by Penny Wylder
Her eyes roll forward and she runs both her hands over her head, tugging her hair back against her scalp. “Wow,” she says, her face flush and her breathing heavy. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“I got hungry, and needed a snack,” I answer with a smirk.
“Oh, hey guys.” Dave from accounting comes through the door, and Dalia jumps off the table.
She's feverishly fixing her hair, and clearing her throat like she has something stuck in it. “Hey,” she finally gets out, unable to make eye contact.
“Dave,” I say casually, still wiping her orgasm off my face. “Dalia, the meeting starts in about an hour, bring what you have so far.”
“Wait, today? I thought that wasn't until next week?”
“James called this morning and had to change it.” Balling the napkin, I throw it in the trash, giving her one last smile before I walk out the door.
That smile stays with me. It's there and I feel really fucking good even though I didn't get off.
The meeting starts on time, and I do my best to talk Dalia up. It's important for him to know how much we trust and admire our employees. If we trust them, so can he.
“If you really want to grab everyone's attention, you have to see what our newest design consultant has come up with for you. She's great, seriously, you're going to love what she's done for you.”
“Let's hope so, Mr. Vox.” He plucks a small piece of lint off his suit, rubbing his fingers together to deposit it on the floor as his eyes jump to mine. “Last time I was here, and you tried to get me to endorse your campaign, you came at me with some ridiculous hot air balloon idea.”
“I know, I know, that was ridiculous, and I was reaching for something, trying to force it to work.” Holding up a finger, I lean forward and smile. “But, that was a long time ago, let me assure you, we're not the same company anymore.”
Checking my watch, I'm starting to worry Dalia's getting cold feet.
Sandy's beside me, her eyes set on the door. Her eyes stab the doorway, eager to tear down whatever, or whoever, comes through. There's a pen in her hand, and she's tapping the side of her thumb with it over and over. She seems anxious, edgy, acting like she's been stood up on a date.
Not that I've ever actually seen her date anyone. Sandy's always been too busy with our company. Money, success, that's her significant other. Nothing more.
Even back in school, she was always so obsessed with her image and popularity that she didn't have time for a boyfriend.
What's her deal?
I watch her for a moment, trying to figure out the source of her tension. It can't be Dalia, her work's been better than most of our employees spanning the last three years. And Sandy's been happy with what she's seen from her. At least, I assume she is; because she hasn't fired her yet. That must mean something.
Her tapping moves from the back of her hand to the table. It's getting louder, faster, more disruptive and noticeable.
Reaching over, I touch the top of her hand, causing her to stop suddenly. Her eyes glance to my hand, then slowly lift up to mine. Arching my brows, my mouth folds into a heavy frown.
“What?” she mouths quietly, her lip curling angrily to one side. She's trying to be subtle, so the client doesn't notice our little standoff.
Enough. The words sit inside my head, but she hears me loud and clear. Dropping her hands into her lap, she lets out a low growl.
Knock knock.
We all shift our eyes at the same time to the door. Dalia is standing still, holding a folder tightly against her chest. She dips the tip of her toe into the floor nervously, twisting it back and forth.
I don't blame her for being so reluctant. There are three of us staring at her, three people who hold the cards. All the power is right here, staring her in the face.
She's like a deer in headlights, standing frozen, her eyes huge as saucers. Afraid to enter, unsure if she has permission, and waiting for the invitation.
Or maybe she doesn't want to enter, maybe she wants to run in the other direction. Or maybe, she's still frazzled from out little tryst in the break-room. Her cheeks still appear rosy and her skin is still holding a dewy glow.
I did that to her. A sense of pride fills me with the thought.
But I see her nerves too. She's anxious and intimidated, wishing she could shrink down and disappear.
Dalia inhales a deep breath, and everything I saw is gone. She shakes it off with a smile, straightening her back as walks proudly into the conference room.
Rising to my feet, I smile. “Ah, here she is. Our secret weapon.” I hold out my hand, flipping my fingers for her to come right up to us. “James Darion, meet our new top artist, Dalia Greene.”
As if she morphs from one person to another, Dalia walks directly up to him, confidence pouring from her like water. “Mr. Darion, it's so nice to meet you.” Holding out her hand, she waits patiently for him to take it with that cute little smile.
That fucking smile. It gets me every time. Even right now, in the middle of this meeting, my mind goes instantly to her lips wrapped around my cock. How warm her mouth would feel as it slips down my shaft, how wet her tongue would be as it glides over my skin. I want to see her cheeks hollow as she sucks my entire length deep, taking what she can until I hit the back of her throat.
Dalia stops me from seeing and hearing anything else. She's my fucking drug. I'm not sure I'll ever get enough of her.
“Please, call me James.” He stands, taking her hand with a firm shake. “The pleasure is all mine.” His voice cuts through me, and I hear a flirtatiousness that makes my jaw clench.
A fierce heat explodes in my gut, and my instinct is to jump up and knock him off her. It comes from nowhere, taking over my insides, filling me with jealous rage. But I don't react, I swallow it down, taming the beast.
Releasing his grip, he runs his hands down the edge of his navy blue blazer, and sits back down. “So, this is your secret weapon?” he asks, twisting to look at me. “This girl is going to take my brand to the next level?”
The moment he releases her hand, my body cools, and the rage dissolves.
“She sure is. Dalia here brought D Sneakers back to life, and she gave River Ten an increase in their sales by twenty-three percent last week just from her advertising design. She knows what works, I can tell you that much.”
Sandy makes a noise. It's soft and nasally. No one else hears it, but I hear it clear as day. It's an audible eye roll, coming out from the back of her throat. She does it all the time, has since we were kids.
I dart my eyes to hers, letting her know she needs to cut the shit. This is not the time for her to get snotty and rude. She obviously doesn't like something, but whatever it is, we'll discuss it later.
Not now.
Not here.
And not in front of a potential client we've been trying to land for years. This is our last chance, she better not fuck it up. It took months of phone calls and feeding his ego just to get him here. If she ruins this for us, I'll be fucking pissed.
James relaxes deeper in his chair, picking up a pen and nibbling the end. He doesn't seem to notice my sister's response, his eyes digging deep into Dalia.
That jealousy flares again, licking my inside like hot ash. But I can control myself, I have to.
“This man. . .” His voice fades as he points at me. “He speaks highly of you.” James drags the tip of the pen across the top of his teeth, his eyes firmly on hers.
“Well, my broth—”
James holds up his hand, cutting Sandy off. “I believe I asked her.” He leans back in his chair, not even taking the time to look over at my sister. “So, tell me, Dalia, what do you think you can do for me that no one else has been able to do?” He folds his arms, letting them fall across his chest.
My sister's mouth thins into a sharp line. She stops talking, but I know she's pissed. This is her house, and she doesn't like being knocked off her horse. Luckily, she's smart enough to know when to keep
her mouth shut.
Let him have his moment, San, it'll be worth it in the end.
Dalia's face lights up, glowing with the readiness to show off what she can do. She's always been proud of her art, that's one of the things that's always drawn me to her. The passion she exudes is a flawless shield, and it only drives my obsession with her wilder.
Pulling the folder away from her body, she sets it on the table firmly. Her fingers dance across the surface as her eyes steady on the cover.
Thinning my lips into a tight a smirk, I sit back and watch her. The excitement, the way she's eager to show off what she has to offer him, that's all it takes to draw James in.
He's just as mesmerized with her as I am. That flash of jealousy careens through my gut again, strangling my muscles for a single breath. And as I exhale, I breathe fire down the table, warning the man to back off.
James feels the contention and shifts in his seat, pulling himself further away from her, despite not actually moving.
But Sandy, Sandy doesn't care what I think. She doesn't like this at all. She doesn't like not being the center of attention, or not being the one the client looks to for answers. This is her domain, and Dalia is becoming the center piece.
Dalia pulls out papers, laying them across the table for James to see. Her hands are moving all over, up over her head, across her chest, pointing and giving him a visual in his mind.
I love watching her like this. Engulfed in her art, in her designs, in the concepts as they come alive. With every movement her passion grows, her eyes brighten, and the air in the room thickens, like right before a thunderstorm.
The static bristles my skin, causing the hair to stand up on my arms. I'm loving her energy as she's talking, and her lips as they're moving. She's unstoppable. And James, James is hooked.
Glancing over at my sister, I expect to see the same satisfaction on her face that I feel. Instead she looks bored as hell. She isn't enjoying one second of this. Which is surprising, because what Dalia is doing gives Sandy exactly what she wants; money and success.
The more of that, the happier my sister usually is. But right now, she just looks annoyed.
The meeting lasts another forty-five minutes, and by the time James leaves, we're signed on to do his next five advertising campaigns using Dalia's designs.
Shaking his hand, I guide James out the door. Turning back to Dalia, I give her a big smile. “I'm taking you out to lunch for that. You deserve it. Seriously, nice job. James loves your stuff. You just did what no one else here has been able to do—ever.”
“Really?” Dalia asks, her cheeks blushing slightly. “No one else has won him over?”
“Not a soul,” I answer, flashing her a big, proud grin.
Clearing her throat, my sister grabs my wrist and starts to pull me away. “Excuse us, Dalia. Lyle, I need to talk to you alone for a minute.” Sandy drags me out of the conference room, and into the hall. The door closes behind us, clicking shut. And with that sound, Sandy's entire demeanor changes. “What the fuck was that?”
“What?” Furrowing my brows, I keep my eyes on hers.
“That,” she says, throwing an arm at the conference room door. “No one else here has ever done this, blah blah blah—” Her voice is deep as she mimics me. “And now lunch with her? No, it's not happening, it's not a good idea, Lyle.”
“Why the hell not? She just landed us a huge client. One, do I need to remind you, who no one else could ever win over. Why shouldn't she be rewarded?”
“Is that what you're going to call this? A reward?” Her fingers flap in air quotes as she rolls her eyes. “What do you think the other employees will say? You've never taken anyone else out to lunch. How's that going to look?”
“First of all, I don't really give a shit what they think. I'm their damn boss. I'm half of this damn place, same as you. And secondly, no one else has ever done what she has in the amount of time she's been here. Maybe this will be a good motivator for them.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I puff up.
I'm not backing down from her. This isn't her choice to make.
Sandy's really starting to annoy me. Why is she so against taking an employee out to lunch? That's all Dalia is, an employee.
Is that really all she is? The question sits on my brain, but I don't answer it. I don't need to.
“Or,” she says, drawing out each letter, “maybe there's something else going on between you two.” She dances two fingers back and forth in front of my face.
Scoffing, I scratch the tips of my fingers over my scalp, and groan. “Come on, Sandy, don't start with this crap. There's nothing going on between us. I just think she deserves to be recognized for the work she's done. If the others don't like it, fuck them, I don't care. I'm not going to ignore the fact that she's given us recognized brands to work with, and not just some little mom and pop places that no one's ever heard of. With her talent, people are going to know who we are, and if they don't, they'll learn quick.”
“Well, I'm telling you no. You're not taking her out to lunch.”
“You—” I say sharply, using a hand to brush her to the side of the hallway as I take a strong step forward. “You don't get to tell me what to do. We're partners here, which means I make decisions too.”
“Fine, do what you want.” She flaps her hands in the air, darting her eyes to the floor. “You know better than to get involved with an employee. . .” She drops her arms to her sides, brows folding up into hard arches.
I know what she's doing, and I'm not getting sucked into it. She isn't a victim here. I'm not going against her, this isn't me being defiant. She's not our mother, and I don't owe her anything. We're equals. Sandy doesn't get to make all the rules.
I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of a response. Taking another step forward, I reach past her for the door handle. I'm done with her lecture, she isn't my boss, no matter how much she wants to have total control.
“And,” she says louder, catching my attention, “you definitely know better than to get involved with a girl like her.”
Looking back at her over my shoulder, I snarl, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Sandy smiles, resting her hands on her hips happily. “You know what it means, Lyle, don't act stupid. We're treasure, she's trash, nothing's changed, we've just allowed the lines to blur between us, that's all. It doesn't mean she's one of us now.”
“What the hell is your problem, Sandy? This girl is making you money, she's landed us two huge deals in the short time she's been here, and you want to act like she doesn't deserve something for it?”
She innocently holds up her hands, palms facing out. “I'm just calling it as I see it. But don't worry, I know you know better than to fuck this up. So go, have fun on your lunch date.” Sandy gives me a wink, then heads off in the direction of her office.
Well, she definitely knows who Dalia is, there's no question about that now.
But what the fuck is her problem?
The way she's acting, the tone of her voice, she almost sounds jealous. And not jealous of wishing she was the one who had brought in these clients. She sounds jealous of me taking Dalia to lunch.
That's ridiculous. Why the hell would she be jealous of that?
Shaking off the idea, I push Sandy out of mind, and open the door. I'm not going to let her ruin this for Dalia. She deserves to be recognized, and that's what I'm doing.
“So, where do you want to go for lunch?”
“I don't know, what are the options?”
“Anything you want, just name the place.”
“Anything?”
“Yup, anything.” Stretching my fingers over the back of the chair, I lean forward. “It's on me.”
“Oh well, now that changes everything.” Dalia smiles, causing my stomach to clench and my cock to jerk. Giggling, she taps a finger against her chin and looks up at the ceiling. “I know,” she says, bobbing her head up and down.
She picks a nice little bistro off Fourt
h and Main. Taking her down into the parking garage, I hit the button to unlock my car.
“Are you sure we should do this?”
“Do what?”
“Go out for lunch? I mean, won't people talk?”
“Fuck them if they do. I don't work for them, they work for me.” Shrugging a shoulder, I pull open her door for her.
Dalia laughs, and that fucking laugh sends the blood straight from my brain to my dick. “That's true.” Dalia drops down into the seat. Using the tips of her fingers, she runs them across the dashboard. “I really love this car, it's gorgeous.”
Smiling down at her, I say, “You keep going like you have been, maybe I'll buy you one someday.”
Her eyes jump to mine, head tilting a hair. “Yeah, no thanks.” Slipping her fingers into the door handle, she closes the door for herself.
Climbing into the front beside her, she has her hands tucked under her legs. Her eyes are set on the windshield, and her back is completely straight.
“Nervous?” I ask her.
“With you? No. I mean your little show in the break-room was something, but I'm not nervous with you. With your sister on the other hand, she terrifies me.” Dalia giggles, but behind her laugh I know she's serious.
I don't blame her, my sister is a lot to handle, but it's not like she's dangerous.“What was that little side conversation in the hall about anyway?” she asks cautiously.
Ugh, my sister. I don't want to talk about her right now.
“You know what, screw my sister, she isn't here right now. This lunch is for you. It's my treat for all the incredible work you've been doing.”
Dalia grins, relaxing a little into the seat. “I appreciate it, I really do, but you know you don't have to take me out to lunch to show it, right?”
“I know, but I want to.” My eyes are on hers, trying to read her. “Is that wrong? Do you not want to go out to lunch?”
“No, that's not it. It's not wrong, Lyle, but if you think all I care about is money and expensive things, then you really don't know me at all.” Dalia moves her hands to her lap, and starts drumming her fingers.