick, firm, hard as stone.
I thought he was a man back when we were in school, how fucking wrong was I?
Lyle is definitely a man now. No doubt about it.
With his dirty blond hair tousled on top, and his jaw clean shaven, that little dimple in the corner of his left cheek really stands out. He stands up briefly as he waits for the screen to load, and rolls up his sleeves. His chest flexes as he moves, making his abs ripple like waves in a pool.
I'm trying not to get flustered, but he's making it really difficult. I don't even know if he realizes. He's too close. And he's too hot. Too fucking hot.
Swallowing hard, I keep shifting my eyes around his body, trying to maintain some form of composure.
My mind can't grasp any real thoughts. I'm not thinking about the job, or the way Sandy threatened to fire me. I'm not thinking about making a good impression, or how badly I want this job.
All I can think about is letting him have his way with me. Bending me over this desk, yanking my skirt up, and kicking my legs apart so he can fuck me.
I want to feel his strong hands grip my ass, using me any way he wants. I want to feel his lips on my neck, and his tongue slip up the center of my chest, circling each nipple and plucking them between his teeth.
These thoughts flood my body, allowing old, buried feelings to bubble up in my gut. My cheeks flush the closer he gets, my nipples pebble as my breathing intensifies, causing my breasts to scrape the inside of my bra.
Lyle clears his throat as he adjusts on his feet. His eyes are on the computer screen, watching the system updates as they load quickly. He looks so calm, so relaxed, so definitely not in the same head space as me.
He's thinking computer programs and upcoming projects, while I'm thinking about sex and his cock.
Cool down, Dalia. It ain't happening.
“All right, let me show you what project we want to start you with.” He lays a flat palm down on the desk, lowering his face so it's hovering over my shoulder. “Did Giada give you the folders?”
“Yes, she did.” Leaning over to pick them up off the floor, I look up to catch Lyle peering down my shirt.
He doesn't notice that I spot him, or the little smile on my face as he's taking a peek. Swallowing slowly, and with very timid movements, Lyle lets his gaze slip back up to my eyes. He doesn't look embarrassed that he's been caught.
He looks empowered, as if he's glad I caught him. There's a glint in his cobalt blue eyes, one that makes me nervous and excited all at the same time. But I don't know how to react. I'm not sure if I should smile or slap him.
Do I want him to know I enjoy the fact he looked?
Do I want him to see the desire seeping from my body?
He's your boss!
You can't fuck your boss.
Leaning back in my chair, I try to put a little space between us. Lyle's off limits. Nothing can happen between us because my brain is right, he's my boss. Period.
Teetering in place, I lean back a little too far, and the chair starts to tip. Throwing my hands out to grab at anything, I reach blindly catching nothing but fists full of air.
Lyle reacts instantly, lunging forward and grabbing the back of my chair. He's holding me up by the head rest, his face hovering inches away from my neck. I can feel his hot breath against my skin, and a rush goosebumps cascades down my arms, making the hair stand on end.
I can't move, and I don't want to. I'm caught between this god of a man, and the floor. I'm trying so hard to keep myself in check, to not give him the slightest hint that I'm turned on. But God damn, things are happening to my body that haven't happened in a long time.
“
You should probably get up before someone sees us and thinks we're doing something wrong.” My words come out all breathy and soft. I sound like I've been running, and I can't catch my breath.
We're eye to eye, cheek to cheek, a hair away from kissing. Lyle licks his lips, drawing my eyes down his face. And that's when I notice—he's hard. It's not just an outline, or a bulge, he's fucking erect.
Oh shit. Oh shit.
My pussy drips with need instantly. So many dirty thoughts run through my mind, but I know it isn't going to happen. Not here. Not like this. Rubbing my thighs together, I try to soothe my throbbing clit.
He leans in a little more, then a little bit more, our lips a paper width apart. His eyes flick back and forth between mine as the tip of his tongue settles on the inner edge of this lips.
He's going to kiss me. Holy shit, he's actually going to kiss me.
Lyle hovers there for a single breath, and I ready myself for the kiss. My eyes start to close, head falling into position so I can kiss him back.
Then he's gone, the space between us is suddenly empty. But it's still warm, the air around me is holding the heat that built between us.
Lyle runs his fingers through his hair and takes a long step back.
“Excuse, Mr. Vox?” Giada is in the doorway, her arms full of long rolls of paper and more folders.
What is he, a fucking psychic now too?
“Yes?” His voice is thick and cold all over again. “What do you need?” he asks, his gaze turning to ice.
He shut it down so easily while I'm sitting here like a wet noodle, unable to straighten my back. I can barely catch my breath or look at the figure in the doorway. I'm too flustered to even make eye contact, so I peer at the computer like I'm concentrating.
“Your ten o'clock is here. I set him up in the conference room like you asked.”
I can feel the sweat on the back of my neck, and I can't seem to stop my heart from racing. If we’d have gotten caught kissing, I can't imagine what his sister would do. I'd be fired on the spot, no doubt about that.
“I'll be right there,” he answers, his voice steady. It's like none of that just happened. Like he wasn't about to kiss me. Like we weren't inches from sucking face. Like his cock wasn't hard and my pussy isn't still wet.
Turning to me, he says calmly, “I look forward to working with you, Dalia.” Taking long, commanding strides to the door, he stops in the doorway, and wraps his hand around the frame. Looking back at me one last time, he gives me a comforting smile. “And I apologize for my sister, she doesn't like when things don't go her way. Just don't be late anymore.”
Then he's gone. He's gone, and I'm left with wet panties and fire burning in my veins. Lyle Vox is intoxicating, leaving me completely unable to function.
It's obvious to me now. Nothing has changed over the years. It's only been dormant, idly waiting for the commercials to end, and the hero to show up again.
Dropping my head onto the desk, I groan to myself. This is a mess. A sloppy fucking mess.
We almost kissed, and it's only day one.
But I don't want another half-finished kiss like when we were kids. I can't do this again. I can't let these feelings actually come alive.
Lyle is my boss. That's all the reason I need to stamp out these feelings before they burn into something hotter, stronger.
Besides, after what happened between us, after what he did to me in high school. . .
I'll never forgive him. I can't.
Sometimes, there are too many cracks to fix. Too many wounds to heal. Too many actions that can't be undone.
And Lyle, he tore my heart out, and stomped it into the dirt.
It wasn't always that way. There once was a time that I thought he was different. That I thought maybe he isn't too good for me.
That maybe I stood a chance. . .
2
Dalia
Senior year
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
My eyes bounce like a ping pong ball as I watch him move around the field.
Sitting in the bleachers with my sketch pad, I doodle while I admire the hottest guy in school at football practice.
He's running sprints, moving with an intense speed as his body explodes with muscles I didn't know existed. His biceps tighten as he swings his arms with each step, and his chest firms when he hits the ground, tapping it swiftly, before running back to where he started.
My mind is going a mile a minute, imagining what I would say to him if I had the chance. Lyle Vox will never give me the time of day, but a girl can dream.
'Hey, Lyle, you look good out there. What's that? I look good too? Maybe you should kiss me then. . .'
'Lyle, wow, your muscles are so hard. Do you train often? Oh, what's that? You want to kiss me?'
'Lyle, hey, you looked good out—'
“What's up, bitch!” Hands are on my shoulders, shaking me hard. Kira pops her face over my shoulder with a giant grin from ear to ear. “I see you're watching your man-meat out there. How's he looking today?” She drops down beside me, taking a bite from an apple, and looking out onto the field. “His butt looks a little smaller today. Is he not doing his squats like he's supposed to?”
“Shut up,” I say with a giggle. “I wouldn't know because I'm not watching him.”
She bumps my shoulder playfully and takes another bite of her apple. With her mouth full, she says, “Yes you are, who are you kidding? You think I haven't noticed the way you look at him? Shit, you spend all of math class just gawking at him.”
“No I don't. Just because some of us actually pay attention in class, doesn't mean we're staring at boys. I do not like Lyle Vox.” My voice is stern, and I try to be as convincing as possible. Does she believe me yet?
“Dalia and Lyle, sitting in a tree, K. I. S. S. I. N. G—”
No, she isn't.
“Ew,” her voice scratches through my head. Turning to look up, Sandy Vox is right behind me. “You like my brother? Are you kidding me?” Sandy laughs, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. “You must be delusional. My brother would never like a loser like you. He'd never even give you the time of day.”
“Shut up, Sandy,” Kira barks.
“What was that?” Sandy yells loudly, causing the entire field to stop and look at us. “Dalia wants to marry my brother, Lyle? She loves him, you say?”
A few boys begin to chuckle, pointing in my direction. The world around me starts to shrink, getting fuzzier and fuzzier. I'm trying to breathe, but it's hard. My chest hurts, and the laughing is getting louder and louder.
Sandy is smirking and making kissy faces. A few other girls start to laugh along with her. I want to shout at them all, I want to tell each and every single one to go screw themselves. But I can't. My mind is blank, and I don't have the balls to give it back to her.
Because everyone, all the kids on the field, all the kids in the bleachers, they're all laughing at me. I feel so small right now. So alone. So embarrassed.
Gathering my stuff, I take off down the bleachers and across the field, making my way toward the school. I'm done. I can't stay here and be made fun of like this.
Shut up! Leave me alone! The words stay in my head, captured behind a wall of teenage silence. I should stand up for myself, but how do you stand up to the most popular girl in school?
“Dalia, wait!” Kira calls out to me, but I ignore her.
I don't stop. I pick up the pace and start to jog. I just want to be away from here, and away from Sandy. My eyes are on the bright, red double doors, when out of nowhere, the ground is gone from under my feet, and I'm looking at the ground, quickly coming up to me.
Stumbling over my own feet, I lose my balance, face planting into the dirt. I lay there for a second, because now everyone is laughing even harder. I don't even want to get up. I can feel my skin turn red, and the tears I'm trying so hard to hold in are starting to fall. Dirt is sticking to my face, getting sucked into my nose as I try to breathe
.
“Oh my God, I was right!” Sandy blurts out from above me, her laughter bordering on hysterical. “Wow, you really are such a loser.”
Lifting my head, I see my sketchpad splayed open on the ground, pages of my book spilling across the grass. And right on top, right there for everyone to see, are the doodles of mine and Lyle's names together in hearts, complete with arrows and lips, and all kinds of little loving designs.
No, no, no. This can't be happening.
“You all right?” There's a hand in front of my face, open, with wiggling fingers. “Let me help you up.”
My eyes move up the arm, and I see the one person I really didn't expect, and really didn’t want to see. Lyle Vox. His eyes are soft, his smile sultry and smooth. The knot in my gut twists hard and fast, making me feel like I'm going to throw up.
Nodding awkwardly, I take his hand. He pulls me to my feet easily, his eyes moving up and down my body. “You got some good scrapes.” Jerking his head, his eyes keep moving down my legs, and to the pile of papers at his feet.
Kill me, just kill me now.
Lyle bends over, scooping up my sketchpad and grabbing loose papers. I know he sees the one with our names, the stupid one I let myself draw while daydreaming.
Why? Why did I do that?
I'm such an idiot!
Closing my eyes, I bite my tongue. I feel like a damn fool, a stupid girl for letting my feelings get etched into paper in little bubble hearts with our names.
“Wow, I'm impressed. These are pretty good, I'd love to see more some time,” he says, holding out the book with a smile. But it's not a teasing smile or a condescending smile. He appears genuine, like he's actually curious.
Snatching my notebook from his hand, I attempt to grab all the papers, but some fly out and tumble across the grass. I'm not chasing them down, all I want to do is leave.
Hanging my head, I start to walk away. I can't look back at him or I may actually throw up all over the ground. He knows how I feel now, and that in itself is scary as hell.
Holding my stuff close to my chest, I just keep walking.