After taking three more, she finally gets to me. I was here fifteen minutes early, but after standing here for ten minutes, I’m getting a little nervous about being late by the time I get to where I’m supposed to be.
Surely they’re a little more lenient on the first day, but they did send me that email…
Sighing as she switches off the headset, the woman shoots me a brief, apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m a little busy over here. I am not a receptionist.”
“Oh.” I frown slightly, looking around, but I don’t see anything that looks more like a reception area than this. “Is this… not the reception desk?”
Her eyebrows rise with familiar annoyance. “Oh, no. It is—I’m just not a receptionist. I’m an assistant pulling double duty until we can get someone in here Foster doesn’t hate. A temp showed up this morning and he fired her on the spot. It may not surprise you to hear the last receptionist quit, so…” Suddenly struck by an idea, she eyes me up and asks brightly, “Have you ever worked the phones?”
I shake my head quickly. I don’t want her getting any ideas, so I quickly light up my phone screen and flash her the time. “I’m almost late and that’s probably not the first impression I want to make, so…”
“Oh! Yes, you need HR.” Finally, the woman directs me to the appropriate office on the same floor, so I make my way to it.
Orientation is a bit tedious, but it breezes by. In fact, the whole first half of the day does. I’m introduced to the people in my department and shown the ropes. Then—since his assistant is preoccupied at the reception desk—I’m handed off on a temporary basis to an associate named Ryan. He seems nice enough, but he doesn’t ask a lot of me. Basically, I’m just fetching him coffee and drafting emails that he reads before they’re sent, anyway.
I get the feeling there is much more to the job that he’s just not putting on me, because he’s running around all morning and seems as overwhelmed as the front desk girl.
Just before lunchtime, I head into his office to see if I can order him something. I’ve never been an assistant, but I have seen assistants on movies and TV shows order out for the person they’re assisting. Seems like it might be helpful.
When I step inside, I see Ryan standing at his desk, leaning down to type on his computer with the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder to keep it from falling.
“I hear a fax coming through right now, that’s probably it,” he says into the phone.
I see the fax machine, so I run over to grab the paper it’s spitting out and walk it over to him.
He flashes me a grateful smile as he grabs it and starts skimming so he can sound more prepared than he is for whatever conversation he’s having.
I don’t know what else to do, so I wait for him to finish his call. When he finally does, he drops into his office chair and sighs. “Is it time to go home yet?”
The poor man looks exhausted. “I wish I could help. I can help, but you need to let me do more. I’m not useless, I swear.”
In a half-hearted attempt to be nice, he tells me, “You have been helping.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Helping enable your caffeine dependency, maybe. I know it’s only my first day, but I’m here to assist you. You don’t have to take it easy on me, Ryan. I’m a big girl, I can handle a little hard work.”
My words do seem to have a relaxing effect on him, but I’m not sure it’s in precisely the way I intended. I only meant he could take me seriously and give me actual responsibilities, but his gaze travels over my body in a way that makes me wonder if he has read the no-fraternization policy.
“I bet you can,” he murmurs.
I straighten, glancing away from him so he’ll think I didn’t notice.
Ryan is an attractive man—a good build underneath that gray suit he’s wearing, golden blonde hair he spends time styling, an easy smile and an endearing dimple to top it off. He has nice eyes, too, and I’m a sucker for nice eyes.
I’ve read the rules, though, and there’s only one man in this building who could possibly tempt me to break them.
The man who never would.
Ignoring the way Ryan looks at me, I ask if I can order him some lunch. He has a meeting directly after that he’s not prepared for, so he probably won’t be leaving the office today.
He thanks me and gives me his order, so I head off to place it and get him a fresh cup of coffee.
As I’m walking back to the office, I spot a gaggle of assistants gathered together, whispering about something of apparent urgency. I wonder if I should poke my nose in and see if there’s anything I should know about, but I want to get Ryan his coffee first.
When I come back, Ryan is in his office chair with his back to me, rifling through a drawer of files. Without interrupting, I make my way over and go to sit the coffee down on the coaster atop his desk.
Ryan spins back around and knocks into me. I lose my balance, dropping the coffee mug and grabbing the edge of the desk to keep from falling. The mug hits the desk and falls over—spilling piping hot coffee directly onto Ryan’s lap.
“Oh, my God,” I say as he shouts, jumping up out of the chair. My heart skitters to a stop, then starts racing, my face heating with a mix of horror and embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!”
I turn around and look for anything I can find to clean it up. What I need is a clean towel, but all I find are some brown take-out napkins.
Ryan can only think to get the hot liquid off his body, so I’m not all that surprised or alarmed when he rips open his pants and shoves them down to get the soaked fabric away from his skin.
“Here, let me help,” I say, rushing forward with my fistful of napkins.
I think he starts to object, but before he can, I thrust my hand forward and start dabbing.
His skin is red and irritated where I spilled the coffee on him so I try to rub carefully. “I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”
Ryan swallows and throws his head back as I dab. He makes a noise low in his throat that makes me think it probably does hurt, but before I can ask again, I hear my name uttered in such a sharp tone, I nearly forget about Ryan’s ailment.
“Miss Parker.”
My heart falls straight to my feet.
I know that voice. Deep and masculine, entirely commanding—but not loud. He doesn’t have to be loud.
It was his voice that I first noticed at the Hamptons house a couple of summers ago. Mom was throwing one of her famous summer soirees, and Foster happened to be in town, so he stopped by. I actually had my eye on someone else—one of the waiters Mom hired to work the party—but Foster stole my attention away. One minute I was helping myself to a flute of champagne I was too young to drink and trying my best to captivate the cute cater-waiter, the next… Foster happened.
As soon as he spoke, my focus was his. I turned around to see who was speaking to me and met the familiar, piercing blue eyes of Daddy’s best friend.
It wasn’t long before I’d completely forgotten about the waiter. Foster captured my attention in that moment, and as the night wore on, he definitely kept it.
I was only a passing amusement for him, though. A casual flirtation that meant absolutely nothing—especially when he realized who I was, how old I was...
William Foster may have forgotten about me, but he always lingered in my mind.
It’s daunting given the position I’m in at the moment, but when I raise my gaze to meet his beautiful blue eyes, it’s just like it was at the party—all thoughts of any other man evaporate in a puff of smoke.
His face is perfect. As if sculpted lovingly by an artist who regarded the task as his life’s work. His granite jaw is locked, making him appear almost… irritated. His piercing blue eyes are locked on me, pinning me to the spot. I want to move, but I can’t.
I can’t look away.
Then his perfect lips lift the tiniest bit—in amusement or disdain, I can’t tell.
“Kindly remove your hand from my employee’s dick and come with me
. It appears we need to talk.”
CHAPTER TWO
Foster
I knew this was a terrible fucking idea.
But how was I supposed to tell Mason I didn’t want his daughter interning for me?
“Sorry, man, but your little girl’s ass is a tempting distraction I absolutely don’t need in my life right now.”
Hell no.
I’d wanted to tell him no—even had the two-letter word sitting on the tip of my tongue—but he fucking begged.
Mason Landon Parker pleaded for a simple favor.
I owe him so much and he’s never once asked for anything in return. He’s a good guy. Wears charisma better than the ten thousand dollar suits he dons each day. Smart and business savvy and a fucking go-getter if I ever saw one. For most of our friendship, I’ve aspired to be as well-rounded as he is. I’d promised myself if he ever needed anything, I’d find a way to give it to him.
Except this.
Fuck.
Of all the things he could ask, this was the one that was almost too much.
Chelsea Parker.
The same stunning little temptress I’d flirted with when she was barely old enough to drive. Stupid and out of character. Yet, my dumb horny ass thought there was no harm in teasing the smiles out of her.
It’s not like I planned to kiss her or fuck her.
Harmless.
But it wasn’t harmless because I couldn’t get her out of my head. Two years later and my dick still reacts to the gorgeous young woman.
She’s untouchable, though, for a multitude of reasons. Not only is it against company policy to bend the hot new intern over my desk, fucking her until she screams, but she’s also Mason’s goddamn daughter.
“I, uh, it’s not what it looked like,” Chelsea croaks out, her cheeks flaming pink and her neck turning splotchy red. Her sea green eyes plead for me to understand.
I’ve never seen eyes that color green. Exactly like the Caribbean Sea that surrounded Saona Island in the Dominican Republic. The color, when I’d visited seven years ago, stood out to me. I took the time to really appreciate the fruits of my labor, enjoying every detail of that trip, even down to the color of the water. When I was a kid, I would have never imagined I’d leave Dad’s scummy apartment in the Bronx and one day be sitting on a boat marveling over the most beautiful scenery I’d ever seen—probably in the world.
And, yet, there I was.
Hard work and perseverance got me there. I’m not weak. I won’t allow myself to be sidetracked by a gorgeous socialite with a nice rack and legs that go on for a mile.
“Mr. Foster,” Ryan grumbles as he pulls his pants back up. “She spilled my coffee. It’s not whatever it looked like.”
I narrow my eyes, darting my gaze between the two of them. Ryan wilts under my stare while Chelsea simply seems mortified.
“Why don’t you run home on your lunch and take care of your situation?” I suggest, gesturing at the horror show that are his slacks.
Ryan sighs but nods. “I don’t have time for this, but I guess it’s out of my hands.”
“I’m sorry,” Chelsea blurts out as he passes.
His irritation melts away when he walks past her, unable to keep his lecherous eyes out of her cleavage. The urge to grab hold of his tie and yank him to his knees to remind him he serves me in this company is strong. Instead, I allow him his creepy peep show. Then, he’s gone, leaving nothing but the scent of cheap cologne and hazelnut in his wake.
“Mr. Foster—”
“We’ll discuss this in my office.”
I turn on my heel and storm out of Ryan’s office. Several women who are gathered nearby smirk at Chelsea. Unfortunately, I work in a den of vipers. Each female at this firm make up for their lack of cocks with razor-sharp fangs that are always poised at each other’s jugulars. I tip my head at the group, earning a few starry-eyed gazes in return.
Chelsea’s designer heels clack furiously behind me as she rushes to keep up with my intense stride. Her long legs had no trouble keeping up with me at that soiree as we walked the sands of Georgica Beach in the East Hamptons.
I guide her to the office with the best view. Mine. It’s encased in glass so everyone can see what real work looks like. I’m at the office before everyone and am the last to leave. Hell, I’ve even crashed on my leather sofa a few times when my workload was too much.
Pushing through the door, I step aside to grant her entry. She’s quiet as she takes a seat in front of my desk. Her back is ramrod straight—posture that’s long been perfected from years of playing the princess in her daddy’s wealthy world.
I walk past her, noting a hint of a sweet, fruity perfume that seems to fill the air. Like an idiot, I inhale the scent, memorizing her smell like a pathetic creep. With great difficulty, I remind myself I’m in charge here.
“So,” I say as I take my seat. “Here you are.”
She’s unsettled and flustered. At her mother’s summer soiree, she was the perfect socialite, polite and friendly and fucking flawless. Now, she’s older, somehow even more stunning, but her poise is gone. The girl is out of her element, swimming with the biggest shark in Manhattan, the tiny cut to her self-esteem in Ryan’s office quickly becoming a gaping, hemorrhaging wound.
I lick my lips, salivating for the opportunity to drag her into the deep end and remind her she can’t swim.
And fuck if her eyes don’t track the movement of my tongue.
“It’s been quite a day,” she finally utters, tearing her stare from my mouth as she lifts her chin and meets my intense scrutiny head-on.
“Quite.” I pause because watching her squirm has been the highlight of my day. “First you were late, then you pranced around running coffee to my associate as if he needs anymore goddamn caffeine, and you ended your morning by possibly giving him third-degree burns. I agree, Miss Parker, it’s been quite a day.”
She scoffs, her nostrils flaring in outrage. “I wasn’t late and your associate was too busy to find anything of actual use for me to do.”
“And what exactly did you expect to do on your first day?” I challenge, cocking a brow up at her. “You’re an intern at Dunbar Foster, not an influencer on Instagram or TikTok or whatever it is you children waste your time on these days.”
She flinches, gaping at me as though I’ve struck her. Sure, it’s rude as fuck, but if I don’t put her into the appropriate box—best friend’s little girl—where she belongs, she’ll end up in my bed and I can’t have that. Not ever.
“Foster—”
“Mr. Foster,” I correct, flashing her a wolfish grin.
Rage flashes in her pretty eyes making them seem to explode with electric slivers of dark blue. It’d be mesmerizing if I weren’t telling my dick to sit the fuck down. I wait for the onslaught of bitchiness I know is itching to come out based on her enraged expression. But, like the practiced puppet she is, she sucks in a deep breath of air, relaxes, and plasters on her Barbie smile.
“Mr. Foster.” The way she purrs my name should be illegal. I should send her ass to HR and have them write her up for being so goddamn tempting. “Lucky for you and your impressive…” She trails off, her lips quirking on one side in a flirty way I remember from Georgica Beach. “Firm.” A pregnant pause as she smirks. “I am a woman of many, many talents.”
My dick is aching and throbbing, threatening to tear through the fabric and make an appearance. I clasp my hands together, resting them in my lap and nod at her to continue.
“I can make coffee and answer phones,” she continues, “but I can also do other things. All you have to do is show me once.” Her dark, mascara-painted lashes bat innocently at me. “I’m a fast learner.”
Irritation burns through my veins, chasing away any lust lingering. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Matching my dickheaded behavior with a bratty, seductive taunt.
Focus, Foster.
“Fine,” I clip out, returning to business mode. “While we wait for Ryan to return—so
you can get back to wowing him with your multitasking abilities—let’s discuss your future.”
A genuine smile graces her lips and goddammit, my unruly dick takes note.
“I’m not like my mother,” she says carefully, as though she’s walking through a landmine and doesn’t know where to step. “I have ambitions outside of my country club gal pals.”
Jesus. It’s like she’s auditioning for Miss America or some shit.
“Mhmm,” I grunt, turning my attention to my computer to check my emails. “Continue, Miss Manhattan.”
She starts her spiel, one I tune out as I send Evan Swanson—a model who blew up in the acting scene last year and someone I represent—a reply to let him know I’d love to see a Broadway show with him but I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to him. Next, I send out some more emails pertaining to a few meetings I have lined up with new clients. Chelsea continues to talk about God only knows what while I offer her the occasional nod.
“I’ve seen it all,” Ryan says from the doorway.
I snap my attention to him, noting his new pair of slacks with the price tag still hanging on. This guy’s drowning in so much work he couldn’t even lose the time it took to go home, instead stopping off at Armani on Fifth Avenue, if I know my designer labels—which I absolutely and completely to my horror do.
“What?” I bite out, harsher than necessary.
Ryan’s predatory grin is one that sold me when hiring him, but now it just annoys the fuck out of me. “You, boss man. I stood here for a full five minutes listening to her name every nail polish color Dior makes, mentioning at least fifteen times that Tra-la-la is her favorite because it’s so unassuming.”
I blink quickly trying to make sense of his words.
“He wasn’t listening,” Chelsea says with a shrug. “Ready to put me back to work?”
“I’m kind of enjoying this,” Ryan teases, chuckling as he crosses his arms over his chest. “And here I thought this guy was subhuman. Turns out, he’s just like the rest of us.”
“Not every guy gets bored to tears when talking about nail polish,” Chelsea argues, her blond brow hiking up high.
Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology Page 29