by Lucy Gage
“Ms. Hayes,” Marguerite said, jolting me from thoughts of skin on skin. I rose and followed her to my assigned massage room.
I took my time undressing, letting the satin of my undergarments fall to the floor. I imagined it was William’s hands caressing me as my own hands trailed up my torso and cupped my breasts.
While I had no expectations from William other than to please me, I knew the day would eventually come when we would part ways. I dreaded that time, knowing he would be a hard act for any other man to follow.
Sliding under the sheet on the table, I took several deep breaths and waited. The knock that was immediately followed by the door swinging open, kicked my heart into high gear.
“Hello,” the deep gravelly voice sent goosebumps across my skin.
“Hi,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything else as he readied himself. Body aching, I listened to drawers opening and closing, a glass bottle hitting the countertop, his jeans as his feet shuffled toward the table.
When soft lips lightly grazed the skin of my neck, I practically came undone.
“I can’t wait to be inside you.” His deep voice was like a jolt straight to my pussy.
I groaned when his hands began exploring my body, not caring in the least how wanton I sounded. And when he finally slid inside me—chest to chest, nose to nose, lips to lips—and whispered how much he missed me, I knew there was nowhere else I wanted to be.
These were the moments I lived for, and I had my son’s wedding to thank for each one.
Jessica is the author of the Love Square & Concierge series. She grew up in Central New York, where she currently lives with her husband, daughter and two dogs. Her days are spent as a Security Analyst at an IT consulting company. In her free time, she enjoys reading books and developing ideas for her own stories. Writing is her secret passion that she’s been fostering since elementary school, when she wrote her first book about a puppy. It has always been a dream of hers to be able to share her stories with the world.
Facebook: jessicaingrobooks
Twitter: @jingro
Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/20Mclam
Totally Screwed
Copyright © 2018 by Elle Jefferson
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A break. We’d paused the meeting so Armand could take a quick call. I’d used the time to run to the bathroom where I was trying to regroup. I slapped my hand against the counter. Screwed. Totally and utterly screwed. My first day on the job and my new client was my one-night stand.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Only I would have this kind of dumb luck. I splashed more water on my face. And of course, he had to come to the meeting looking even better than he did the night of the Christmas party. How would I keep it professional when all I could think about when I looked at him, was that he was the best night of sex I’d had in like, forever?
Images of Armand flashed in my head. His chest shirtless. The look on his face right before he went down on me. The feel of his hands all over my skin. Fuck. I splashed more water on my face hoping to cool myself down from the torrid thoughts running rampant in my mind. I swear if he bit that damn lip ring one more time I’d …
I splashed another handful of water on my face. I gripped the edges of the sink, my nails biting porcelain as I watched the water go down the drain. Along with my career. Though I wasn’t firmly encamped in the don’t mix business with pleasure philosophy, I did, however, stay away from my clients. It didn’t get more poetic than this.
I slapped my face. “Get yourself together,” I told my reflection. After a full minute of thinking about spaces poorly designed and decorated I felt back to myself. I adjusted my blouse, smoothed down my pencil skirt and ran a hand through my hair.
“Hey,” Ashley said poking her head in the door. I glanced at her before returning my attention back to the drain. “Everything okay?” she asked.
Did I share how I screwed my career by screwing my client? “Yep, everything is great.”
“Okay, well we’re ready.” Ashley didn’t sound convinced.
Time to quit acting like a freak. I stood up and turned off the water. No more stalling, “Great, let’s do this.” I even threw Ashley a thumbs-up as I passed her. All I could do was pray Armand didn’t mention our tryst. That he’d give me a chance as a designer. And then we could move past all this. Besides, there was the ominous Tina to think of.
Unfortunately, my brain turned to mush when I saw him standing outside the conference room. One arm was stretched out resting against the wall. His back to me giving me a view of his round ass. I’d never gotten a chance to bite it. But damn I wanted to now. He shifted feet making each cheek move mesmerizing me. Images of him flood my mind again.
Ashley poked my arm, “If you’re ready to go in?” She motioned to the door. The unsaid “If you’re done ogling our client,” evident on her face. Shit, I’d been caught. Trying to keep Armand from my thoughts was going to be a full-time job in itself. Even the thought of a “Tina” didn’t stop me from desiring him. Ashley and I took our seats. Lydia sat down across from us. Armand joined us a second later. He winked at me when he took his seat.
I took a deep breath before starting my spiel. “According to,” my voice cracked. I cleared it, started again, “It’s my understanding you’d like four rooms redesigned. Your main office space, a waiting room, a guest house and …” I froze for a second as my eyes moved across the word nursery, my heart raced. Act professional, “… and a nursery.” I looked up to meet Armand’s eyes
He nodded. “Yes, it’s my—” his phone rang interrupting him. “Excuse me I have to take this,” he turned to Lydia, “finish up for me?” He didn’t wait for her response as he moved to the door. He answered his phone with a harried, “Is everything okay?” as he stepped out into the hallway closing the door behind him. Lydia was shaking her head, clearly annoyed. “Sorry about that,” she started, “you have the budget is there anything else you need from me?”
“Yes. I’d like to schedule a time with you that I can stop by each space to do some measurements, get a feel for the spaces.”
“Of course. Is there anything else?”
He wanted a nursery designed. Get it together. Freak out later. “Actually, yes.” I pulled out a little test I gave all my clients. I’d drawn it up years ago. How people answered it helped assist me in designing the right space for them. “If you could have Mr. Scott look this over and get it back to me as soon as possible it will make this design move quicker.”
“You got it.” Lydia tucked the paper into her messenger bag. She slid a card across to me, “You can reach me at that number. I will pass everything on to Mr. Scott. Thank you.”
With Ashley and I alone she turned to me. “I think that went well.”
“Yes, though I’m worried about the budget. Some of the things he wants,” a fucking nursery,” I just don’t know.”
“As long as you focus on the design and not other things it’ll go smoothly.”
“What do you mean?”
Ashley stood up collecting her things. “I’ll get these numbers over to Monica and Tom. I’ll make sure to get you scheduled to do measuring on Wednesday. We’ll schedule a team meeting for Thursday get started on materials and contractors. You also have to meet with Mr. Scott’s lawyers to go over contracts and sign the non-disclosure agreement.” With that she left. I dr
opped my head into my hands. I had to act more professional.
Nearly a week passed since my first meeting with Mr. Scott. We’d signed all the necessary contracts. Got a plan together on who to approach for textiles and such. Also, I was referring to Armand as Mr. Scott since it helped to distance myself from the memories of him in my head.
Kind of.
When I arrived at the office a vanilla latte with soy was sitting on my desk. I was always early and yet Ashley always beat me. Seriously, she was a dream to work with. Next to my computer was today’s itinerary. I looked it over as I sipped my coffee.
I stuck my head out the door of my office, “Ashley?”
Her head popped up above her computer screen, “Yes?”
“Have you received Mr. Scott’s questionnaire yet?”
“No. Would you like me to touch base with Lydia?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you.”
Time flew as I worked on my computer putting together the space layouts for each room I was designing. I was sitting at my desk working when my phone beeped. It was a text from an unknown number.
Unknown number: What comes to mind when you hear the word cashmere?
Unknown number: How would you describe the ocean?
I knew immediately it had to be Armand—Mr. Scott. Those were two of the questions from the questionnaire I’d given Lydia to give to him. I saved the number. Another text quickly followed.
Mr. Scott: Is this for real?
Desi: The questions might sound strange but trust me, it helps me design the right space for my clients.
Mr. Scott: What common traits do an apple and an orange share?
Mr. Scott: What if I answer wrong and am stuck in a sea foam green office forever, what then?
Desi: There is no right or wrong only insight.
Mr. Scott: Insight? So sea foam green could happen? It’s basically ocean vomit.
Desi: Your worries about sea-foam green are duly noted.
Mr. Scott: So if I was to say cashmere makes me think of your skin what then?
I reread the text. Surely, I was reading it wrong. There was no way he was hitting on me. Not taking the bait.
Desi: Please get that back to me as soon as possible.
Mr. Scott: Are you acting weird because we had sex?
The word sex screamed repeatedly inside my head. I remembered the feel of his lips on my skin. I shivered.
Desi: No. It’s called acting professional?
Mr. Scott: So what would you call that thing you did with your finger and tongue then?
My skin heated. My heart raced. Every one of my nerve endings was on fire as my mind rushed back to my night with Armand. No. No. No. I had to end this conversation.
Desi: Please get that back to me. You can email it or fax it to my assistant.
I sent the text then shut my phone off. I set back to work on my computer. Ashley crackled over the intercom. “Mr. Scott is on-line two for you.”
“Can you take a message? I’m busy.”
“He said it’s urgent.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I couldn’t ignore him or it would look unprofessional. “Got it.”
I pressed line two, “Hello.”
“Ms. Ashton,” Armand’s rich voice vibrated across the line, “Are you ignoring me?”
“Ignoring you? I’m busy.”
There was rustling. A chair squeaked. I pictured him leaning back in his chair. What was he wearing? Was he shirtless? Please let him be shirtless. The glorious tattoo of a tree across his torso flashed in my head.
“To busy even for me?” His voice interrupted my (lamenting). Off limits. He’s a client with a baby on the way remember?
“Yes.”
“What are you busy doing?”
“3-D renderings and presentation boards.”
“I love it when you talk dirty. Tell me something else.”
“Sea-foam green.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Don’t you have like tons of work to be doing Mr. Big-Hollywood-Guy?”
“I feel like you’re trying to get off the phone with me.”
“I’m just—”
“I know. I know. You’re just busy. Have dinner with me.”
“We’re having lunch in like two weeks to go over your redesign.”
“I know. I want to have dinner just you and me.”
“I don’t think that would be professional.” God I would love to go to dinner with Armand. I mean Mr. Scott. Why oh why did he have to be my first client?
“Fuck professional. The things I want to do to you, with you, have nothing to do with professionalism. What will it take to get you under me again?”
I choked on an intake of breath. “Excuse me?” I managed to pant out.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about our night together? It’s all I’ve thought about. You in those amazing heels and nothing else. I want you.”
How did I respond to that? While my chest heaved and my mind ran away with dirty thoughts, I said, “That can’t happen again. I’m sorry I have a meeting to get to. I’ll see you in two weeks.” I didn’t wait for a response before hanging up. I slammed the phone down into the receiver. I stared at the screen of my desktop as I gathered my composure. He was hitting on me. Dinner with Armand would be amazing except I was right to turn it down. I couldn’t do dinner with him. I would not be a Charlotte.
“Ashley, did you get the renderings printed?” I asked. I was standing in front of her desk as she furiously typed away on her computer. She paused, looking up at me. She slapped a hand against her forehead. “Shit!” She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“I take it you have bad news then?”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, I forgot to put it on my list. I’ll get on it now.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it on my way to my meeting with Richard to get my textile sample board.”
“Are you sure? I can skip lunch and get it. I should since it was my screw-up. I’m so sorry.”
I pressed my hip against her desk, “I will forgive you this trespass since you have been nothing but amazing. Seriously, I’ve got it. Just make sure you get the contracts over to S&M Contracting today.”
“On it.” Ashley jumped up from her desk heading back to Dennis and Greg’s office.
I went back to my office. I collected all my file folders dealing with the Scott redesign and packed them into my messenger bag. Grabbed my presentation board and jacket and headed out. I passed Ashley on my way to the elevator, “Hey, I’m heading out. Send all my calls to my cell. I won’t be back.”
She nodded jotting it down on her clip board. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Bring me a donut with my vanilla soy latte tomorrow and we’ll call it squared.” Though she didn’t have to bring either and I’d still call us squared. The girl was a damn miracle in two-inch heels.
“You got it.”
The elevator doors closed.
Sorry, I lied. Text messaging is in the next chapter. Just need to keep the fonts and styles resident in the doc.
My meeting with Richard went spectacular. He had some amazing textile samples for me to comb through. None of which were sea-foam green, but all of which matched Armand’s personality. The day after our awkward phone call where he talked about me being under him again he emailed me his answers to his questionnaire I’d given him. At the end of the questionnaire he’d written:
I’d like a couch made of beige cashmere in my home office because it reminds me of you. Thinking of you always.
Armand
Xxoo
Even his handwriting was sexy.
If I’m being honest I printed that email, cut off the handwritten part, folded it and tucked it into my wallet. And maybe another copy into my desk. He may have been off limits but that didn’t mean I couldn’t fantasize we lived in an alternate reality where he was not. After my meeting with R
ichard I went to get my renderings printed. They would be ready Saturday. Had to pay extra for the rush print but it was worth it. I could pick it up and still have Sunday to prepare it all. I’d be meeting Mr. Scott on Monday to present my ideas. I was nervous and excited.
Once done at the printing shop I stopped to grab dinner (some Mexican food) before heading home. I couldn’t help my excitement. This was the first design I was heading. At ID Works I only assisted.
It was intoxicating running my campaign so to speak. I was in charge. It was also terrifying as hell which is why I bought a bottle of Vermouth to make a dirty Martini with when I got home. My nerves were at war over my meeting Monday. They couldn’t decide whether they were excited or scared which made me an anxious mess.
My messenger bag was hanging on my shoulder, dinner was in a bag hooked over my forearm I was holding a grocery bag in one hand and my keys in the other. As I hurried from car to the front door of my house I stopped by the mailbox to grab the mail. Once I was inside I wasn’t leaving the couch for the night. I got inside dropped my stuff on the dining room table and went to my bedroom to change.
I slipped out of my dress into a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt then headed straight to the kitchen to make myself a cocktail. With a drink in hand I grabbed the mail and plopped down on my couch. A large yellow envelope caught my eye. My birthday wasn’t for a week, but my Granny was never late in wishing me Happy Birthday. She wrote sweet message that always touched me. She was a wise woman with a sixth sense about things. I ripped open the envelope expecting to find a birthday card.
Instead my birthday card, was no birthday car but an invitation to Mark and Charlotte’s wedding. It was a gray tri-fold card with white and yellow embossed daisies. In the center of the card was white lace upon which in black cursive was the announcement of Mark and Charlotte’s upcoming nuptials. They were getting married on February fourteenth at the Tea Garden. The place I dreamed about getting married at. I finished my martini in one gulp.