The Stopover

by Swan, T L

  His cold eyes rise to meet mine. “I told you what I wanted you to do yesterday, but you didn’t do that . . . did you?”

  I frown. Wait, what’s he talking about now? I’m confused.

  He doesn’t have to be so damn rude. I snatch the folder from the table. “All right,” I snap. “I’ll write a fake story about a fake murder of a fake CEO by a fake new employee.”

  He glares at me.

  “With a fake ax.”

  “Well . . . ,” he says with a sneer, “just make sure she has a fucking gray skirt on.”

  My mouth falls open; he’s pissed that I didn’t do what he asked.

  The nerve of this jerk.

  “No, she doesn’t wear gray skirts on demand. She’s naked because she’s just had wild sex with her hot boyfriend right before she chops off that spoiled-brat CEO’s dick.”

  He narrows his eyes in contempt.

  I stand. “You will have your story by five. I’ll email it over.”

  “No, you’ll deliver it up here in person.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Miles,” I say as I smile sweetly, “I don’t feel like seeing you again today. I’ll deliver it to Tristan.”

  “Deliver it to Tristan, and see what happens,” he barks.

  I turn and storm out of the office with red steam shooting out of my ears.

  The man’s a fucking pig.

  It’s five thirty, and I sit at my desk as I type the last word of my fake story. I hate to admit it, but this one is better. My coworkers have gone to the bar, and I’m meeting them there. I’m supposed to be taking it up to his office, but I’m not.

  Screw him.

  I hit send to email it over, and I turn off my computer and pack up my desk.

  My phone rings, and the letter J lights up the screen. I saved his initial so I’d know if he calls me. I pick up my phone and hit decline, and then I smile sweetly at the camera, knowing full well he’s watching me.

  I did not just break up with one selfish asshole to go out with another.

  He can kiss my ass. A text comes through.

  Answer your fucking phone.

  I glare at the text and write back.

  I have nothing to say to you.

  I’ve finished work for the day.

  You have your story.

  Good luck with it.

  A reply bounces back.

  This is a personal call.

  I roll my eyes in disgust and reply.

  Find someone else in a gray skirt to suck your dick on demand. I’m not interested in the position.

  I put my phone on silent and then into my bag and continue to pack up my desk.

  I take the elevator down to the foyer, and as I walk through, a security guard is on the phone. “Excuse me, miss,” he calls.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been instructed to tell you to wait here.”

  Shit. He’s on his way down. “Um, no, I can’t. I’m sorry. Apologize for me,” I stammer as I brush past him and out through the front doors. I run around the corner, and then when I’m out of sight of the security guard, I run across the street and duck into the café I was in yesterday afternoon so I can see.

  What does he want?

  I take a seat in the café by the window, and then I see Jameson come out the front doors in a rush and then look up and down the street. He takes out his phone and calls someone. My phone starts to vibrate in my bag.

  Shit. I’m going to totally screw up this opportunity and get myself fired.

  Is that why that other girl got fired today? Was she sleeping with him, and things turned bad? I watch him look up and down the street and dial the number again. I let it ring.

  He’s openly furious. The front doors of the building open, and Tristan comes out. Jameson says something to him, and Tristan laughs.

  What did he say?

  I watch with my heart beating hard as they both look up and down the street, and then the limousine pulls in. He calls me again, and I close my eyes. Stop calling me.

  They finally get into the limo, and I watch as it pulls away. I drag my hand down my face in despair.

  His temper and my temper are a bad combination.

  We are officially a bad idea.

  An hour later

  “What do you mean?” Molly frowns. “I’m confused.”

  “It’s all just one big mess.” I sigh.

  “I went home to California, and it turns out that Robbie didn’t actually give a crap, so I ended it. But I didn’t tell Jameson that because I don’t want him to think that it was because of him.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” She frowns. “But why is Jameson being such an asshole now?”

  “Because she didn’t wear the gray skirt,” Aaron interrupts. “Don’t you listen?”

  “But why?” she gasps. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I know,” I snap.

  “It’s not about the skirt,” Aaron replies as he chews. “It’s a power thing. He wants her to do as he asks.”

  I frown as I listen. “You think?”

  “I still don’t get it.” Molly frowns.

  “It’s symbolic to him. He wants her to submit.”

  “Well, I’m not,” I huff. “Honestly, the man is fucking stupid if he thinks that I will.”

  Molly rolls her eyes. “Oh God, if he asked me to wear a skirt made of kidneys, I would,” she huffs as she stares into space. “I would even kill fifty men to get the said kidneys.”

  Aaron chuckles. “Right? Me too. There isn’t actually anything that he couldn’t ask me to do.” He holds his hands in the air. “I would do it all.”

  I roll my eyes, and we all think for a moment.

  “You know what I would do if I were you?” Molly says.

  “What?”

  “I would wear the gray skirt tomorrow, and I would ignore the fuck out of him.”

  I stare at her.

  “Make the bastard weep.”

  “Yeah.” Aaron smiles broadly. “Flirt your ass off in that gray skirt.”

  I smirk as the idea rolls around in my head. “You know, guys . . . that’s not actually a bad idea.”

  I hold my glass up in the air as I smile at my two friends. “To Operation Flirty Office Slut.” Molly smiles as she clinks her glass with mine.

  I smirk as I stare at her. “Game on.”

  I march into the office like a rock star.

  No stockings . . . check.

  White lace bra . . . check.

  White silk shirt . . . check.

  High ponytail . . . check.

  Gray skirt with split . . . check, check, double check.

  “Good morning.” I smile at my friends as I arrive at my desk.

  Their eyes come to me, and they smirk as they see I’m wearing the requested outfit. Aaron gives me a wink and turns back to his computer.

  “Does anybody want coffee?” I ask.

  “Yes, please,” they both reply.

  I walk into the kitchen, and Ricardo follows me in. “Hey, chickie, I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I smile an over-the-top fake smile. God . . . can’t I have someone better to fake flirt with than this guy? “Hi,” I reply excitedly. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.” He smiles at my enthusiasm. “Listen, I’m so sorry I got you into trouble the other day.”

  I smile and pull my hand through my ponytail. “That’s okay. Come and see me later, though, won’t you?”

  His eyes light up. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

  I walk back to my desk and take a seat with our three coffees, and I open my emails and get to work. Jameson called me six times last night, and I don’t know why.

  I’m not sure if he wanted to apologize or fight . . . but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of answering his call so he can do either.

  I’m going to have a good day, and I’m not going to think about Jameson Miles once.

  It’s three o’clock, and Operation Flirty Office Slut is in full swing. I’ve smiled and laugh
ed with every loser in the building today. I’m not sure if he’s even watching, but I’m about to up the ante. I’m on my way up to see Tristan about the story I wrote.

  The elevator doors open, and I smile sweetly at the receptionist.

  “Hello, I’m here to see Tristan.”

  “Sure, just a moment.” She frowns as she tries to remember my name.

  “It’s Emily Foster.”

  “That’s right. I’m sorry.” She calls through. “Tristan, I have Emily Foster here to see you.”

  “Okay, send her in,” he replies happily.

  “Just go through to the main conference room, but instead of turning left to go to Jameson’s office, turn right, and go down the corridor on the other side of the building.”

  “Thank you.” I follow her directions and head down to the other end of the building. I frown; there are four office doors. I hesitate. Which door did she say?

  I walk down the corridor, and a door is open. I see Jameson is in there, talking to a man. “Sorry to bother you. Is Tristan’s office down here?” I ask.

  Jameson’s face falls as he sees me.

  “Next door,” the other man replies.

  I smile sweetly. “Thank you.” I head over and knock on Tristan’s door.

  “Come in,” he calls, and I walk in and close the door behind me.

  “Hello.” I smile.

  “Hi, Emily.” He smiles warmly as he gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Please take a seat.”

  As I sit down, I come to the realization that Tristan doesn’t make me nervous at all; I wish his brother didn’t.

  “I just was wondering if you had time to look at the story I wrote?”

  “I did, yes, and I loved it. Were you happy with it?”

  “Yeah, I think it was better. I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do with it next.”

  He frowns. “We’ll need to submit it as if it has come to you. Did you talk to Jameson?”

  “Umm.”

  The office door opens, and Jameson marches in. “Hello.”

  “Speak of the devil.” Tristan smiles.

  “Hello,” I reply as I turn my attention back to Tristan. It’s hard not to stare at Jameson when he’s in a room; he overtakes any space.

  This playing hard to get is harder to do than it looks.

  “Emily is here to talk about the story she wrote.”

  “I see.” He stares at me, and I feel the magnetic pull to him as it begins to surround me.

  “Was it okay?” I ask.

  “It was.” His eyes hold mine. “It was very good.”

  “Are we just going to submit it now as if it has come to her as news?” Tristan asks.

  Jameson’s eyes stay fixed on mine. “Yes, I think so.”

  My eyes flick between the two men. “Okay. I’ll submit it and let you know what happens.”

  Jameson’s eyes hold mine. “I have something I need you to add with it. It’s on my computer. Come with me, and I’ll get it now.”

  My nerves tingle. “Okay,” I reply as I stand.

  Jameson holds his hand out. “Ladies first.”

  I turn to Tristan. “Thank you. See you later.”

  Tristan smiles broadly. “Goodbye. Have a nice afternoon.”

  I walk to Jameson’s office, and I can feel the heat of his stare on my behind.

  Just play it cool . . . no flirting . . . no touching. Just play it cool.

  I am here to prick tease the bastard . . . nothing more and nothing less. We get to his office, and he opens the door. I walk past him, and then he closes it and flicks the lock.

  I turn to him as he steps toward me in slow motion. His face comes to within an inch of mine.

  Our eyes search each other’s, and without a word said, he grabs my ponytail and wraps it around his hand and pulls my head back to his face.

  “Don’t fight with me,” he breathes, then leans down and licks my lips.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” I whisper.

  He bends and runs his hand up my bare leg as he holds my hair in his hand. His tongue licks up the length of my neck, which is stretched out for him, as his hand grabs my behind.

  “Tell me he’s gone,” he whispers in my ear as he kisses it softly.

  Ah . . . this is not how the plan went in my head. I’m supposed to be rejecting him right about now.

  Abort mission . . .

  “He’s gone,” I breathe.

  His lips take mine, and his tongue slides effortlessly through my mouth as my senses awaken.

  His hand grinds me onto his waiting erection as our kiss turns frantic. He pushes me up against the wall and tears my skirt up and slips his thick fingers underneath my panties. His dark eyes hold mine. “Tonight, we fuck.”

  Chapter 7

  “Jameson,” I whisper. “Will you behave?” I pull my skirt down over my hips.

  He smiles into my neck and pulls me closer; his lips brush against mine as he takes my face in his hands. The kiss is slow, long, and deliberate, and I find my feet floating in the air.

  “Dinner?” he breathes.

  “Hmm.” I smile against him as he holds my face. There’s no mistaking that kiss. It’s tempting, sensual, and a promise of sexual satisfaction.

  “What time will I pick you up?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you think you can tell me what to wear and what to do.”

  He smiles softly, and I feel my heart skip a beat; he hasn’t smiled at me like that since the first night we met. “Forgive me,” he whispers as he leans in and kisses me again. “I simply wanted you to wear my favorite outfit so I could admire you in it.” His lips drop to my neck as if he’s unable to stop himself. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “Do you have to be so abrasive with me?” I whisper as his teeth skim my jawline.

  “Abrasive is who I am.”

  “The man I met was funny and carefree.”

  He smiles down at me as he brushes the hair back from my forehead. “Our meeting was a luxury that I’ve never been afforded.”

  “How so?”

  “I had the gift of anonymity.”

  Our lips touch, and I rub my fingers through his stubble.

  “Why are you so different here?” I whisper.

  He pulls out of my grip and walks over to his desk. “I am who I have to be, Emily. Funny and carefree can’t successfully run an empire.”

  I stare at him as I think for a moment. “Okay, then I guess I’ll have to decline dinner.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I want to spend a night with Jim.”

  His eyes hold mine.

  “Jameson Miles the CEO doesn’t interest me. I couldn’t care less about your money or your power.”

  He stares at me for an extended time as if processing my words.

  I walk over and kiss him softly. “Tell Jim to pick me up at seven,” I whisper as I run my tongue through his lips. “I’m aching for him.”

  Tenderness crosses his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I walk back down to my floor and take a seat at my desk.

  “How did it go?” Aaron whispers as he types. “Did you make him beg?”

  “God, I’m totally crap at playing hard to get.” I sigh.

  Molly smirks. “Aren’t we all?”

  I open my computer.

  “Well?” Aaron whispers as he stops working. “Tell us.”

  “We’re having dinner tonight,” I reply as I try to sound casual.

  “Oh my God,” Molly whispers in excitement. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “I don’t know.” I frown. “Something insanely hot.”

  I hold my hand over my heart as I try to will it to slow down, and I glance at the clock on the wall—6:55 p.m.

  He’ll be here any minute.

  I shake my hands around and pace back and forth. “Just be cool . . . don’t sleep with him. Whatever you do, don’t be easy,” I remin
d myself out loud.

  I walk back to the mirror in the bathroom and reapply my lipstick. “Get to know each other, and then make an informed decision based on his personality and not how much he turns you on.” I smirk at the ridiculous girl talking to her reflection. If his dick wasn’t so perfect, I wouldn’t be thinking about it at all, then . . . would I?

  My phone buzzes. “Hello,” I answer as my heart races.

  “I’m downstairs,” his deep, velvety voice purrs. “What number are you?”

  “I’ll come down now. See you soon.” I walk back to the full-length mirror and take one last look. I’m wearing a black fitted dress that hangs to just below my knees. It has spaghetti straps and a low back. It goes with my black stilettos and matching clutch. My long dark hair is set in big Hollywood curls and pinned back on one side. I’ve gone all out with my makeup and have smoky gray eyes and glossy red lips.

  And of course, I’m waxed to within an inch of my life . . . just in case.

  I take the elevator, and when I walk out through the foyer, I see him through the glass front doors of my building. He’s wearing a navy sports coat and blue jeans with a white T-shirt. He looks like he’s stepped straight out of a magazine.

  My breath catches at the sight of him, and I smile as he turns toward me.

  “Hi.” He smiles.

  “Hi.”

  His eyes roam down the length of my body as he takes my hand in his. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I smile bashfully.

  We stare at each other . . . and it’s there again. The electric current that runs between us whenever we’re alone. “What do you want to do?” he asks as his eyes drop to my lips.

  I smile. Jim’s here—Jameson wouldn’t ask me what I wanted to do. “Didn’t you mention Italian?”

  He leans in and kisses me, with just the right amount of suction to raise my feet from the floor. My arms go around his neck, and we stand in the street and stare at each other. “You really do turn me on, Emily Foster,” he breathes.

  I smile as I pull my fingers through his dark hair. “Did you come all the way across town to make out with me on the street?” I ask innocently.

  “No.” He smirks. “But now that I’m here, it’s the only thing I want to do.”

  We kiss again, and it’s slow and tender, and I feel my arousal fly in like a 747.

  His hard length makes an appearance up against my stomach, and I smile broadly.