Like a Fcking BossBBW Office - Author Quinn(ang.)

LIKE A F*CKING BOSS RUN THE WORLD SERIES

QUINN

CONTENTS LIKE A F*CKING BOSS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Acknowledgments About the Author

RUN THE WORLD SERIES

Copyright © 2016 by QUINN All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Design by Cover Couture (www.bookcovercouture.com) Photo Copyright: pzAxe / Shutterstock Photo Copyright: Geber86 / iStock ISBN: 978-0-9951506-6-9

To my kick ass friends.

CHAPTER ONE

MY ASS IS NUMB. I wish there’s a more fun, mildly kinkier excuse why I’ve lost feelings on my butt. Unfortunately, it’s only a sure sign I haven’t moved much in God knows how long. I should stretch, but that would require standing. No way in hell would I let Lyra, my cunt of a boss, catch me doing that. She’s been on high alert since finding out the new CEO of ARC Industries LTD is on his way to our offices. We have to be on our best behavior, and that includes no taking breaks, no leaving our tiny, impersonal cubicles, and no breathing whatsoever. She expects us to be chained to our desks till death claims us…and our numb asses. Palms flat on the edge of my desk, I lift one bum cheek at a time, trying to get some kind of feeling back into them. Nothing.

“Screw this shit,” I mumble, a little too loudly, and Sheila, my cubicle-partner, sends me a terrified look through her bifocals. Struggling to pull down the hem of my skirt, which had ridden up my thighs nearly high enough to show off my purple thong, I stand up. I hate this skirt. “It’ll make your ass look great, Talia,” my roommate, Stella, had said when we’d spotted this fuchsia number at Carson’s. The hell it does. It’s so tight I had to waddle to work this morning. Why I listened to her is beyond me. Good thing I have enough smarts to keep the tag on. Now, I only have to make sure I don’t rip the damn thing so I can return it. Easier said than fucking done considering it looks like it’s painted on me. What it does, though—paired with a round-necked white top, blazer, and the sexiest shoes I own—is make me look like I belong in this office. For good measure, I’m wearing my nerd chic, leopard-print-frame glasses, strictly for fashion. Don’t be fooled by the company name. ARC Industries is full of creative types. My department has over twenty interior designers and architects. I’m one of the lucky ladies who takes care of the designers’ needs and wants, although I’m still a temp. I aim to remedy that. This week, I’m assigned to Ingrid Aubrey. She happens to be the best in the industry, a young ingenue who appreciates her subordinates shedding

blood and tears to make her life a little bit easier— unlike our office manager and my direct supervisor, Lyra. “Is there a problem here?” Speak of the she-devil. Accidental flashing averted, and with blood rushing back to my legs and feet, I turn to her, letting a slow smile spread across my face. “Nope. No problem, Lyra. Just stretching.” For added effect, I raise my arms over my head, pushing the tips of my fingers to the ceiling. My crop top rides higher. My tits part my jacket lapels. Her gaze travels down my smart, sexy-as fuck outfit. She raises her over-plucked brows, and chuckles once. Yeah, I bet I can figure out what she’s thinking. I drop my hands to my sides and regard her the same way. Today she’s wearing a body con dress and almost the same cut jacket (I suspect hers is real leather and not bought at a super sale). She wears nothing but black—like her soul. And she’s never been quiet about why a size sixteen woman like me should not wear anything remotely close to what I’m wearing today. Boss or no boss, if she says anything about me wearing a cropped top, I’ll smack her so hard the cleaners will have to peel her ass off the ceiling. Chin up, I channel my inner Eastwood and silently urge, “Go ahead, bitch, make my day.” Her assistant comes scurrying toward us when

Lyra is about to open her mouth. Penny shoves a file at her and asks her to sign, saying, “You’re needed downstairs.” “Now?” Lyra has one volume: super loud. Penny literally cowers. Poor girl, I think she’s about to piss her pants. Clutching the file to her chest, Penny nods and lowers her eyes to the floor. “What would this place do without me?” Lyra flicks her envy-inducing blonde hair over one shoulder. Before she leaves, she drags her snake eyes back to me. “Don’t waste the company’s time. Need I remind you that you’re still on probation, Tanya?” Oh yeah, there’s another reason why I hate this bitch. She never remembers my name. I’d stopped correcting Lyra after my fifth day here, and resorted to calling her colorful names in my head. “Wouldn’t think of it.” I add an extra oomph to my smile but I remain standing. “Why do you have to push her?” Sheila asks when Lyra’s out of earshot. Her fingers continue to tap on the keys even though she’s staring nervously at me. Hand to hip, I shrug. “Bitch is as bitch does.” Sheila presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Relax. She has to be on her best behavior today too. We’re not the only ones under observation.” Eyes back on her screen, Sheila counters,

“Speak for yourself, you don’t have three kids to feed.” Her shoulders slump forward, and she juts her head, adjusting her glasses to focus on the document she’s working on. I feel bad. Despite what other people might think, I do have a heart, and no, it's not black or made of ice. I care. I don’t want anyone to get into trouble, much less a sweet single mom like Sheila. Without saying another word, I sit back down and try to focus on work. My tiny desk clock ticks another second. Two more hours and it’s lunch time. I hope the new owner doesn’t show up before then. Like any other human, I think and behave better when my stomach’s full. I would head to the kitchen for a cup of joe, but again, Lyra could be slithering back any minute now. Or worse, the new big boss. I wouldn’t want to make a horible first impression. Only the department heads, architects, and designers have met ARC’s new CEO, having been invited to his penthouse for a meet-and-greet two weeks ago. For days, Lyra didn’t stop talking about it, and she hasn’t shut up about how gorgeous our new boss is. Considering her last boyfriend was a fifty-two year old accountant with a bad case of shit-breath and a prominent potbelly, her opinions mean nothing to me. People like Penny, Sheila and I only know our new CEO by name: Mr. Solomon. But word’s out

that his takeover was textbook hostile. There are even rumours that he’s famous for cutting jobs as soon as he shows up. Words like ‘restructuring’, ‘reduction in workforce’, and ‘strategic planning’ pop up in daily conversations, which doesn’t bode well for a temp like me. On a positive note, Ingrid loves me and thinks I’m hilarious. My job’s safe as long as I keep her lattes warm and lactose-free, and supply her with dirty jokes she just can’t get enough of. Thank you, Reddit!

AT A QUARTER TO TACO TIME, Ingrid pops into my twobicle with a huge smile on her pretty face. We’re the same age, but where she managed to get a Fine Arts degree from Columbia, I quit Interior Design at The Art Institute when my ex, Derek, and I decided to focus on getting his career off the ground first. And I didn’t have her cushiony trust fund, but I couldn’t fault her for that. People don't choose which lifestyle they’re born into. “Hey, ladies.” Ingrid fiddles with her neckline. Sheila and I perk up. “How are my two favorite people today?” “Not bad,” Sheila replies, straightening in her chair. “Starving.” I pat my half-exposed belly. Ingrid throws her head back and laughs like a frickin’ angel. I kid you not. Do they teach rich kids

in charm school how to laugh like bells? “You’re so funny, Talia.” I’m telling the truth, but whatever. Like I said, she thinks I’m full of hilariousness. “What can we do for you?” Elbow on desk, I prop my chin on one upturned hand, and slide my glasses onto my head. “I need the contracts for the complex on Superior. Did we receive the permits for the new restaurant on Randolph? And make sure you deliver the blueprints for the Muir condo today, and please—” Ingrid presses her palms together in prayer position “—please do not forget the allhands meeting after lunch. I think Teddy’s on his way.” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I lean back in my chair, readjusting my glasses. “Who’s Teddy?” Ingrid steps further into our cramped cubicle and leans her tiny tush against my desk. She eyes me up and down. “Cute outfit. I love.” “Thanks. I love your shoes.” This is part of our daily interaction, pointing out what we like that the other is wearing, which forces me to constantly up my clothing game. Ingrid has effortless style. Consistently elegant, with a touch of boho chic. She crosses her skinny ankles. “Teddy. He’ll get mad if he hears me call him that. I guess you guys know him as Theodore Solomon.” Theodore? Seriously? I hold off a snort. The image of a sixty-year-old, rotund man in a suit, with

three struggling hairs on his head, dances in my head. “Oh, you guys are on a pet-name basis?” Waggling my brows, I smile wickedly at her. As sweet and beautiful as Ingrid is, she hasn’t had any luck with men. I also suspect she has daddy issues and could very well be involved with an older man, like Teddy. “Is there something we should know?” Ingrid laughs again and slaps me on the arm. “You’re so funny. Pet name basis.” She straightens to her full height and brushes her designer dress with her hands. “Well, I’ll let you girls get back to work before Lyra comes back.” “I’ll have the contract on your desk and all your biddings done before I head out for lunch,” I tell her, noting that she didn’t answer my question about her and Teddy.

WHEN I DROP the file on Ingrid’s desk a little while later, she’s on the phone with one of her clients. I stick a post-it note where she needs to sign on the contracts and head to my office BFF, Bryde, who works for a drool-worthy architect we call Mr. Yum behind his sexy back. Like Sheila, who I left still glued on her screen, Bryde is hunched over her desk, adjusting and readjusting her glasses on her nose. I knock once on her desk, causing her to jump. “It’s taco time. Let’s go.”

“Christ, Talia!” Bryde slaps her palm over her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” She returns her attention to the screen, clicking open a browser for an airline. Looks like Mr. Yum is going on another trip. “Sorry, but it’s taco time.” The carpeted floor silences the tapping of my foot. “Can’t.” She doesn’t take her focus away from the computer. “Henrik just asked me to rearrange his trips, so I’m having lunch al desko.” “Are you kidding me? It’s Taco Tuesday!” I let a little whine out. The chick is ruining my weekly lunch schedule. “And don’t you wanna see if that cute guy we saw last week comes back?” Bryde continues to keep her eyes on the monitor, clicking on her mouse. “Can’t. Busy.” “Fine.” She ignores my pout. “I’m starving. I’ll see you in a bit.” “’kay. Hey…” I raise a brow at her. “Don’t be late. I heard this Solomon guy’s a stickler on punctuality.” I huff and roll my eyes. “Whatever. I’ll be back.” “I’m serious. Have a taco for me. Bye.”

THE UNIVERSE HAS COLLUDED to get me angry and possibly fired today. Not only am I late

returning from lunch, there’s taco sauce on my new, still-has-the-tag-on skirt. And like a sour cherry on top, as I try to rush back to the office in my tootight skirt, a car nearly runs me down, screeching to a stop inches away from my legs. I slam a palm on the hood and scream profanities at the careless driver hiding behind the heavily-tinted windows. And because I’m having such a wonderful moment, I flip him the bird before stepping onto the sidewalk and racing back into my office building. People who don’t seem to be in any rush line the elevator banks. To make matters worse, I have to fight my way inside one of them since one car is out of order. Huffing and puffing and sweaty as hell, I finally sneak into the conference room stuffed with every single ARC employee. I slide next to Bryde. Her eyes widen and she mouths, “What the hell happened?” “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Some fucker almost ran me over, and look what happened to my skirt! Oh, great.” I groan. “Now it looks like a Rorschach test.” I point at the spot on my lap. After a quick lick on my thumb, I rub at the stain. Absently, I continue yapping, “Did the boss man show up yet? Is he bald, fat and ugly like we thought?” It takes a few synapses firing in my brain for me to realize the entire room has gone silent, and is

slowly filling with a combination of murmurs, throat-clearings, and snickers. I let go of the bright fabric and glance around. Bet your ass all eyes are on me, including the unimpressed gaze of one hotas-hell man in an impeccable navy blue suit that shouts ‘I own this shit.’ The intensity in those eyes causes me to step back, hitting the floor-to-ceiling glass wall behind me. For once in my adult life, I am speechless. Theodore Solomon, although bald, is neither fat nor ugly. He’s a piece of six-foot-five goodness that I’m willing to climb any damn time. For a minute or so, he holds my gaze. I keep my back flat against the wall, which effectively pushes out my tatas. Any warm-blooded man would be mesmerized by my tits, but not this one. His jaw tenses, and I swear he’s about to ask me to walk to the front of the room, pull my skirt up, and spank me in front of the entire staff. If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t object. The thought wets the tiny piece of fabric covering my pussy. Then he pulls his gaze away from me and continues to address the room. I relax, sagging against the wall, and look sideways at Bryde, who appears even more scared than me, and then across the large table to Lyra, who looks like she’s about to lose her shit. Mr. Theodore Solomon talks about what his restructuring plans mean for all of us, but he doesn’t mention cutting jobs. We’re safe, for now.

Well, not me. I’m pretty sure I’ll get a pink slip before this day ends. I better figure out how to get the stain out of my skirt so I can wear it for job interviews before I can get a refund. As mesmerizing as Mr. Solomon’s subtlyaccented voice is, I couldn’t concentrate any longer. I calculate the amount left in my depleting savings account and how I can make it last until I land another temp position. I highly doubt Lyra will give me a glowing reference, but Ingrid might. I’m in deep shit. It wasn’t easy finding this job. If push comes to shove, the taco place is hiring. My stomach gurgles at the thought of getting paid in tacos and wearing that god-awful forest green apron their underpaid staff wears. Oh God, they all wear hairnets! I absently fiddle with my dark brown curls while I swallow this information. A nudge to my ribs brings my attention back to the room. Bryde subtly nods her chin and pushes me toward the door. I guess the meeting is over. I’ll have to text her later for any important info I’ve missed—not that it’s going to matter after I get my ass booted out of here. My aforementioned ass is almost out the door when someone calls my name. Bryde and I turn and see Lyra’s devilish smirk. “Mr. Solomon would like a word with you,” Lyra says. Her pointy chin lifts. Smug bitch. My eyes widening, I send an SOS signal to Bryde, even though I know she can’t do a thing.

“Pray for me,” I ask her as I pivot back and stop at the end of the conference table. Luckily, Lyra isn’t the only one who stays behind. Mr. Yum and Ingrid talk amicably with the dapper CEO. There’s a weird pinch in my belly as I watch Ingrid touch Mr. Solomon’s upper arm, and I recall our earlier conversation about Teddy. Her hand stays on his biceps, and she leans in and whispers something in his ear. His impressive broad shoulders relax, and one corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile, a secret smile only meant for Ingrid. Yeah, if they’re not banging yet, they will be soon. The pinch intensifies in my gut. Henrik extends his hand to Mr. Solomon. “Anything else you need, just ask.” “Have the blueprints ready for the new shopping centre. I intend to check in with each designer and architect before the week ends,” Mr. Solomon tells him, and the men shake hands. He reaches for Ingrid, placing a large hand on her tiny waist, and quickly kisses her cheek. “See you in a bit.” “Be nice.” She pats his shoulder, and then smiles over at me. Henrik and Ingrid walk past me, and she touches my arm. I don’t care for it. It’s meant to soothe me because she knows I’m getting fired. “Good luck, Talia,” Ingrid mumbles. I am so fucked. I nod and glance down on my pretty shoes.

Hell, there’s taco sauce on them too. “You may leave now too, Lyra.” Mr. Solomon’s booming voice takes my attention away from my shoes and I stare at Lyra. She pops her mouth open to protest, but she shuts it just as quickly, but the smirk returns on her sour face. “Have all current bids and proposals at my desk before the day’s done.” “Yes, Theo.” Head held high, she click-clacks her way out of the conference room. Struggling not to fiddle with my skirt or my hair, I wait for the shitstorm that's about to rain down on me. While I think of reasons why I shouldn’t be fired, my heart is jack-hammering in my chest, and I’m starting to sweat. Not a pretty sight. Mr. Solomon closes the door behind Lyra, then takes a seat at the head of the Philippe Starck rectangular table. The chair groans underneath his weight, and its wide back barely matches the broadness of his shoulders. With one hand, he unbuttons his suit jacket, and the panels slide back, exposing a crisp white shirt and a plain, dark blue, skinny tie. His impeccable manner, the way he carries himself—relaxed, yet powerful and authoritative—and the fact that he’s wearing what could be a real diamond tiepin should impress me, but something else, something totally unexpected catches my attention. Underneath his sleek navy trousers is one hell

of an impressive boner. What’s more shocking though is he doesn’t seem to be hiding it. Mr. Solomon is proud of notso-little Solomon straining at his zipper. I catch a moan between my teeth, and tamp down any notion that his hard-on is meant for me. After all, he and Ingrid were all over each other just moments ago. “Sit.” Even though his voice is low, barely audible, it has a commanding tone that’s hard to ignore. On your lap? I want to ask, but I shake my head instead. “I’d rather stand.” If he’s going to fire me, I’d prefer staying on my feet, with hopes of escaping quickly after he’s done with whatever he wants to say. I hold my chin high, defiant, proud, and our gazes lock once more. There’s a twitch in his jaw, and somehow, seeing it calms my nerves. Maybe he’s as uncomfortable as I am. “I don’t tolerate tardiness, Miss—” “Talia. Talia Newman,” I supply. “Well, Miss Talia Newman, I’m a busy man, and I still manage to make it to all my meetings on time.” He crosses an ankle over a thick thigh and my eyes are drawn back to the bugle in his crotch. I clear my throat, and look up. “I didn’t mean to be late. I had an incident at the tac—at lunch and well, this—” I wave my hand at the dildoshaped taco stain. “And some guy tried to run me

over.” “He didn’t try to run you over. You were jaywalking.” What the friggin’ hell? “How did you—” My hands fly to my hips, but I check my attitude and drop them down again. Theodore Solomon glances at the windows over his shoulder. “I saw the whole thing.” “You could see me from all the way up here?” It’s possible. We’re only twenty floors up. Plus, it’s not hard to spot my fuchsia skirt from afar. People on Mars could see it. He returns his gaze to me and rubs his angular jaw. “I see all.” Whatever the fuck that means. I roll my shoulders back, trying to shake off the effect of his stare. He looks like he could swallow me whole. His tongue, darting out between his lips, catches my attention. That simple action’s effect on me is instantaneous. I might as well take off my panties as they’ve become soaked and uncomfortable. His words take on a whole different meaning. Can he see me tremble under his gaze? Can he see me squirm? Can he see my heart beating hard enough to rip through my ribcage? I swallow to push down the lump in my throat and find my voice again. “Is there anything else, Mr. Solomon?” A lap dance? Some head? I mentally roll my eyes at myself. He’s with Ingrid.

Daddy issues or not, they make a better couple than he and I ever would. “That’s all, Miss Newman. And call me Theo. If you'd been on time, you would know I prefer an informal greeting.” We stare each other down until I falter under the heat of his fiery gaze. Powerful. I can’t help but be drawn to it. Then my eyes drop to his hand, which blatantly adjusts his erection. Fuck..me. Turning away, I quietly release a ragged breath, and show him my second-best assets before walking toward the door. I add an extra sway to my hips. He may be unavailable, but my second name is Flirt, and I’m not always afforded a chance to do this to a hunky boss. Our last CEO was sweet but he resembled a crypt-keeper. Theo will have to get used to me ogling him every now and then. The chair creaks behind me, and in no time at all, he’s standing beside me, his large hand on the door’s handle, on top of mine. This close, I see the gold flecks in his light brown eyes and get a whiff of the mint on his breath. This close, the warmth of his body sharpens his irresistible manly scent. A surge of current sizzles up my arms, and spreads throughout my nerve endings. My nipples tighten. My pussy lips tingle. I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall. His lush lips call to me. Holding my breath, I inch forward. At the same time, Mr. Solomon—Theo—the

hot bastard that he is, slides his hand away from mine and pushes the door open, causing me to lose my balance. Instead of my lips falling on his, I fall, my hands hitting the floor as I try my hardest not to smack my face on it. My non-prescription glasses skitter across the hallway, and sharp pain travels quickly up my arms. But when I hear an audible rip of fabric, I automatically slap my hands on my hips and ass. I might be imagining things, but I’m pretty sure I hear a groan behind me, followed by, “Shit, are you all right?” Large hands reach down to help me up. I rarely blush, but this moment is too embarrassing not to make me redden. Pushing his hands away, I gather my bearings and struggle to make it upright. My hand returns to my behind, where there’s now a lovely tear on my skirt, and I raise the other one to stop him. “Please, you’ve done enough.” I can’t help but snap at him. He picks up my glasses, and I snatch them away as he explains, “My hand slipped.” Is he fucking kidding me? With my eyebrows up to my hairline, I shoot him an unimpressed look, and my hackles rise when the corners of his lips quirk. He’s fucking laughing at me. Bastard. I narrow my eyes, itching to choke him with his skinny tie. He tugs at his jacket lapels and buttons up. If he says anything else, I’ll stab

him with his tiepin. Theo clears his throat and adjusts the knot of his tie. “Send me the bill for when you get your skirt repaired.” I scoff and roll my eyes. And embarrass myself more? Silver lining: at least now he can’t fire me. Ego bruised and all, I make my way to my workstation without further embarrassing myself, but only then do I feel the pain in my jaw from grinding my teeth and the ache on my hands and wrists. “Are you okay?” Momentarily, I don’t realize Sheila has asked me the question. “Yeah, all good. Not fired.” I give her a thumbs up and thank the heavens my chair has full back coverage, and I won’t have to explain what happened to my skirt to Sheila or anyone else who passes by. All that's left is to figure out how to get out of here at quitting time with what’s left of my dignity still intact. I must say, after three months of working for this company, this has to be one of the most exciting afternoons, yet. Reaching for my phone, I make a note to Google Theodore Solomon. I’m not entirely sure about it, but I suspect Lyra has access to all our computers and can look up any searches we make. I can’t risk letting her know I'm curious about the new boss. Dropping my phone back into my purse, I ponder at my own thoughts. Am I

interested in the new CEO? If so, why? Aside from the obvious—hot, rich and hung like a horse—he’s not my type. According to my dating history, I prefer cheaters who are constantly broke and won’t stick to one woman. I’m sick of men like that, which is why I’ve had a dry spell for months. No, I have to get Theo out of my head. Nothing good will come of it. I look over to my right where Ingrid sits at her desk, poised like a princess on her throne. Even the way she thinks, tapping her pen on her chin, is elegant. Can’t compete with royalty. There’s no sense mulling about Theo anymore. With a deep inhale, I’m convinced I’m cleansed of all carnal thoughts pertaining to Theodore Solomon, CEO of ARC Industries LTD, sharp dresser, built like a line-backer and one sexy ass bastard with a big cock.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN I ENTER the brownstone I live in, I unwrap Ingrid’s scarf off my hips. Earlier, I showed Ingrid what had happened to my skirt, she didn’t laugh and I love her for that. Serious concern replaced her usual cheery disposition, and she worked fast, using her silk Italian scarf to cover my exposed ass. I promised to return it as soon as I got it dry-cleaned, but she waved the idea away. “Hello? Stella?” I call out for my friend and housemate…er, landlady. If Stella hadn’t taken pity on me when my last relationship ended, I’d be living in the streets. Instead, I’m renting a room out of her three-bedroom Victorian house in one of Chicago’s hip neighborhoods. Stella’s spiky heels tap on the wooden staircase. “Hey, how was work?” “SSSD,” I say, shrugging.

A confused but entertained look crosses her face. “Same Shit Same Day…oh, except for this.” I turn around and show her my bum. “Oh no! Not the cute skirt! What happened?” She continues to descend the stairs, swinging a leather crop in one hand. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and her tits are presented well in a leather corset. My landlady moonlights as a Dominatrix. I’ve never seen her in action but I’m guessing she’s great at it, since she owns this enviable piece of property in Lincoln Park. I shrug out of my jacket and slump on the couch, while Stella props one long, lean leg on the ottoman and fix one thigh-high boot. The first time I found out what she does for a living, I was more than shocked to say the least, but I got over it quickly once I got to know her. Stella’s as sweet as they come. She’s never brought home a guy since I moved in with her, but I guess all the action happens at her work, a sex club downtown. She’s a private girl and I respect that. It comes with the Domme title, I suppose. Some days Stella regales me with funny stories—never about her or her clients, but about other members of the club. “It was horrible, Stel. Remember the new ARC owner?” I drop my head on the back of the sofa. “Yeah, big, fat, balding guy?” I snicker. Right, I forget I shared my thoughts to

Stella. “Well, he’s none of that. I think he shaves his head, but he’s so hot the sun would kneel before him.” My description captures Stella’s attention. “Oh?” She flicks the end of the riding crop on her palm. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I think I drooled when I saw him. Anyway, we had this staff meeting, and I was late.” I pause and huff. “So he made me stay after the meeting.” Stella’s eyes twinkle with interest. “This doesn’t sound horrible.” “You just wait.” Trying to hide my shame, I prop my arm on my forehead and tell her the rest, finishing with, “Bam! I fell flat on my face! And that’s when my fucking skirt ripped.” “Ass up? You must have given him quite a show.” “Puh-lease. It was so embarrassing. Good thing I always wear clean undies. But…I still have my job, so yay.” I feign excitement, shaking my fingers in the air. “That’s good.” Stella slips on her trench coat, tightening the belt with a perfect square knot at her small waist. “I made goulash and opened the bottle we got the other night.” “Thank you. You’re a goddess!” I push myself up, ready to strip out of my clothes and spend a night in my jammies, appeasing myself with said

goulash and wine. She gasps. “What’s that?” I look down at what she’s pointing at, and laugh. “Oh yeah. This…is Taco Tuesday.”

COTTON JAMMIES ON, red wine in hand, I pull an afghan over my naked feet and prop my laptop on my thighs. As great a housemate Stella is, she doesn’t believe in TV. I get my daily dose of entertainment online. But nothing holds my attention tonight. My mind is further away than zombies invading the great US of A. I click open a browser and start a Google search I shouldn’t even be thinking about. Call me rebel.

Theodore Solomon, 521,000 results.

THIS COULD TAKE A WHILE. The images show mostly the bald, fat, old men I’d originally expected. Buying ARC did not come cheap, I know that much. Theodore Solomon’s net worth has to be in the multi-millions, so why can’t I find a thing on the man or the acquisition? Did I dream him? Heat ebbs in my belly when the memory of another

body’s warmth pervades my mind. He’s not even here and I can still feel him. Stubbornly, I continue my search, trying out different word combinations, until finally, something promising appears. However, it’s not what I expected to see.

FIERY CRASH KILLS TWO, SERIOUSLY INJURES ANOTHER IT’S DATED twelve years ago. Is this what I want to find out? I hover the cursor over the headline. As I’m about to click on the link, I get a new email notification. Despite my mind’s warning that I would regret it, I open the email and read a panicked message from Ingrid: Can’t find the contracts. I need it tonight. Help! What would people do without my devotion to this temporary position? Instead of answering her email, I grab my phone and send her a quick text. What happened? I left it on your desk. Her reply comes just as quickly. It’s not here. I looked everywhere! This is, unfortunately, not new. Ingrid is one kick-ass designer, but she’s highly unorganized. I blame it on her growing up constantly dependent on

other people—maids, nannies, drivers, gophers, and now me. What’s she even doing at work this late? I vaguely recall her making dinner plans…with Teddy, no doubt. Before I can stop myself, I tell her I’ll come help find the missing contracts. My other search will have to wait.

“ALL RIGHT, don’t panic, I’m here now,” I announce upon entering her office, and then I freeze on the spot. Fuck. My. Life. Instead of finding a hair-brained Ingrid seated at her desk, our good-looking, heavenly-scented CEO has his ass parked in her chair. “Miss Newman,” he says, sounding like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or, as my filthy mind hopes, in his pants. “Mr. Solomon!” Eyebrows knitted, he crosses his arms over the desk. “Theo,” he corrects me. Theo has his suit jacket off, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up over his forearms. If I thought he was sexy earlier, he is definitely, certifiably fuckable now. The bright lamp on Ingrid’s desk highlights his rippling arms, all covered in ink. A grin spreads across my face. It’s Christmas in July. How far do those tattoos go? Full sleeves? All across the expanse of his pecs, under the straining the fabric

of his shirt? I let my eyes travel up his arm and over his chest. His top two buttons are undone. I narrow my eyes to see if any wayward ink pokes out of the collar. God, what would it be like to lick the thick column of his neck? The temperature in the room shoots up, and a tingly warm sensation spreads all over my body. I touch the hollow of my throat and suck on my bottom lip, swallowing an appreciative moan. Theodore Solomon is one package I would love to unwrap…with my teeth. “What are you doing here?” Two loud heartbeats pass before I realize he’s asking me a question. “Ingrid…she…uhm…” I roll my wrist, and try to get my wits together. First, I should stop ogling him. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shut my eyes and think of the old, fat, balding geezers from my Google search. “Ingrid asked me to help her look for something.” Thinking I’m safe, I open my eyes. Theo regards me with increasing interest, and that’s when I remember I didn’t bother changing out of my PJ’s…my pink, cotton PJs, sans bra. Luckily, I had enough mind to grab my denim jacket before I stepped out of the house. But I don’t look my best tonight. My hair is twisted into a messy bun, and I have zero makeup on. All I want to do is crawl in a corner in the fetal position and hide from shame.

He squints at me, down to my PJ pants. “Are those polar bears?” he asks without a hint of playfulness. I cross my arms over my chest. My erect nipples rub against my shirt. “Rabbits.” He cocks his head to one side. “What are they —” “They’re fornicating, like rabbits should.” I could die right now. “Where’s Ingrid?” My girl pops into her office the second I say her name. I’m so happy for the reprieve that I wrap her in a tight hug. “Talia, you came! Cute PJs.” When I let go, I glance at her sideways. Now isn’t the time to point out what she likes about my outfit. “I’m here to help.” “Oh, didn’t Teddy tell you? I found it.” Her usual cheeriness grinds on my nerves. “Are you fu—” I take a deep, cleansing breath and grind my teeth. Ingrid grimaces. “I should have called you. Sorry. Did you drive here?” I’ve never thought ill of this girl, but I’m about ready to thwack her on the forehead. “I took the El.” “In your jammies?” “Yes, Ingrid, in my jammies, because I thought you had an emergency and needed my help. Turns out you don’t have any use for me, so I’m gonna go.” I don’t bother waiting for a response, and head

for the elevators, mumbling complaints about how some people don’t give a crap about other people’s personal time. My personal time! I jab the down button with a bit more force than I should. Better the button than Ingrid. Lost in my own thoughts once again, I jump when Theo appears at my elbow, offering to take me home. “Fucking hell! What is wrong with you? You can’t sneak up on people like that, especially in a dark office.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” He folds his suit over one arm, covering his tattoos. Shame. “And no, I don’t need a ride. I can take the El back home.” “It’s not safe.” Theo hangs his head. I’m hoping he’s still not looking at my PJs. I scoff. “I’ve lived in this city for a long time, most of it in seedy neighborhoods. I can take care of myself.” He leans against the wall, one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other has his suit jacket hung over his shoulder. Even in the dim lighting, I can trace the contours of his bulging biceps with my eyes. He could give GQ models a run for their money. “I never said you couldn’t, but I’ll feel better knowing that one of my staff makes it home safe, especially when she didn’t have to come into work at all.” I could argue, but I’d be lying if I said that

being in an enclosed space with my new boss doesn’t entice me. “What about Ingrid? Won’t she need a ride?” To her apartment or yours? Theo shakes his head. “Henrik will drive her home.”

THE PARKING GARAGE is as scary at night as it is in the morning, not that I use it all that much. I’d had to sell my car to afford the first few months of rent when I moved in with Stella. I follow Theo closely, jumping at every noise I hear. The last bang has me clawing my fingers into his inked arm. He lets out a low chuckle. So much for keeping a brave face after stating that I can take care of myself. But he doesn’t move away from me or peel my fingers off of him. Under the flickering lights, his smile is slight, but it’s there, playing on the edges of his lips when he glances at me. When we reach his car, my mouth drops and I release his arm. Even in the darkened garage, it’s not hard to recognize the car that almost ran me over after lunch. “It was you!” I point an accusatory finger at him. “You almost killed me!” Theo’s stance changes. The playfulness on his lips fades. He widens his legs and crosses his arms, raising his chin, challenging me. “You crossed a busy street without looking

first.” “You nearly ran me over!” “You dented my car.” He jerks his head toward the hood of his Porsche. Pushing my denim sleeves up, and clicking my tongue, I prepare for an argument. Hands on hips, I let my anger show. “You were going to run over me.” It’s weak, but it’s all I have. “I didn’t.” He pauses as though he’s about to say more to that effect, but his eyes lower and he nods to his car again. “Get in the car. It’s cold.” I frown, and then I follow his line of sight…to my breasts. My nipples are burrowing holes through my pajama shirt from the chill. Furious, I button up my jacket while I sprint back to the elevator. “Miss Newman!” I don’t bother turning. I fist my hands to avoid expressing my anger with a single finger. I’m so focused on getting away from him that I don’t even hear him make his way to me. Theo doesn’t press his hard body against my back but all the same, the heat of his skin sizzles mine. “Get in the car, Miss Newman,” he orders in a low, gravelly tone. I can’t talk. All words are trapped in my throat, where my heart has leapt. I shake my head and angrily press the call button. “I’m not going to ask you again, Talia.” My name on his lips sounds right, like it’s where

it should be. Goose bumps cover my skin and my fingers are starting to tingle again. There’s warmth and wetness on my panties. “Get in the car.” With my head spinning, I close my eyes and imagine him calling out my name while he’s deep inside me. I lean back, ready to meet the hard planes of his chest. Except there’s nothing there but cool air. I stumble backwards, but luckily remain on my feet. I turn and see him retreating, nearing his car. Glancing at the lit button on the wall, I clear the webs of confusion and pure lust in my head. As soon as the elevator door swooshes open, I step in, and watch Theodore Solomon’s face harden in anger while he glares at me.

CHAPTER THREE

ROCK. Hard place. I’m right smack in the middle. It’s Monday morning and I end up in the same elevator as Theodore Solomon. It’s not right that I can identify his unique scent amongst every other smell in the enclosed space. I’ve had zero interaction with the hot as Zeus, domineering CEO since I left him in the parking garage, with smoke coming out of his ears. He’s been away visiting construction sites for the last week. But I can’t say I was all too thrilled about it, hoping I would have a chance to watch him…from afar. Not in a stalkery, creepy way, but enough to conjure daydreams while I plunge head first into office boresville. Another weekend came and went with zero excitement in my life. Fearing I’d receive a call from HR at some point, I have updated my resume,

and sent it out to a few companies in the hiring database. The only time I’ve found myself near Theo was in my dreams. Dirty, filthy, orgasminducing dreams. Every night was a different scenario, a different position. And every scene was better than the last. The dreams don’t help me during the days at all. I’m screwed but not getting physically screwed, and my lust for Theo continues to build. Henrik Lam—Mr Yum—joins us on the fourth floor, where, rumor has it, he’s been seeing one of the admin assistants. The two men greet each other while I slink deeper into one corner of the elevator, trying my best to disappear. I take one earbud out and listen in while they talk shop and golf. No mention of weekend sexcapades. Almost falling asleep from the boring conversation, I jump when the elevator dings to announce our arrival at our floor. Everyone files out and I follow, hiding behind the crowd. “Talia! Finally, you’re here!” Standing just a foot away from where Theo and Henrik are talking, Ingrid flaps her hands, waving at me. The guys turn my way, and I want to die at the expression in Solomon’s eyes. Is he still upset from the other night? Is he going to fire me today? No, I should be safe. Stella and I have agreed that most companies do the firing on Friday afternoons. With a fake, toothy smile plastered on my face,

I make my way to Ingrid, who doesn’t bother meeting me halfway. “Yes, your highness, what can I do for you?” She throws her head back with a laugh, exposing her regal neck, instantly capturing Henrik’s attention. Theo Solomon, on the other hand, keeps his angry sneer pointed at me, but I put my brave face on and ignore it. He might be the CEO, but after hours he can’t order me around, even if he thinks it’s for my own benefit. And I can’t forget the fact he almost ran me over. “I want you to show me that funny video you saw last week, you know the one with the guy dancing on a stripper pole?” Ingrid drags me with her toward her office. Unfortunately, there’s no doubt Theo is still within earshot. Nothing like the boss knowing how I spend paid hours at work to keep me on the safe side. “Can I send it to you later? I have some files I need to update.” Ingrid pouts. “Fine, but don’t forget it.” She leans closer. “I want to show Teddy. He’s going to think it’s hilarious,” she says, to which I raise a brow and send a sideway glance at his sexy butt making his way to the corner office. He knows how to laugh? Theo Solomon seems too severe to guffaw at a silly video of a middleaged man trying and failing miserably and laughably to contort his body—potbelly and all—

around a strip pole, while wearing a gold lamé speedo. “Yeah. I won’t forget.” I don’t waste another second and park my ass on my chair, pretending like I actually have some important work to do.

LYRA LEAVES the kitchen after ripping me a new asshole for spending hours on matters unrelated to work. All I see is red, and I want to throw my mug at her flat behind. It happens only an hour after my conversation with Ingrid. I know she wouldn’t say anything to Lyra, and Sheila would never rat me out. Which only left one person—Theodore Fucking Solomon. Voodoo curses come out as whispers between my gritted teeth as I proceed to make myself a halfdecent cup of coffee, splashing a little on the counter when I stir it with a bit too much force. Last thing I need is another ruined outfit. I can’t afford to replace anything these days. Today I have my smart pants on, which make my ass look smaller, my waist tinier and my legs leaner. Fine, they’re regular black pants I bought from Banana Republic, but the cut does amazing things to my lower half. I jump back to avoid contact with the countertop and the spilled coffee. A not-so-sexy squeak comes out of me as

strong hands grab my hips, and my back hits a solid wall of muscles. “Careful.” My dreams do not justify how toecurling sexy Theo Solomon’s voice is. His warm breath fans the side of my neck. When did mint become a pheromone? I sweep his hands off and step aside. “Thanks. Coffee spilled.” With a bundled paper towel, I wipe down the countertop. Ignoring the flutters in my belly, I raise my cup to him. “Would you like some, Mr. Solomon?” I risk a glance. He doesn’t look upset anymore, but the intensity in his eyes hasn’t diminished. “Yes, Miss Newman,” he says, stepping closer, “I would very much like some.” He wraps both his hands around the mug, over my trembling fingers. He doesn’t avert his gaze, and I admire how the gold in his eyes twinkle. With my hand trapped under his, Theo lifts the cup and kisses the lip of the mug before sipping the hot liquid. Then he fucking moans. And I could swear my ovaries cheered. “Let me get you your own cup,” I offer, my voice shaking slightly. “Why can’t we share this?” “It’s mine.” I pull the mug toward me, sloshing a bit of liquid on our hands. He pulls back. His brows draw together. “Don’t be selfish.”

“I’m never selfish. All I do is give while others take.” “A giver, huh?” He licks his lips as he drops his gaze to mine. “What are you willing to give me, Miss Newman?” He inches forward. I step back until my bum hits the edge of the counter. “I…” His minty breath tickles the tip of my nose. His tongue darts out and leaves a trail of moisture on his lower lip. I’m mesmerized by it. I want to lick it. I want to know if he only tastes of mint and coffee or something else, something exotic and delicious and dangerous. The kitchen door opens and a second later, I’m teetering forward. For such a big man, Theodore Solomon can surely move fast. While I’m still steadying myself, he’s already five feet away, all dapper and put together in his periwinkle blue suit. “Good morning, Mr. Solomon,” two girls who work for other designers greet him, smiling widely and pushing their tiny titties out. “Good morning. Coffee’s still hot,” he greets back and strolls out the door. “He’s hot,” one of the girls comment and giggle. “Hey, Talia.” The other one waves at me. “Is there coffee left?” I smile at her. “Yeah, I just got…” I frown down at my empty hands. That bastard did not just

steal my breath away…he also took my coffee. That’s when I find out Theo Solomon is a goddamn taker.

SOMEONE RAPS at the bathroom door as soon as I close my eyes, delighting at the fizzle of bath bombs near my private parts. After the day I’ve had, even my ass muscles are tense, and a bath is my ultimate cure-all. After Lyra’s warning I had to be on my best behavior. And it didn’t help that Theo Solomon spent the entire afternoon in Ingrid’s office, laughing and flirting. It irritated me the shit out of me that he made a move on me even though he’s clearly dating the best looking girl in the office. I am not now, and never have been, anyone’s sidepiece. I don’t even care if he’s molded by the gods. He can do tricks with his dick in my dreams but in real life, I’m not about to get myself involved with another cheater. Not again. “It’s open.” I don’t bother covering my body with the thick bubbles. Stella has seen it all, or so she’s told me. “Hmmm. Is that lemon and sage?” I peek at her with one eye. “Yup.” “Smells wonderful. I have something for you.” She waves an envelope and shows my name on it written in gold calligraphy. I sit up, sloshing water over the lip of the tub.

“Is that what I think it is?” She smiles widely, her eyes shining, and nods. “I wanna see.” I raise both arms out of the water, but I don’t reach out for the envelope. Stella rips the envelope open and presents me with an invitation on a cream-colored, heavy-stock card. Class-y. But I don’t expect anything less from the host, Evie Montgomery—who, for all intents and purposes, has been Stella’s guardian since her mom died. Evie is in her late-sixties but can still kick anyone’s ass, and thoroughly enjoy it. She lives in a mansion an hour drive outside the city, where more BDSM fun happens. Famous for throwing the best parties, I made Stella promise me an invite to the next one. “It’s this Saturday?” I ask, reading the card Stella holds in front of me. “That’s kinda last minute.” Stella hums and shrugs. “That’s Evie. It’s not our usual crowd, though.” She sits precariously on the edge of the tub, swirling her index finger in the warm water. I’ve suspected long ago that Stella swings both ways, but I’ve been too much of a wimp to ask. Plus it wouldn’t change the way I see her—as a wonderful friend with a big heart. “It’s a charity gala. There’s no theme, but you have to wear all white.” “Whatever, I’m in. Oh, shit. I don’t have

anything to wear.” Pouting, I sink deeper in the water with only the my eyes and up staying above the bubbles. “It must be your lucky day! I made a call earlier. You have an appointment downtown tomorrow for fittings.” I gasp air in when I pop the rest of my face out of the water. “Aw, Stel, you didn’t have to do that. I’m sure I can get something from Carson’s.” “No.” She holds her hands up. “I know you’ve had a tough time at work lately, and the owner owes me.” I quirk a brow at her, curious what owing Stella entails. “I mentored her husband in the art of Japanese silk bondage.” She winks at me. “Oh.” “Anyway, I’m going out for a run. I’ll be back in an hour and we’ll have dinner.” Stella stands, gathering her long hair in low ponytail and then leaving my invitation on the vanity. “Have fun running,” I say drily. She’s tried to convince me to go on a run with her a few times but it’s never been my thing. I much prefer the curvy girl’s classes at the gym. Less bouncy and way less panting.

DURING DINNER, I tell Stella about my

awkward kitchen moment with Theo. “Sounds like he’s into you.” I snort, reaching for my glass of wine, but I hide a small smile behind my glass. “No way. He’s after Ingrid’s ass.” I take a sip of my wine before continuing. “You should have seen them together in her office. All cheery and vomit-inducing.” Stella pauses and places her fork on her plate, peering at me with her overly observant eyes. “You’re jealous.” “What? That’s crazy talk. I don’t get jealous. Even when I found out my dick ex was sleeping around, I didn’t get jealous.” “Yeah, but your ex wasn’t good for you. And I bet he’s not as hot as your boss.” I mull this over, chewing slowly on a piece of chicken cacciatore. My ex was, and probably still is, a pretty boy. He spent a lot of time at the gym, where he met and fucked other girls while we were living together. I’m a classic victim of a boy who took advantage of a girl who worked her ass off, so that he could go to school and get his law degree, only to get dumped as soon as he passed the boards. “Derek is good-looking,” I mumble. “But Mr. Solomon is…wow.” My last word comes out in a breathy huff. “You can’t even describe him properly. He must be something else. Why don’t you ask him out for coffee? He does like coffee.” She shoots me a

mischievous smile. “Maybe you can offer him dessert too.” As soon as she says it, a piece of chicken lodges in my throat, causing me to choke and sputter. Stella pushes a glass of water my way, concern and laughter warring on her face. Flushed but able to breathe, I address her suggestion. “There’s no way in hell that would ever happen. Once again, you’re forgetting he’s banging Ingrid.” “You don’t have proof.” “What proof do I need? They were practically humping on her desk today. It’s disgusting.” Stella leans her back on her chair, a smirk on her lips. Looking away from her, I pick up my fork again and push my food around. “Shut up. Let’s drop it. I don’t want to talk about work anymore,” I say even though I continue to think of him. Whether I like it or not, Theo Solomon has taken up permanent residence in my mind.

CHAPTER FOUR

I SPEED UP MY PACE, but I’m still not quick enough. The heavens open up as soon as I round the corner and before I can step inside the steel and glass building. It’s going to be one of those mornings. In the mirror lining the wall opposite the elevators, I check how bad my hair and makeup are. The trench coat saved my professional-butcute outfit. However, the forty-five minutes I’d spent straightening my hair is a complete waste. I resemble a drowned raccoon, dark circles around my eyes and all. I’m rubbing at the mascara stain when the alltoo-familiar decadent voice of my boss interrupts me. “You’re wet.” When he’s standing this close to me, smelling and looking like Adonis in a suit would, it’s hard

not to be. “What an astute observation,” I mutter. Something white appears before me. I snap my head his way with a questioning look, and step back. “It’s a handkerchief, not a bomb.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes and pat my hair down. “No thanks. I don’t think I can afford your dry cleaning bill.” He lets it hang between us, until he finally tucks it back into his pocket. I shuffle into the next available elevator. As much as I try not to stand next to him, it’s difficult when the small space is jam-packed with people eager to clock in. I face the side opposite where he’s standing so I can continue to think clearly, despite being ensconced in his scintillating scent and alluring heat. Theo leans his head down next to my ear. “You know, there’s this great invention called an umbrella. You’ve heard of it?” he asks in a whisper. He’s fucking with me. I know this, but my blood spikes nonetheless. Unfortunately, a clever repartee doesn’t come quick enough and soon, we arrive at our floor. I stomp out, ignoring the curious stares from my coworkers. After shaking droplets off my coat, I settle in my chair with a heavy slump. I gather my soggy hair, twist it, and stick a No.2 pencil through the bun, while I grimace at Sheila, who presses her lips

together, trying her hardest not to make a comment or laugh or both. Ingrid enters our cubicle not a second later. “I need you.” Like I said, it’s going to be one of those days. “Good morning, Ingrid. What would you like me to do?” “The presentation for McMillan and Perkins has been moved to this afternoon.” A thin line makes an appearance on her forehead. “What? When did this happen?” I gape at her, then at Sheila, and back to Ingrid again. The most prestigious architectural firm in Chicago has made a bid on an equally prestigious law firm for their new office designs. This is a big deal for Ingrid and Henrik, and if they get it, everyone working with them gets a bonus, which means Sheila and I may be pocketing some serious dough once the contracts are signed. But family law and divorce attorneys are finicky as hell. They’ve turned down all of Ingrid’s mock-ups, even the one with a water feature in the middle of the building. I don’t know how she and Henrik will pull it off, but her latest idea looks fucking impressive on paper. “I’m still working on the 3D renderings. Are the blueprints here?” Ingrid scratches her forearm and leaves a mark on her flawless skin. I search through my emails. “Yup. They’re ready. I’ll check in with Bryde to make sure

Henrik’s ready.” Ingrid shakes her head. “He’s not here today. He’s got a family emergency and flew back home last night.” “Oh shit.” We are totally screwed. Ingrid continues to scratch her arm, a nervous habit, I presume. I place my cold hand on hers, prompting her to stop. “You can do this.” Getting up, I strip out of my damp coat, while I rack my brain for ideas. “Sheila, make sure the conference room’s free for Ingrid this afternoon. I’ll run over to Bryde and see if Henrik prepared anything before he left.” Grabbing Ingrid’s arms, I turn her to face me. The girl has hives dotting her pretty face. “Ingrid, you got this, girl. Go back into your office and finish whatever you need to do. Got it?” She doesn’t reply and continues to stare at me like a doe in the woods. “Girl, I need to know you understand what I just said. Yes? No?” Ingrid nods and I push her toward her office, shutting the door behind me before I run to see Bryde. “And where do you think you’re going?” Lyra snaps as I’m about to pass her. I hold my hand up, leveled with her face, and I sneer at her. “Not now, Lyra. I’m working.” She stammers some incoherent response, but I don’t give her a chance to say anything more. I’m in a groove. Adrenaline’s pumping into my blood

double time. It’s days like this that helps define my purpose in life. I’m the bitch who gets shit done.

FOR HOURS, I run back and forth between my workstation and Bryde’s, and Ingrid’s office. Five minutes before lunch, my head’s spinning, and a familiar scent drifts in. My belly tightens and groans, and not only from hunger pangs. “Ready for lunch?” Pretending not to hear Theo, I watch him and Ingrid in my peripheral vision, while I gather the paint chips, fabric swatches, and floor samples scattered across Ingrid’s desk. She swivel in her chair, turning away from her drafting board. “I forgot. Rain check?” Reaching across her desk, Ingrid squeezes Theo’s hand. “Sorry.” I’m an insignificant fly on the wall. My stomach swirls, and I have to fight the urge to pout. Stella’s words from last night wash over me. I. Am. Jealous. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I face the window and watch the rain continue to drown the city, while denying that I want to be the one making lunch plans with Theo Solomon. I want to be the one holding his hand, and probably having a quickie in his office later to make up for missing our date. God, I need to get laid. My stomach grumbles again, a little too loudly, and ruins their

moment. “Sorry.” I rub my belly. Theo does that half smile, half smirk thing with his lips, and my tummy flips. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “How about I grab lunch for all of you hard-working ladies? Can’t do a presentation on an empty stomach.” Clapping her hands together, Ingrid grins at him. “That would be lovely! You know what I like.” I bet he does, and I bet he knows how to give it to her too. Hard, deep and… “Miss Newman?” “Hmmm?” Suddenly the inside of my mouth feels as dry as a board. Solomon splays his hands in front of him. Such large, undoubtedly capable hands. “Any preference?” I could think of a few things. “No, thanks. I’ll grab something later.” Keeping my eyes lowered, I rearrange the pens and pencils on Ingrid’s desk. “Miss Newman.” My right eye twitches. I don’t like it when he calls me that. To some it may be a form of respect, but coming from him, it comes out like some form of reprimand. “Mis-ter Sol-o-mon.” I enunciate his name, playing his dumbass name game. “I’m fine, thank you.” He presses his palms together and the cracks of

his knuckles echo in the room like one of Stella’s whips. Is he getting ready to punish me for insubordination? “I need to know if you have any food allergy or intolerance.” Yes, I’m hot-boss-intolerant. “Give it up, Talia. He’s not going to take no for an answer,” Ingrid tells me from her perch. I keep my mouth pressed together, thinking of all the things she’s said yes to. “Teddy—” He clears his throat. “Whoops. I mean, Theo, she’d probably like the endive and chicken salad. Come to think of it, I’d like the same. But bring dessert.” “Anything in particular?” “Surprise us,” Ingrid replies. Theo looks at me again, and licks his lips. “I’ll bring something sweet.” Then he winks at me. Holy hell. I’m not imagining it. He’s flagrantly flirting with me in front of his fuck-buddy, or whatever Ingrid is to him. Adjusting the neckline of my crossover top, I let out the heat festering inside. I roll my eyes at the ceiling and stare at the invisible specks on the flat surface until his footsteps fade away. “He’s such a sweetheart,” Ingrid absently says. “He could have ordered someone to get it for us, but Theo loves to do things on his own. Get his hands dirty, so to speak.” Nuh-uh, I’m not going to take the bait. Too

many images pass through my head like a slideshow on speed. I offer her a curt nod. “Yeah, yeah. You need to keep going with that. We don’t have much time left.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Gee, you’re just as bossy as him!” I doubt it.

INGRID’S KNOCKING it out of the park. Four suits sit on either side of the conference table, unable to take their eyes off of her. The way she describes the carpet she’s chosen for the interior offices of McMillan and Perkins is akin to poetry. The law firm’s big kahunas eat her words up, especially when she has changed into a black dress that’s so tight on her I can see her ribs from where I’m seated. On anybody else, it would look slutty. On Ingrid—with her porcelain skin shining in the sunlight finally streaming through the windows, and her long, silky hair—it’s chic and cover modelworthy. Bryde shakes her legs beside me, and I tap my pen on her knee to stop her. We’re all nervous, but we’ve worked our asses off for this. It’s all up to Ingrid’s presentation, and since working for the company, I’ve never heard Ingrid fuck one up. The endive salad and dark chocolate mousse cake from lunch churn in my stomach. I should have skipped the cake, but Ingrid practically

shoved it in my mouth, insisting it was better than sex. From what I remember, it is better than sex. Then I think of the source of the cake. Maybe he tastes better, and just as sinful too. A movement to my right catches my eye, and my heart leaps at the sight of said dessert source. I straighten in my chair and ignore the heat of Theo’s body as he takes a seat next to me. “How’s she doing?” His voice is like melted chocolate on my skin. Tilting my head a little, I whisper, “She’s amazing.” “She looks great up there.” A wrench in my gut. “Yup.” He adjusts in the chair, and his leg rubs against mine. Throw a bucket of ice water on me because I’m about to combust. I really need to get laid if the touch of a man’s pant leg can give me a damn orgasm. Maybe I’ll hook up with someone at Evie’s party this Saturday, like with a geriatric philanthropist who has a thing for a curvy twentyfive-year-old woman. Ingrid finishes her presentation, and the men give her a round of applause. They all stand. Seriously, she’s that good. Bryde stands too, and I follow. “I think it’s a done deal. Excellent job, ladies.” Theo Solomon smiles at us. Adjusting his tie, he saunters to the front of the room and immediately

compels everyone to pay attention to him. Bryde and I hover, waiting to be called. As I watch Ingrid and Theo chat up the attorneys, the familiar, weird tug in my belly returns. There’s something about this man, my boss, that makes me uneasy, and, yes I admit it, jealous as hell. I duck my head. The phrase “out of my league” carves itself into my heart. My chest squeezes, and I take a deep breath in, and think of the bonus I’d get instead. Maybe it’s time for me to move on, even if there’s a possible permanent position in the wings for me here. That bonus could be a nice parting gift.

IT’S UNUSUALLY cold for a July day in Chicago. The biting wind blows past me while I stand under the black-and-pink-striped awning. Stella sent me the address for the fitting she’d arranged, but there isn’t any sign to indicate if I’m at the right shop. For one, it doesn’t even have mannequins in the windows, just layers of gauzy fabric opaque enough to keep onlookers from peeking in. I try the door again, but it doesn’t budge. I fish my phone out of my purse and send Stella a text. What’s the place called? She doesn’t take long to reply. La Déesse de L’amour “What?” I say to my phone, scrunching my

face in confusion. There’s no sign anywhere. You’re at the right place. Press the button beside the door. I look up, muttering to myself, “What button?” Then I see the gold-rimmed doorbell on a panel. How exclusive is this place? I wish I'd asked Stella for more information. I don’t even know how to pronounce the shop’s name. A buzz signals the door unlocking. I give it a hard pull, and enter, not knowing what to expect. A humongous sparkling chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. I don’t see racks or shelves of clothes anywhere, only arched doors leading to other rooms. Secret rooms. A statuesque woman in a fitted black dress greets me, “Good afternoon. You must be Talia.” She hands me a glass of bubbly with a lavender stick in it. With a bit of hesitation, I take the glass from her. “I have an appointment, I think.” I glance around, intrigued at the all stark white, sparse furnishings. There’s no one else in sight. “This is the…oh Christ, what’s this place called?” With my phone still in hand, I carefully swipe a finger on the screen without spilling champagne on it. “La Déesse de l’amour. Goddess of Love,” the girl tells me, “Yes, Stella informed us that you’d be coming today. Why don’t you have a seat?

Madame De la Roche will be out in a moment.” I only absorb half of what she says, so I sit my ass on a wide tufted bench closest to the door. The woman—sales girl?—leaves, and I tap my foot to the sound of subtle jazz music coming from hidden speakers, and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. Stella has impeccable taste in fashion, and most of her clothes are custom-made, especially her work clothes. It’s not like she can enter any store and request a vinyl or leather catsuit and matching corset. Well, not around this neck of the woods anyway. Shocked at the sight of my boss exiting an arched doorway, I almost spit the champagne all over the bench. “Miss Newman?” He hesitates by the door. I stand abruptly. “Mr. Solomon, what a surprise!” Is he stalking me? Please let him be stalking me. Calm the fuck down, Talia. “What are you doing here?” He reaches behind his neck and tugs at his collar. He’s taken his tie off and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. “I’m…ah…” “What do you think of this, love?” Through the same doorway he’s come from, his explanation appears—all legs up to her chin, tiny waist and perfect C cups, packaged nicely in a silver sequinned column dress and white Louboutin pumps.

I narrow my eyes at him. He’s dating Ingrid! The motherfucker is cheating on her. I knew he couldn’t be that perfect. He curses under his breath, and averts his gaze, turning back to his…lingerie model. “Yes, that’ll do.” “Do you like it better than the black one?” “Yeah, sure…ah…why don’t you go try on the rest?” “’Kay.” She sashays her perky ass back the way she came, leaving me fuming at my boss. Hell, it’s after hours; he’s not my boss anymore. And Ingrid is kind of my friend. “This is not what it looks like,” he starts explaining. Smugness plays on his lying lips, but I snort it away. A number of colorful names form on the tip of my tongue. I’m ready to rip him a new asshole, when a short, elderly woman enters the room. Her décolletage drips with diamonds the size of my eyeballs. Her aubergine dress matches the streaks in her silvery gray bob. “Ah, Madamoiselle Newman! Welcome.” She ambles to me and pulls my head down for a kiss on both my cheeks. “It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” I push my ire aside and plaster on a polite smile. “Thanks. I didn’t know what to—” “Let’s get started, shall we?” She tilts her head

toward the cheater standing by one of the arches. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this awkward before. “Is everything going well, Theodore?” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he widens his smile. “Everything’s perfect, Sabine.” He’s on a first name basis with the woman, I assume, is the owner. He must be a regular, bringing in a new model each week. How typical. Theo keeps his smile on as he peers at me with too much amusement in his eyes. I clench my jaw and send him my fiercest glare, the one that may have caused global warming. “Wonderful. Now, let’s see what we have here.” The woman, Sabine, holds me at an arm’s length, looking me up and down, then she has me turning until I pivot to face her again. “Ah yes, beautiful. I say 38 Double F.” She reaches for my boobs, cupping and squeezing them together. I inhale deeply and push down my surprise. She taps a finger on her chin and continues to regard me. I feel exposed. “Thirty waist, forty-six hips. How tall are you? Five-foot-ten-inches?” Holy shit, this woman knows my measurements just by looking at me? “Five-nine,” I correct her. “Five-nine and a half on a good day.” “Are you having a good day?” I glance at the hovering audience. “It could be better.”

“Wonderful! I shall make it better! We’ll start you with lingerie. I have the perfect set for you, and a garter, maybe some fishnets…oh, I’ve got it!” She raises a finger in the air with so much gusto it snaps me to attention. “Have a seat and I’ll have everything prepared. Adrienne will be back to fill your glass.” I shake my head. “No need for lingerie. I’m just here to try on dresses.” Sabine guides me back to the bench, and my ass hits the cushion. She's awfully strong for a tiny old woman. “Non, madamoiselle. No, no.” She shakes a finger at me then tucks it under my chin, forcing me look up at her. “We always start with what’s underneath. You can wear a potato sack and still feel fabulous if you’re wearing the sexiest lingerie. I shall return.” When she leaves, Theo chuckles. I want to throw the empty champagne flute at him, but I’m guessing it’s crystal and I wont’ be able to replace it. But if he says anything about my measurements, I won’t be responsible for my actions. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I snap and glance over his shoulder. Rubbing the day-old growth on his chin and jaw, he stops chuckling and regards me curiously. “I’m just helping out a friend.” I raise my hands and purse my lips. “Whatever, Mr. Solomon. It’s after hours, your business is

yours.” But for sure Ingrid will hear about this tomorrow. When I found out my ex had cheated on me, I asked the few friends I had if they’d had any clue about it. They all did. Their silence had hurt just as much as my ex’s cheating. Although I think Solomon should come clean to Ingrid himself, he doesn’t seem the type to admit to his mistakes. Who knows? Maybe the woman he’s with is his girlfriend and he’s only keeping Ingrid on the side. I grit my teeth, remembering our moment in the office kitchen. He did almost kiss me. He’s just another serial cheater. Typical. For once, I’d like to meet a man who’s got his shit together, and who, in fact, keeps his dick in his pants. “I can give you a hand too, if you’d like,” he offers casually. His mouth quirks at one corner. He’s nuts. My jaw clenches while my anger increases. “No, thank you. You’ve clearly got your hands full.” I nod as the chick he’s with appears behind him, this time she’s wearing some kind of white bandage dress. A thick strip of fabric barely covers her nipples. The sales girl with the champagne returns and refills my glass, as promised, then asks me to follow her through one of the arches. “Have a good fitting, Miss Newman,” my charlatan boss says. I don’t bother replying. He doesn’t deserve my

attention. I’m so angry at myself for even considering him. Though I should have known better. A magnet to cheaters and freaks is what I am. Maybe I should revisit my promise list, and reconsider experimenting with Stella. Men just complicate my life.

CHAPTER FIVE

WHEN STELLA SEES me the next morning, handing me a travel mug of coffee, she asks if my fitting was successful. Chomping down on a muffin and ignoring all manners my mother taught me, I reply, “The two and a half hours I spent with Sabine were the most fabulous shopping experience I’ve ever had. I picked out a white floor-length silk jersey dress for the party. Simple, gorgeous, and best of all, free. Thanks again!” I do a little dance on the spot. “That’s great. I bet it’s lovely.” The lingerie Sabine had made me try on fit me wonderfully, and I’ve never felt sexier wearing a few scraps of imported French lace and silk. But one, I had no one to wear it for and two, even though there weren’t any price tags on any of them, I could tell they were above my price range. Those

I’d sadly left behind. I was tempted to take them home, but the mature, responsible adult in me had won. I spot the clock and realize I’m running later than I thought. With a quick wave, I run out the door and straight to the El, ignoring the vibration in my purse. I arrive at work late, and Lyra readily notes it in my file. There’s no sign of either Ingrid or Theo. Sheila informs me that McMillan and Perkins have requested another meeting with Ingrid, who was the one calling me while I jumped into a packed train to work. She had to take Bryde with her, and Theo wanted to come along, according to Sheila. I’m more tired than usual. My dreams of my charlatan boss have compounded, vivid in technifucking-color porn. Rubbing the leftover sleep from the corner of one eye, I groan into my empty travel mug. Lyra walks by as I’m taking off my coat. The grimace on her face is one sight in the morning I could do without. “Sheila, Ingrid and Mr. Solomon will be back soon, and they’ve requested you meet with them in his office.” Sheila shoots me a worried look. “And you too.” Lyra wrinkles her nose as though I’ve stunk up her personal space. You too? Wow. Don’t I feel special? All I can hope for is some good news in the form of permanent job with a bonus check…and a light spanking on Theo’s desk. Damn. He’s a big no-no,

and I need to get him out of my mind. But how? Head to desk, I groan. I’m doomed.

THEO HAS EVERYONE’S ATTENTION, some for more than the fact he’s our boss and he has fabulous news to announce. On any other man, a three-piece, tailor-made, cobalt blue suit, a fucking polka dotted bowtie and tan wing-tipped shoes wouldn’t work, but when Theo struts to the front of the packed conference room, my whoremones goes through the roof, and haven’t calmed down one bit. “Ingrid, we raise our glasses to you—” he lifts a champagne flute, and we follow suit. “You continue to impress us—and our clients—with your incomparable talent.” “To Ingrid!” Every fool in the room, except me, cheers, not bothering to note that the head designer for the McMillan and Perkins project is sulking behind the beautiful behemoth in blue. Her eyes lack their usual liveliness, and she hasn’t stopped biting her nails, or scratching her arm. Something’s up. But like a good girl, she jerks her chin up a little higher, squares her shoulders, smiles, and mouths ‘thank you’ to everyone. The room slowly clears. Ingrid leaves with Theo, and they head straight to his office. Everyone else involved in yesterday’s presentation waits, until we’re invited into the boss’ office. Not having

been inside it since he took over, I glance around for any differences, signs of his accomplishments, trophies, framed photos of Playboy bunnies or Victoria’s Secret models. But there isn’t anything but black and white oversized abstract paintings on the walls. I focus on the dark minimalist desk in the middle of the room, wide enough for someone to sprawl over, face down, ass up, arms and legs spread. A not-so-subtle nudge in my ribs makes me yelp. “Pay attention,” Bryde says and points at the hunk in blue seated at his desk. I roll my eyes, but do as she suggests. I stare. No, gawk. It’s hard not to when all I can think of is perching on that desk with my legs spread in front of my boss, while he occupies his office chair like a throne. What’s wrong with me? He’s a cheater. He’s bad news. I need to get a hold of myself. Rounding his desk to stand in front of it, he addresses us. But then, my attention drifts to the side, to Ingrid, head down, face in her hands, shoulders shaking, sobbing. Theo stops talking and like magnets, our gazes capture each other’s. What the hell is going on? The tension thickens in the vast space with the million-dollar view. I sidle up to Ingrid and wrap her in an embrace. Her entire body trembles. Stealing a glance at Theo, I silently urge him to

clear the room, but he’s so dense he just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I can’t…I can’t be here,” Ingrid finally says, hiccupping into my shoulder. I brush her hair aside and rub her back. “I’m sorry.” Then she runs out of the room, eyes soaked in tears. I’d rather have a root canal than be in the room right now. Theo rubs his temple. “Lyra, could you check on her?” he demands, and turns to the rest of us. “You’ll all be issued a bonus. If you have any questions, ask Lyra.” Bryde, Sheila, and I awkwardly start shuffling to the door. I’m trying to figure out what’s gotten Ingrid so upset. But my heart does a back-flip when Theo calls my name. “Stay…please.” He sits back on his throne and fiddles with a file on his desk, avoiding eye contact. I don’t want to stay. I want to see what happened to Ingrid. But I jerk to a stop and turn, ignoring the other girls’ mumbles and their curious and terrified expressions. “Have a seat.” Still no eye contact, but he waves a hand to a chair in front of his desk. No thanks. But I sit, stiff as a board on the comfortable leather chair. “Ingrid mentioned that if it wasn’t for you, the project wouldn’t have gone forward.” The jerk

finally looks at me, but only for a second or two. I don’t say anything. I wait, sliding my suddenly cold hands under my thighs. I could slap him. He doesn’t deserve Ingrid. And hell no, he doesn’t deserve to invade my dreams. “You’ve held a temporary position here for three months and two weeks.” Three months, two weeks, three days, six hours, but who’s counting? “Lyra’s been talking about you, a lot …” I bet she has! “She said you’ve been a great addition to our team…” That’s a surprise. I let him go on and shimmy my butt forward a little, keen to hear more. He closes the file in his hand and presses his palms together. “Personally, I’m delighted to offer you a permanent position at ARC Industries.” He finishes off with a grin. Big inhale. He goes on about specifics and job descriptions, but I can't concentrate. My shoulders reach my ears, and I’m shaking inside. I slowly release the breath I’m holding, and calm the shit storm brewing in my belly. I’m torn between celebrating and concerned about Ingrid’s situation. “Is there anything you’d like to ask? Or say?” he adds hesitantly. I think of what this means to me, to my life. If I stay and work for someone like him, could I endure him knowing what he’s capable of? I’ve worked hard for a permanent position. I fucking deserve it.

“Thanks.” I move to stand. “Is that a yes? You’re taking the position?” He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed, trying to gauge my reaction. I bet he thinks I should be jumping up and down, clapping, bowing down to him like he’s a god. “Yes, of course.” His chair creaks when he leans back, and he rubs his clean-shaven jaw. His entire face is smooth, hell, his entire head is smooth. I can’t help but wonder if the rest of him is too. No, Theo Solomon is a chest hair kind of guy, probably a straight line of happy trail on his undoubtedly rich hard abs, leading to hopefully a manscaped…Stop right there, Talia. I’ve never been this confused over a man. My ass is halfway off the seat so I slowly park it back down, tamping down the swirl in my gut and waiting for him to continue. Theo shifts forward, adjusts his suit and leans back again, only to get up. He makes his way toward me, fingering his stupid sexy bowtie. Once he’s in front of me, leaning his behind against the desk and crossing his ankles, I focus my attention on the man like a boxer would his opponent—above the belt. “There is something else I’d like to ask you, Miss Newman.” My right eye twitches. “Yes, Mr. Solomon?” I can keep playing this game. He bobs his chin up and down, tugs at his

bowtie, and clears his throat. “Have dinner with me.” It isn’t even a question or a polite request. He’s telling me. An order. And I snap. The sharp breath comes out through my flared nostrils. I shake my head, delirious from anger, and stand. “You…I can’t even…” Gnawing at the inside of my cheek, I gather my wits, thinking of how hurt Ingrid looked, red-faced, bleary-eyed. I’m so angry I’m vibrating as I press my feet steadily on the floor. “No, I don’t think so. You have some nerve.” It’s out of my mouth before I could even give it a second thought. The lines on his forehead deepen. “I beg your pardon?” “Cut the crap, Mr. Solomon.” I step forward, meeting him eye-to-eye. “I’ve met enough men like you who take advantage of women who are sweet and nice and caring and beautiful.” I jab a manicured finger at his chest, which is hard enough to break my polished nail. “Guys like you make me want to live on an island…alone! Forever!” Slow clap for that weak argument, but it’s effective nonetheless. Theo grabs my hand that’s poking his chest and uses it to pull me closer to him. I take notice of the crosshatch silvery-white pattern at his left temple, a marking on his otherwise perfect face. I ignore the appeal of his scent. “What are you doing?” he snaps. Shoulders squared, I stare at him, and try to

dislodge my hand from his tight grip. “I’m saying no to you.” “Are you saying no to the job or to dinner with me?” “Yes. Both.” “Yes to both?” “No!” I jerk my hand away again and he lets go. “No. I’m saying no to both.” He squints at me, studying what should be my bitch face, but I can still see the gold flecks in his eyes. The more I stare at him, the brightness in them fades, little by little. They dim before his eyelids shutter close, and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. His right sleeve pulls back to expose the edge of his tattooed arm, a lick above his wrist. This is the right time for me to walk away, before my mind begins to comprehend what I’ve done. I step back, but he jerks me to him again, and his grip on my arm is not friendly. “Miss Newman.” I hiss at his tight grip. He lowers his head and lets go. When he looks back up, our gazes lock, both intensifying by the second. “Talia…” he says, smooth and golden like sweet honey. A caress. “Stay.” A firm order. After brushing my hands down my top and pants, I shove my wayward hair behind my ears. For the first time, I let him see me. The woman who doesn’t take shit from anybody.

“You’re not my boss anymore, so your demands mean nothing, but I can still take this—” I gesture between us. “—and claim workplace harassment.” His face morphs and hardens. His breathing is shallow and fast, and I can almost hear the grinding of his teeth. When I exit his office, leaving him glowering at me, I run straight to the washroom before I empty my stomach all over the hallway.

CHAPTER SIX

OTHER WOMEN HAVE RETAIL THERAPY, binge on chocolate chip cookie dough or oversized cosmos or margaritas to soothe their souls after something unsavory happens to them. Me? I have Shaun of the Dead and buttery popcorn. I hit replay, snuggling deeper under my comfy blanket, wearing a tattered UCLA sweater I found and kept when I left my ex. I didn’t go to that college, and neither did my ex. The sweats probably belonged to one of the girls he’d banged on our bed while he was pretending to be studying for his LSATs, and while I was busting my ass to get him his degree. I’d meant to throw it into the fireplace last Valentine’s Day, like a cleansing ritual a la Phoebe, Monica and Rachel, but it’s become one of the most comfortable clothing I own. Stella knocks on my door just as I’m reaching

for the third popcorn bowl of the night. “Hey.” I wave her inside. Picking up several items off the bedroom floor before she joins me on the bed, sits primly on the edge and asks me, “How did your day go?” Shaking popcorn dust off my sweats, I offer her the bowl and she takes a handful, but she doesn’t eat it. Stella hates popcorn. I shrug, hoping it’s enough of a reply, but her silence, and the concerned look on her face tell me I need to say more. I pause my movie. “I sent out a hundred more applications, and I set up a job interview on Monday. Overall, more productive than yesterday.” Yesterday, I did nothing but sit in my undies and sweater, with my movie on a loop and ate bowls of popcorn. Basically, same as today, except earlier, I actually had the guts to search for a job. It’s a tough world out there for a mid-twenties woman who dropped out of college, and whose job experience consists mainly of pouring coffee, serving overpriced miniature food to commodities brokers and faking knowledge of an uppity wine list with labels I can never properly pronounce. Stella made me promise to shower today, and I did around three in the afternoon when she’d come in from a yoga class. We’ve agreed that she’d let me do my sulking for nothing longer than three days.

She pats my hands. “That’s good. Did you get hold of Ingrid, yet? To see if she can give you a reference?” Biting my lip, I shake my head. How can I start a conversation with Ingrid after her ex-lover, boyfriend, whatever Theo is asked me out for dinner minutes after their breakup? This sucks balls. I’ve abandoned a job I was starting to like in a prestigious firm, because my boss doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants. It’s all his fault. I dig into the popcorn bowl. “Well, I’m sure you won’t need it.” Stella stands, one hand still full of uneaten popcorn. I hold the bowl up and she dumps the popcorn back into it. “I have to get going. Oh did you open those packages downstairs? They’re still on the kitchen island.” “No. I forgot about that.” Three boxes from La Déesse de L’amour arrived Wednesday morning. I didn’t have enough energy to open them and discover the treasures waiting for me. ”I’ll check it out after the movie.” “Sounds good. I’m off to work in a bit. Do you want me to make you a sandwich? Popcorn’s not going to sustain you.” “No, thank you. You’ve done enough for me, Stella.” And she has. Not only has she been understanding about the whole jobless situation, she

also hasn’t poked or prodded information out of me. She knows I’m bummed about the situation, but she’s also aware that I’ll figure it all out once I get out of this slump. Just like I did when I found three different pairs of size small lace undies under the bed my ex and I have shared.

WHEN I FINALLY RUN OUT OF popcorn, I drag my ass down to the kitchen and poke my head in the fridge. Nothing appeals to me. I turn around and inspect the aubergine boxes sitting on the quartz island. Wiping my buttery hands on my sweater, I reach for the first box. When I untie the satin ribbons, and peel back the tissues, I gasp, seeing the most exquisite lace bustier and panty set. All in my size. “Holy shit.” I lift them up to inspect them. They’re one of the sets Sabine had me try on the other day. With a bit of excitement, I work on the rest of the boxes and discover three more similar sets. “There’s a reason why we French women spend money on lingerie. What you wear underneath matters,” Sabine had imparted, “Know that you deserve such wonderful things. Women must wear lingerie for themselves, not for anyone else. If a man happens to see it, he should consider himself a very lucky man.”

Remembering her words bring warm and sunshine into my otherwise dull life. Taking all the boxes up to my room, I send a text to Stella, thanking her for the goodies. Stella claims it isn’t her doing, and says that Sabine must have sent the packages. I make a mental note to thank Sabine when I see her tomorrow at Evie’s gala. I shower, shave y legs, and apply lotion all over before I slip on one of the sets. It’s a Friday night in Chicago, I’m a single woman, and I have no plans to go out and meet a guy, but hell, I feel great. Maybe Sabine is right.

STELLA and I have brunch on the terrace the next morning. The morning sun shines through the fluffy clouds in the blue sky. The weather report says it’s going to be a hot summer night, perfect for indulging in champagne and fancy canapés at Evie’s estate. We take our time getting ready for the event, even doing each other’s hair. Stella opts for one side of her hair pinned up. Her white silk dress drapes gracefully over her perfect form, and she pairs it with strappy silver sandals. She uses different makeup techniques to achieve a 1940’s Hollywood glamor look and applies a bold red lipstick on her plump lips. The girl can pass for a Hollywood starlet.

With the help of the white lace bustier—from La Déesse de L’amour—keeping my heavy breasts together, I slip easily into my white dress. At Stella’s urging, I add the garter that came with it and hook the clips to a pair of nude stockings. Lucky for me, Stella and I wear the same shoe size, and she lends me a pair of Louboutin heels. I stand in front of the mirror, my hair done with finger waves and a striking yet simple makeup application, feeling like Cinderella…in expensive French lace. The cap sleeves of the dress compliment the broadness of my shoulders and the inch-thick gold belt attached to the dress accentuates my slimmer waist. Whenever I take a step, the long slit on the front of the dress shows off my legs. In short, I look fucking hot. The rich old men at Evie’s gala better watch out, because their next heart attack is about to make an appearance. We arrive in style, via the town car Stella always takes to work. She introduces me to her driver, Martin. I begin to wonder more about her job as Domme. Is there something in this business I should be looking into? I didn’t grow up in an overly religious household, and sure, I’m adventurous, but thinking of what Stella does nightly brings a blush to my cheeks. Before we step out of the car, she takes a silver mask out of a box she brought. “We have to wear masks?” I look around for

another box. “No,” she says, adjusting her hair around the mask. “I never show my face in public.” “Oh.” I should know this, shouldn’t I? “Never?” She shakes her head. “Evie insists. It’s important to her. I stopped asking her why a long time ago. I just know it’s for my own privacy and protection.” “Huh.” I reach up to help her with the mask. “Well, you still look fabulous.” “So do you. Remember to have fun.” “I intend to.”

THE ENTIRE EVENT has a dreamy quality to it, with attendees traipsing around in white dresses and tuxedos. The women accessorize their designer dresses with sparkly diamond jewelry, like stars shining brightly through the canopy of mature trees on Evie’s estate. Stella and I greet Evie as soon as we arrive, and the older woman wraps a hand over the crook of my elbow and takes me around the garden, introducing me to different people, men mostly. I have a feeling Evie is privy to my dating status. I don’t mind it though. Feeling like an old Hollywood glamor princess has that affect on me. Eventually, Evie leaves to attend to something she’s called upon in the kitchen. I wander around,

listening to the soft ballad played by the band on the large stage and sipping champagne. Walking by a long pond in the middle of the garden, I feel the hair on the back of my neck raise. I’m being watched. Right away, I glance around. A few people are looking my way, but no one is actually looking at me. I finger the low neckline of my dress and stop short when my gaze falls on him. Across the glistening pond, he stands, debonair in a white tuxedo and black bowtie. Theo Solomon somehow outshines the twinkling stars in the night sky. My heartbeat turns erratic when he starts walking my way. I grip the champagne flute tighter and chug the rest of the crisp liquid, hoping it will quell my anxiousness. “Isn’t this a surprise?” Theo continues to step forward until we’re a few inches apart. He takes my hand and kisses it. His lips hover a little longer over my knuckles, and he peers at me from under his lashes. “You’re a vision.” I struggle to breathe. “Mr. Solomon.” The thin skin that’s touched his lips sizzles. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Does he know Evie? Stella has never given me a hint she knew him. Is he a client of Evie’s? Is he part of their lifestyle? It wouldn’t surprise me. My pussy tingles at a vision of him in leathers, standing with his legs wide apart, looking like a real Dom, cracking a whip. My breathing restricts under the

suddenly tight bustier. He rubs his hands together, taking note of our surrounding. “I don’t know the host personally, but a friend thought it was a good idea for me to come.” Friend. Date. He’s here with somebody. I nod, even though he’s not looking at me and hasn’t asked a question. “Well, have a great time.” “Miss Newman.” His fingers graze my arm, and it sends a bolt of electricity straight to my melting core. “Talia, I…” A woman in a sequinned dress interrupts him. “Theo, there you are!” I recognize her—and her dress—remembering both from Sabine’s shop. His “friend”. Her presence is a sobering thought. I shake off all desire for the man. The cheater. “Tilly, you remember Miss Newman.” His lips press together after he makes the introductions. The woman, Tilly, faces me and smiles. “Yes.” She extends her hand. “You were at Sabine’s.” She regards me carefully. “Gorgeous dress.” “Thank you.” I take her proffered hand and have to make a conscious effort not to shake it too hard. “You’re beautiful.” I bite down on the bitter taste of jealousy. Tilly is, as unusual as her name is, stunning, tall, and slim. Perfect. Her dress dips low in the front, all the way down her flat stomach. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she bites down

quickly on her reddened lip. “Theo tells me you work together.” “Ah…” Awkward. I glance at my former boss. There’s interest in the way he regards me. It’s unnerving and makes my mind fuzzy. “Miss Newman was very helpful with Ingrid’s recent contract.” “Oh, I don’t know about that.” I look down at my feet, wishing that my red-nail-polished toes peeked out of my shoes like Tilly’s. Tilly grabs my hand and squeezes. Her action takes my gaze away from her thin, expertly painted toes. “You helped with that? Oh, yes, I remember now. Ingrid mentioned you to me before.” “She did?” I ignore Theo, focusing only on the beautiful woman in front of me. Tilly laughs, placing a hand on her chest. “Ingrid wouldn’t have said anything to anyone, of course. She doesn’t like everyone to know how connected she is.” She looks to Theo. An understanding passes between them and the greeneyed monster inside me growls at the connection they have. He nods, and Tilly continues, “Ingrid said you’re a hard-worker. If you ever get sick of working for this fool, you have a place in my husband’s company.” “What?” I say a little too loudly, but happy that I didn’t blurt out the word ‘husband’. Confused, I ask her, “What company is that?” I look to Theo

again for further explanation but he continues to regard me with a heated intensity that liquefies my insides. “Tilly is Scott McMillan’s better half,” he blurts out. “Scott McMillan as in McMillan and Perkins?” My mind does what it does, trying to connect the dots. “So you’re…” not with Theo. But I don’t say the rest aloud. She understands it differently. “Yes, my husband likes to be tough, and this guy likes to test everyone who works for him.” She pats him on the chest. I shake my head, and raises a hand to rub my temple. “So he would have said yes to Ingrid’s designs anyway?” This time, I meet Theo’s gaze. “I like to challenge my employees. I find they usually excel under harsher circumstances.” His expression hardens. His jaw sets and his eyelids lower. My head throbs. I can feel a headache coming. “What kind of business are you running?” He opens his mouth but words don’t come out. Shaking my head, I make a dash straight to one of Evie’s fourteen washrooms and release my held breath as soon as I lock myself in.

WHEN I LEAVE THE WASHROOM, convinced

I’m cleansed of Theo Solomon’s affect on me, I bump into Sabine and her husband, a portly man in his late fifties. She returns my greeting with a kiss on both my cheeks. Her husband does the same. “I’d like to thank you for all that you’ve given me. You’re right about the—how good I feel.” I wink at her, hoping she understands. Sabine cocks her head to one side, and understanding crosses her face. “Do you mean the lingerie? Oh, I’m glad someone took notice.” “What?” I keep a smile on my face even though I’m the one who’s now confused. “Who took notice?” “Why, Monsieur Solomon, of course.” She takes my hand and pats it. “He’s a very lucky man.” I shake my head, struggling to understand what she’s saying. “What are you talking about?” “You’re talking about the lingerie. The bustier?” I nod. “They’re all from Theo. You’ve quite an admirer, Mademoiselle Talia.” “He what?” My hand fly to my gaping mouth. A shiver runs through me, spreading goose bumps all over my skin. Why would he buy me lingerie? My mind in a tizzy, I say goodbye to Sabine and her husband, and search for the man who makes me think twice about everything.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE TINY BITES of shrimp on some kind of white veggie chip do nothing to sustain me for the night. With the constant passing around of champagne and the event’s official drink—a modern take on an Amaretto sour—I’m on a spin cycle. Yet there he is, still looking dapper in his tuxedo, strolling toward me. Screw him. Are we his puppets? Does he enjoy making people squirm? Does he take pleasure in making me squirm? I want to take off my dress and rip the lingerie he sent me to shreds. I tilt my head skywards to avoid gawking at him. Miniature lights twinkle around the tropical tree branches, and orchids hang from a line across the massive greenhouse in Evie’s estate, where I’ve sought for solace. I am mad. I am shaking. But the

way my body’s trembling means something else. In this very romantic setting, it’s easy to think I’m dreaming. In my dreams, I don’t hate him. In my dreams, he’s mine. Snap out of it! I blink the confusion away and glare at him as he drew near. “What are you doing here?” I slur, hugging my arms around me. There’s a chill on my skin even though the greenhouse is warmer than outdoors,. Theo thumbs over one button on his tuxedo jacket, popping it out of the hole. Then he works the next two before shrugging it off and swinging it over my shoulders. The jacket’s warm from the heat of his body. It intensifies his aroma, and once I’m enveloped in it, it’s easy to get lost in lust. He plays with the cuffs of his shirt—the cufflinks match the shine of his Rolex. Theo does dapper well, too well for my fragile whoremones. He stays silent for a beat or two…or forever, it’s hard to tell. His silence unnerves me. The fluttering in my belly increases as he continues to take me in. Like I’m something he can devour. I walk backwards, trying to gain distance from him. He wraps a hand around my waist, under the jacket, and holds me in place, glued to him. “That’s the wrong question,” he rasps. I want to push him away, but something in me takes control, something curious or aching for

punishment, and I’m weakened by his touch. His other hand tenderly plays with my hair and tucks it behind one ear, exposing my neck. “Ask me, Talia, ask me the right question,” he whispers against my right cheek, spreading goose bumps over my neck and shoulder. “Why?” My eyes shutter close. I’m filled with want. My body hums under his simple touches, the rasp of his knuckles under my jaw, a skim of his thumb on my chin. His other hand settles at the small of my back and lights up my skin. I sway as I inhale his heady scent. I’m lost. Inwardly, I swallow a groan as his free hand skims one side of my hip, down my thigh. My breathing comes out in pants. This is just another dream. Nudging the jacket collar out of the way, his lips graze the curve of my neck, continuing to speak in a gravelly voice. “Not why. Ask me what I want.” He pulls me closer, unashamed that his hard cock presses against my hipbone. Without opening my eyes, I know there are people milling about, chatting with each other, and ignoring the two people intimately rubbing their live-wire privates against each other by the giant ferns. We’re not completely isolated, but I doubt he cares. “What do you want, Mr. Solomon?” I finally give in. He growls in my ear. “Theo. I want you to say

it.” I lick my lips, while he grinds his cock against my belly. “What do you want, Theo?” He nudges my head, tilting it sideways, and nips at the sensitive skin of my jaw, continuing down the edge of my neckline and up again to the back of my ear. “I want you to dance with me, Talia.” His fingers travel up my thigh, the long slit of my dress offers him better access. The tip of his thumb passes the top of my stocking and he flicks at the garter it’s attached to. Theo lifts my leg, hooking my foot around his calf. “What are you doing?” He continues to lick, kiss and nibble on my neck down to the unfettered part of my heaving chest. “I’m showing you what I want. I'm dancing with you.” This is not dancing, yet, our bodies sway in a rhythm slower than my pulse rate. Without warning, he cups the lace covering my pussy, circling his thumb around my clit, and I gasp. “I need you to understand what I’ve wanted for a while.” Through the lace, Theo palms over the fabric and plays with my wet lips, spreading my juices along the slit. “What you keep taking away from me.” He flicks at my clit. My body responds, filling me with so much desire that it blinds me. I lean against him, holding

onto his strong shoulders. His jacket has turned into a cocoon, a covering, and safety. I inhale the combined scent of bergamot and sandalwood and dart the tip of my tongue underneath his jaw. Fucking delicious. “But you’re my boss.” My voice is weak, and I’m unsure if he even heard me. “I happen to remember you walking out on me.” Another flick, and my leg shakes. “Don’t walk away again. Not this time. Let me show you what I want.” The words tangle in my mind, and I nod, not knowing what else to say. And as soon as I do, Theo pushes my panties aside and fills my cunt with his fingers. A sharp gasp escapes my mouth. My body’s on fire. I quiver as he relentlessly slides in and out of me, and swirls his thumb over my clit, making it engorged and sensitive to the slightest touch. I continue to pant against his neck, and writhe against the hard planes of his body. Quickly opening my eyes to slits as I hear voices coming toward us, all I see are fuzzy shapes and dots. “I love how wet you are for me.” I soak his fingers even more as he says those words. “Fuck, I can feel your pussy tightening. Come, Talia, come for me.” Theo kisses the shell of my ear, and pushes his fingers deeper inside me. I raise my leg higher over his leg, affording him better access. I’m trembling, losing my mind. My

breathing still comes out in shuddering pants, while my heart threatens to explode. I can’t think. I can’t speak. All I can do is want him. “Now, Talia,” he demands in a low growl. And I give in, coming harder on his hand than I’ve ever had before. My fingers bunch up the back of his shirt and I moan into his shoulder, biting down on the tuxedo shirt and the thick, toned muscles underneath it. Theo groans and mutters something under his breath. My stomach quivers, and I hold onto him tighter until the effects of my orgasm subsides. He slips his fingers out of my wet cunt and helps me steady myself. I brush my hair off my face, and smooth my dress over my hips. My forehead is damp with sweat, and the taste of skin remains on my tongue. “Come home with me tonight.” Only then do I look up at him. My brain is running a mile a minute, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I’m still dreaming or he spoke out loud. Theo brings his slick fingers to his mouth and sucks my essence off each one. It's erotic, and the pressure and heat build back in my lower abdomen. I look down at his erection straining against his pants, tempting me. Then somewhere my subconscious kicks in and I remember Ingrid. I remember her tears. Betrayal punches my gut, replacing the lust like a hot knife. He’s a ruthless businessman, a taker, and a cheater. I’ve fallen

under his spell. What kind of woman have I become? I square my shoulders, stare right into his beautiful caramel eyes, and in a clear steady voice, I say, “No.” Before he can say a word, I shrug off his jacket. I press it to his chest and while I still have courage, I walk away. I have trouble holding my head up high, not proud of what I’ve done. But I have every intention of not making another mistake. Not even if my body is aching for more of him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEO HAS RUINED the art of masturbation. My index and middle fingers start cramping from the amount of start-and-stop “petting my kitty” I’ve done in the last twelve hours. My fingers used to be enough for me. I have a sure-fire method. It would normally take me several pants and I’d be good for a week. I don’t need sex all that much, not often. I just want to come. Giving up, I slide my fingers out of my pussy and grab hold of my sheets in frustration. I hate him. “I hate Theodore Solomon.” There I said it! I hate that he’s taken this away from me...my ability to pleasure myself. I hate that he can make me tremble and want and cum with a few flicks of his fucking fingers. I hate it more that I really, really enjoyed it. Worse, I’m craving him like he’s a slice of

decadent chocolate cake. Climbing out of bed to wash up, I ignore the mess on my floor—the lingerie sets he bought me. What does it mean? Does he think I'll fall on my knees, wearing the lavender babydoll trimmed with adorable blush roses? And what? Suck his dick? I pause by my door, my head spinning at the thought of wrapping my lips around his cock. Fuck. I want to do that and more, but I can’t. He may not be with Tilly, the all-legs supermodel at the party, but he’s with Ingrid, and he’d flirted with me while he’s with her and asked me out minutes after having broken her heart. Then he bought me lingerie. And finger-fucked me. Frustrated, I try to ignore the obvious. I dislike myself for falling for his ploy, his perfected device to get me into bed. “I hate Theodore Solomon,” I repeat my new mantra as a reminder, and stomp my way to the bathroom to wash, bathe and sulk.

BREAKFAST WITHOUT STELLA on a Sunday is a complete bore. The night before, I told her I had a stomach ache, and she sent me home in the town car. I hadn't lied. There was a pressure weighing in my gut but it wasn’t from pain. It was confusion and doubt and anger and lust, all placed there by Theo Solomon. After my bath, I wrap my aching-for-a-good-

fucking body in a fluffy, pink robe. Perched on one of the stools along the kitchen island, I sip hot coffee, looking at nothing in particular and thinking of everything. There’s a subtle throb in my head from last night’s champagne, and from the asshole himself, Theo. My phone vibrates on the countertop and Ingrid’s number shows on the screen. I snatch it without thinking. “Ingrid, hi! How are you? I’ve wanted to call you but…” She bypasses any greeting and interrupts me, “I know. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. But Talia,” she whines, “I want to you to know why.” Her voice falters at the end. Feeling guilty, I fist my robe. Shit. Had Theo told her about what happened in the greenhouse? What do I say? What would I want to hear from the woman who dry-humped her boyfriend in public? “Listen, Ingrid, I didn’t mean to…it was an accident.” God, I sound dense. No, worse. I sound like my ex. ‘It was an accident,’ had been his excuse. His regret had lasted about five whole minutes, until he admitted he was still seeing one of the girls. I was left to think she was an accident he wanted to keep repeating. Is Theo my accident? “Your quitting was an accident?” Ingrid sounds confused on the phone. I rub my throbbing temple. “Quitting?” It takes

a second to finally figure out what she’s going on about. “No. I meant to do that.” “Why? I thought you wanted a permanent job? You’re my best assistant, Talia. You can’t quit. I won’t let you.” I don't have to see her to know she’s pouting. I groan into the phone. “Don’t make this hard.” “I don’t get it…I had to leave because Henrik needed me last week, but I found out today that you quit.” “What?” “I just found out today that you quit,” she repeats. “No, back up. What about Henrik?” I press the phone closer to the side of my face. Ingrid sighs heavily. “Okay. We didn’t want to say anything. But I trust you. Henrik and I have been seeing each other.” I cross my ankles and lean on the island, absorbed by the sudden change of conversation. “But he’s dating someone from the fourth floor.” “No. Where did you get that?” Ingrid laughs. “Around.” Where else does gossip come from? “His youngest sister works on the fourth floor. He’s protective of her, so he’s been driving her to work every morning. He’s actually driving her nuts.” “His sister? But…why did you leave crying on Wednesday?”

“Remember when Henrik left for a family emergency the night before?” “Yeah.” Vaguely. “Well, his mom hadn’t been doing too well, and…she passed away. I got the message after the meeting with McMillan and Perkins. Theo wanted me to go to Henrik but I was stubborn. I’ve never met his parents and…I don’t know…I thought it would be weird. But I remembered when my parents died. I was a mess.” “No kidding.” Shoving my fingers through my damp hair, I mull over her revelation. “So let me get this. You’re with Henrik?” “Yes. Don’t tell anybody. Henrik insists on secrecy. Teddy…I mean, Theo knows and he doesn’t care. But guys are weird.” Understatement of the year. “No shit.” “So are you coming back? You still haven’t told me why you quit.” This information could be a game-changer if I can swallow my pride and face the man I’ve embarrassed myself in front of more than once. “I guess yeah it was…quitting my job was a mistake. But I don’t think I can come back anymore.” “Why not?” Ingrid’s poutiness returns. I take a sip of my coffee, contemplating on how to respond. “It’s complicated.” “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that. Is it Lyra? Do you want me to get her fired?”

“As tempting as that sounds, no. It’s not Lyra. It’s something else, and I don’t think I can come back.” “But why? We work so well together.” “I can’t explain it right now.” “Is it ‘cause you want to go back to school?” Shocked, I try to sit straighter on the stool, but instead I almost fall off. “How did you know that?” It’s not the sort of information I share with people. “I read it in your interview transcript. That’s why I asked you to be on my team. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll make sure Theo knows. He’ll do what I say.” If they’re not together, why are they so close? Close enough for people—me—to think they’re dating. “Yeah, what’s up with that?” I hope she doesn’t notice the curious tilt in my voice. Ingrid pauses before she replies with, “I might as well tell you about it. Theo and I grew up together. His dad and my dad were best friends. When his parents passed away, Theo lived with us until he was sixteen and he was emancipated. It’s amazing what he’s been able to accomplish, but he’s super smart and determined.” No shit. “I’ve never met anyone who works harder than him.” “I thought you were seeing him.” I let the words slide out. “Who? Theo and me?” She laughs, not her sweet timid laugh, but almost a guffaw. “Ew gross.

He’s practically my brother! I don’t see him like that at all. He prefers to keep his professional life away from his personal life…” I could argue this point, but I stay silent while Ingrid keeps talking, “But I push it. You know me…Talia, I really want you to come back. I need you in my team. Think about it. If you need a raise, I’ll work it out. I’ll do anything. Anything. Just come back.” I honestly don’t know if I can. Facing Theo again would be the ultimate test of my pride and discipline. “I have to go. I’m flying back tonight, but I’ll be back to work tomorrow. It would be great to see you there in the morning. Think about it. We’ll sort everything out.” I nod, not registering that she can’t see me. We say our goodbyes and sign off. I pour myself another cup of coffee, thinking, absorbing all the information I’ve received. I was wrong. I am wrong. I’m glad I’m wrong, but how do I fix this? It’s not as simple as picking up the phone and blurting out the right words, especially I don’t know which ones are the right ones. Maybe I should return to ARC and confront Theo there. But even the thought of it gives me hives. I scratch the side of my neck and remember how much attention he’s paid on this part, and how much he seems to appreciate the shape of my body. It’s taken me years to become comfortable with

my figure. All my life I’ve been judged by people. For as long as I remember, I’ve been called plump, big-boned or chunky. Don’t even get me started with husky. Despite working out, and trying every diet there ever was, I’d never gone down in size. Instead of hating my body, I ignored the haters and learned to appreciate my curves. It’s done wonders to my psyche, but the hurt from the past would come back every now and then. I know I’m beautiful and I deserve the best just as much as a skinny girl. Once in a while, the body shaming would break me. I’d pick myself up and dust myself off. I’m made of tougher shit. This is what I go through as a curvy woman. I get stares. I hear mumbles. Some hurt more than others. I don’t ever want to become like them. Yet, I have. I’ve judged. I’d thought things about the people I work with, and the person I work for. All this time, all Theo has done is show me how much he wants me.

I HANG out in the kitchen, thinking it over until the doorbell rings. I wonder if Stella forgot her keys again. I tighten the belt of my robe and as I open the door, I nearly lose the toast I’d eaten earlier. Wearing a robin’s egg blue T-shirt—the short sleeves displaying all his arm tattoos and the V-

neck hinting at the ink on his strong pecs—Theo stands with his hands in his jeans pockets. His jaw is covered in stubble, giving him a darker edge. His clothes mold onto his body like fitted gloves, and I want to rip them off of him. “What are you doing here?” I start with something familiar and safe. I’m suddenly too aware that I’m naked under my robe. My nipples pinch and my pussy walls clench, but all I can feel is shock. “And how’d you know where I live?” “It’s in the company file, gorgeous.” I cross my arms over my braless chest, which suddenly felt heavier. “You know that’s freaky.” Theo regards me with his brows drawn together. There’s fire in his eyes and he looks like he’s fighting an internal battle. “What else would you have me do? You keep evading me without explaining what I’m doing wrong.” “You think you’d get the hint,” I snap back. He glances over my shoulder and nods, asking in a more controlled tone. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I chuckle once, my head spinning form his change of mood. “Are you a vampire?” What am I even saying? Theo rubs the stubble on his face. My thighs tingle as I wonder how his facial hair would feel between my legs. “No, but I’ll bite if you ask nicely,” he replies with a smirk.

I huff and roll my eyes, but I step aside and let him in. We have a stare-down only stubborn people like us have perfected. But before the door clicks shut, my ass flattens against the wall beside it, and the hard planes of Theo’s chest smash my boobs. He locks my wrists by my sides with his strong hands. Theo narrows his eyes at me again. Then he lowers his head and presses his lips on my jaw, biting lightly. “Why do you keep running away from me?” The lick of his tongue is electric on my skin. I breathe out, “Because.” Theo lifts both my hands over my head; although I’m not powerless to fight him, I don’t. My body cries for me to give into him. My nipples tighten into hard points, and fuck me, my pussy feels like it’s on fire. “That’s not an answer.” His lips graze mine, and he sucks my bottom lip between his teeth. I’m trying to register what’s happening. Closing my eyes to visualize the words forming on my tongue. “That’s all I can say under the circumstances.” “You mean this?” With a flick of his tongue, my lips part before he kisses me deep and hard, invading my mouth with hunger. He takes hold of my hair, bunching and tugging it—oh, yes, pull my fucking hair—opening my mouth more to him and

taking the assault of his kisses. “Fuck,” I groan. “Yeah,” he whispers along my jaw, continuing his kisses down my neck, past my collarbone and making a home in between my breasts. He lets go of my hands and I rest them on his shoulders, feeling every ripple of his muscles under his thin shirt. His free hand releases my breasts from the fluffy robe. He pauses to give them an appreciative once over. “Perfect. Just perfect.” Theo tastes the tops of my boobs, massaging them one at a time before popping a peaked nipple into his mouth. Every nip and lick on my nipples shoots current down to my curled toes and swirls the liquid lust in my core. “Why do you deny me this, Talia?” He peers at me with his bedroom eyes, while kisses his way lower, passing my navel and exploring the shaved parts between my thighs. “Show me how wet you are.” With my hands on his shoulders, I try to keep myself upright and steady. Theo nudges at one of my legs and I automatically widen my stance. “Fucking beautiful,” he says before delving into my pussy. My hard-ass boss kneels before me, eating me out like I’m his last fucking meal. Some weird sound gurgles out of me. I don’t know what to do with my hands, and for once I wish he had hair so I

could tug and pull it hard, direct him where I want him most. Although Theo doesn’t need any sort of directing. Mouth open, pressed onto my pussy lips, his tongue invades me, and I barely registering the scratch of his beard on my thighs. I see stars as he moans and groans, the vibration humming on my sensitive bits, and causing my body to convulse. The rest of the world disappears. Right now, he’s not my boss; I’m not his employee. We’re just Theo and Talia, and he’s making quite a dish out of me. With his lips, he makes loud smacking sounds and pushes a finger, then two, past my slit. I could die here, like this and it would be okay. My epitaph would read: She died one motherfucking happy bitch. “Yes, more,” I manage to say between pants and uncharacteristic mewls. “My pleasure.” He adds another finger, working it in and out of me while his lips and teeth play with my clit. He speeds up, his tongue and lips become more aggressive. The man knows what he’s doing, how to devour a woman. The pressure builds until I can’t think anymore. All I can see are sparkling bright lights behind my closed lids. My fingers and toes lose sensation, and when it happens, my earthshattering release takes my breath away. Theo brings my leg back down once I stop convulsing. My legs are trembling so much I don’t even know how I’m still standing. Silently, he

guides me to the couch, but he doesn’t let me sit. “We’re far from done.” He grabs my hand and presses it to his hardened cock. With a finger under my chin, he tilts my head up and crushes his lips against mine, letting me taste my arousal. Theo grinds his crotch on my palm, and asks against my mouth, “Do you want this?” What kind of fucking question is that? I gulp and nod. “Say it. Tell me you want it, Talia.” My sigh comes out in a heavy puff. “I want you to fuck me.” He smiles against my lips and tightens his hand over mine, helping me unzip his jeans and free his cock. I grip him, hard, and work his length. I stare down in awe at the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen. Thick, long, heavy. Ready. Mine. All mine for the taking. My mouth dries and I want to kneel before him, to take him in my mouth, but Theo keeps me up on my feet, pecking at the tight, tingling skin of my neck and shoulders. His legs are wide apart, keeping his jeans slung low around his hips. I note that he’s a boxer briefs kind of man. What a fucking sight. I want to explore all of him. With my free hand, I run my fingers under his shirt and over his taut abs, pushing his shirt up and over his chest, letting it hang around his neck. Every single inch of Theo Solomon is a fucking surprise. Tattoos run

along his ribs on both sides, and marks his wide chest and broad shoulders. On his right shoulder, just above the collarbone, my eyes are drawn to the semi-circular, purplish bruise on his skin—a hickey. I did that last night. I marked him. Without asking him to turn around, I assume his back is covered in ink too. Would he be opposed to posing nude for me? Wearing nothing but his confident grin and every single mark on his skin? I would blow that shit up and cover my entire bedroom with it. He lets go of me for a couple of heavy breaths and tugs off his shirt. Releasing his cock from my grip, I stagger backward, my knee hitting the side of the couch, and I hungrily take him all in. When Theo wraps a hand around his girth and proceeds to masturbate in front of me, all I can so is bite my lip and moan. I’ve never seen anything sexier. Blinking once, I take a mental picture, preserving this image for later on when I have to service myself. “Take your robe off. I wanna see all of you.” I haven’t considered myself shy for a long time, but I blush hearing those words. Under his direct, heated gaze, I obey. After all, I’m trying to be good. Only good girls deserve desserts. As soon as I drop the robe, letting it puddle around my feet, his hand speeds up over and around his cock; precum shines on the tip. I’m open to him. There’s no hiding here. He

sees the silvery lines along the curves of my hips, the dimpled skin on my thighs, the heaviness of my breasts. My stomach is not flat, and I don’t bother sucking in my gut. Yet, he looks at me like I’m a fucking prize to be won. He reaches for my hand and replaces his with mine around his dick. Somewhere from the back of his jeans, he produces a condom. He tears it open and sheaths himself. “Turn around,” he orders, pushing his jeans further down his legs. I shuffle, facing the couch, and bend over the armrest, pushing my ass up and against him. With his fingers, he spreads my juices over my pussy lips, pushes two fingers in and out, stretching me, getting me ready for him, then he positions himself. I gasp, shoving my face down on the couch cushion when he squeezes my ass cheeks apart, teases my entrance with the tip of his cock. He enters me without a warning, without letting me adjust to how big and long and hard he is. The delve of his fingers didn’t do shit to what his cock could do. It’s been a while since I’ve had a dick inside me, and never one this size. My tight walls grip him, and I struggle a little—whimpering against the cushion when he pumps in and out. I grab his thighs, dig my fingernails in, and he gets the message. He changes his pace, deliciously replacing hard thrusts with long strokes.

Bending down to whisper in my ear, he asks, “Am I hurting you?” “Just give me a moment. It’s been a while.” “You’re so damn sexy, so fucking irresistible.” He reaches around and plays with my breasts, pinching my nipples, and all the while, continues pumping. My head lifts off the cushion when he tugs at my hair, not in a painful way, but in a way that heightens my excitement. Once I’ve adjusted to his size, my body aches for more. “Harder,” I demand. And he gives in. He goes on and on, pulling my hair, jerking my arm and holding it behind my back, while his thighs slaps my butt. Only once, he brings his hand down and smacks my ass, producing a loud curse from my mouth. When I feel him getting even more impossibly engorged, he lets me down slowly and steadies my hips, resting his hands on either side, fucking me mercilessly until I’m screaming his name, and he’s groaning and grunting and spurting hot liquid into the rubber. When all of his energy’s spent, he leans down and kisses the back of my neck, tenderly, tracing a line of kisses down my spine. We fall on the couch. His legs are still encaged in his jeans, but neither of us bother moving. He has me wrapped in his arms. I’m breathing in his sweat and the unique scent that is uniquely Theo. I listen to his panting and the erratic beat of his heart. The rhythm soothes me.

“Fuck,” I groan. “Yeah.”

ONLY THE MOONBEAM shining through my blinds lights up my room, and I can barely make out a blurry form as I slowly open my eyes. In the quiet of the night, I watch Theo pull his jeans over his tight ass, and when my eyes adjust to the dimness, I revel in the sight of his tattoos, running from his back down to his bum. I can’t believe he has all that gorgeousness hidden under a suit every day. A beauty like him, his body, should be displayed for the entire world to see. I wonder what happened to his underwear. We might have forgotten it in the living room, or in the kitchen, or in the shower. Maybe they’re on the stairs. The small of my back stings with this last thought. Note to self: when fucking on the stairs, it’s best to take it from behind so the risers don’t dig into my back. He twists around, a lazy smile on his lips. “Hey.” Hands propped on the bed, he leans down to kiss me. Theo brushes the hair off my face. He wasn’t this tender earlier. Rocked my world? Hell yeah. He rocked my entire universe. “Go back to sleep.” “What time is it?” “Three in the morning.” I pull him down for a deeper kiss, and he

stumbles back on the bed, his arms holding me tight in an instant. “You can stay.” I’m shocked by my own words but I’m not stupid enough to take them back. I’ve never asked a man to stay after the first time we have sex, but this isn’t really me asking him. This is me letting him know he can stay if he wants to. Yeah, that sounds better. Theo’s hands meanders over my hips and waist. The heat of his naked skin singes me, and I ignore the ache of muscles I haven’t used in a long time. We’ve fucked each other’s brains out, and I can certainly keep going if he’s willing. “I can’t. I have a flight in two hours. Going to Denver for a couple of days,” he says to me, running his hands through my thick curls, he massages my scalp and I purr from his tender touch. “You’ll be at the office when I return on Wednesday?” It’s something we’re meant to talk about, but we kept getting distracted by each other’s bodies. That serious talk we probably should have had turned into Sex Olympics all over the house. Luckily, Stella hadn’t walked in on us. I’m not sure she would have appreciated finding me spreadeagle on the kitchen island. We cleaned up, of course. We are responsible adults after all. The only time we stopped was when he ran out of condoms. I mentally added a box of Magnums to my weekly shopping list. I might be assuming things but I

couldn't see why we would want to stop this, whatever this is. It’s too good to give up. “You’re okay if I work there?” I let my hand slink under his jeans, scratching his toned ass lightly. “Of course.” He doesn’t sound sure, but I push away the doubt. For now, I’ll let myself be happy. Theo kisses the top of my head and pulls my hand out of his jeans before tucking me tighter under the duvet. I keep my eyes wide, following the lines of his muscles as he puts on his shirt . “Can I lock the front door from the inside?” I nod. “Good. Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in a couple days.” It’s a fact, not a promise. And I wouldn’t hold it against him if he doesn’t call or check on me while he’s away. It’s not that kind of relationship. This is all about the physical. It’s just sex. Really, really awesome sex. “I’ve added my personal cell number to your phone,” he adds. He has my number and I have his. This could be interesting. I fight exhaustion while my mind refuses to let me think. Did I just make things more complicated than they should be? There’s only one way to find out, and in two days, I will have my answer.

CHAPTER NINE

THE ONLY SOUR face I expect to see when I return to work on Monday morning is Lyra’s, but she’s nowhere to be seen. When I arrive, Sheila eyes me over her glasses, perched low on her nose. Since I had to leave in a rush, Sheila probably had to take on my projects. Taking off my sunglasses and throwing them in my purse, I make my peace offering—designer doughnuts and lattes for her and Ingrid. For everyone else, I bring muffins, which I’ll leave in the kitchen. I settle back into my groove, easier to do since Lyra isn’t around, but a little lack luster since Theo’s not here for me to ogle. Other than that, no one else seems to have noticed I was MIA for two days last week. No confetti cannon for my return? Don’t I feel special. Ingrid’s delighted to see me, at least, and now that I’m privy to her secret love affair with the

other hunk in the office, it’s all she wants to talk about during lunch. She’s smitten, and I can’t help but relate to her worries about Henrik not going public with their relationship. “I wouldn’t mind if he gave me a kiss every now and then, you know, when I accomplish something.” Her shoulders sag and she pushes at her food. “What good is a hot boyfriend when you can’t show him off?” I know the feeling, but I fear I’m getting ahead of myself. Theo and I slept together one night, it hardly counts as a relationship. “I can’t wait till Teddy’s back. Maybe he can advise me on this whole issue with Henrik.” “He’s only gone for another day.” To remove any suspicions, I add, “That’s what I heard.” Ingrid nods, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. “I guess the advantage is Lyra’s away for another day. Must be easier for you.” I pause, food halfway to my mouth. “Lyra’s with him?” “Yeah. He needs someone to give him a hand in Denver. Frankly, I think he would have been better off with someone else. Even Penny’s a better choice, or Sheila.” “Or me?” I don’t mean to say it aloud, but it comes out anyway. “No way. Nuh-uh. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.” She points her fork at me. “You’re

stuck with me.” “Great.” I swirl my fork in the air, feigning a cheer. “And…I’ve put in a request to make you my associate designer.” Almost choking on my salad., I sputter, “What?” “You have skills and talent. Don’t think I didn’t make note of it when you helped me prep for M&P. I’ll teach you everything I know, and you can go back to school part time…if you want.” Dropping my fork, I lunge and hug her. “Hell yeah! I’d be stupid to say no.” Holy shit, it’s a dream come true. ARC Industries offer scholarship to any promising design associates. I won’t have an ex-prick, like Derek to worry about. This is my future. I wonder idly what Theo will say about the matter. Ingrid continues talking about what we need to do for the rest of the week. With the law firm construction on the horizon, we’ll be constantly on our feet, and there’s even a promise I’ll be overseeing the project with her from start to finish. But as exciting as this progress is, I start halflistening to her. My mind wanders off to Denver with Theo…and Lyra. I wouldn’t put it past that bitch to make a move on him. There’s unease, a knot tying itself in my stomach. Shoving food into

my mouth, I hope the unwelcome feeling of envy goes down with it.

THERE’S NO PHONE CALL, text, or email Monday night—he didn’t promise anything when he left—but it would have been nice to know he’s thinking of me. Because I sure as hell am thinking about him. To keep myself occupied, I clean my room and change my sheets after having dinner with Stella. I ignore the tug followed by warmth flooding in my chest when I find his boxer briefs under my bed. I throw them in the hamper with all my laundry, and for some reason, it feels right. Too right. The next day, Ingrid keeps me busy. She insists I learn every aspect of her projects in case she’s ever away, and she can depend on me to take over. We visit the construction site, meet with the foreman, and do a walk through. Ingrid yammers on about her design plans, and I try to imagine everything in my head, ignoring the demolition happening at the moment. I decide early on that I can rock a hardhat, and find out the way to charm burly construction guys is with the dirtiest, filthiest jokes I know. Near the end of the day, I check my phone and my email, hoping for a little ‘hey’, but there’s nothing except more work crap. After work, I drag my butt to the gym and push myself harder

than usual. At home, exhausted after the brutal workout, I draw myself a bath. Before my bathwater turns tepid, an idea pops in my mind and I run with it. Why am I waiting for him? Why don’t I open up the communication line? Reaching for my phone, and trying not to drop it in the water, I strategically move bubbles over parts of my body. I run a hand through my hair and give it a little rub so it looks sultry, and then I take a bubble bath selfie…or twenty. I pick the best shot and before I change my mind, I send it to Theo. I wait a couple of hours for a reply. Fingers crossed, of a selfie of him in a bath or shower or bed. Anything of him naked. But that may be hoping for too much. To my disappointment, I don’t receive anything back . I crawl into bed, ignoring my own pout. Christ, what have I become? When did I start acting like a teenager? Still unable to sleep after a few hours, I watch Shaun of the Dead until the only worry in my head is how I’ll survive a zombie apocalypse.

A SCREECH STARTLES ME AWAKE, though thinking it’s from the movie, I reserve my panic. But when I open my eyes, my laptop screen is blank. Groggy from sleep, I grab my phone to check the time. Three a.m. Shit. The point of no return. I’ll have to be up in a few hours, so there’s

really no sense in trying to go back to sleep. I thrash in bed. Still in my hand, my phone buzzes, alerting me to a text from Theo. Are you going to open the front door or do I have to scale the wall and sneak through your window? What? He’s here? I grab my robe and shrug it on, running downstairs to open the door. And there he is in a suit, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, looking as deliciously fuckable as the last time I saw him. “Hi.” I’m such a smooth talker. He walks in and slips his hands under my robe, stroking my back. He dips his head low and kisses me with so much hunger I forget to inhale. “Hello, beautiful,” he says after he lets me breathe. “I thought you’re not back until tomorrow.” I skim his neck with my bottom lip, already unbuttoning and untucking his shirt while we make our way up the stairs. Fumbling, Theo and I trip on each other, on the steps. “You expect me to wait that long after seeing that selfie you sent me?” I laugh and he captures my mouth again with his. “Wanted to show you what you’re missing. How was Denver?” I ask, but I don’t give a fuck about Denver. “We’re not going to talk about that.”

As we hit the last step, I unzip his pants. He’s already hard for me. Fan-fucking-tastic! Stripping his jacket and shirt off, he pushes me gently until my bum hits my bed. He lets his pants drop, and I lick my lips. There it is. That gorgeous cock. He runs his hands through my hair, down my neck and shoulders. “Okay, no talking about Denver.” I take him in my hands and in my mouth, watching his head loll back while he fists my hair, pushing his dick deep into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I open up and relax for every inch he gives me. “That feels good,” he grumbles. I flicker my eyes up and when our gazes lock, I reach under and massage his balls. Theo mumbles a moan and a curse, giving me encouragement to continue sucking him off until I feel hot spurts on my tongue.

AFTER ONE WHAM-BAM ROUND, followed by a passionate, drawn out orgasm later, we’re both spent, tangled in the sheets and in each other. With my dark blue-polished nails, I trace the tattoo on his right pec, following the swirls and curves of the thick and thin black lines of a gryphon. If I ask him about it, about any of them, will he tell me? Will he think I’m being nosy? I snuggle closer, pressing my lips against his shoulder, and switch to tracing the

patterns with the pads of my fingers. “You’re going to make me fall asleep,” he sleepily mumbles. I want to say—I do—that it’s not such a bad thing. But I keep my mouth pressed on his arm instead and don’t let the words out. Theo grabs my hand and kisses it. He lets go as he sits up and drags his hands over his face. Did he get enough sleep in Denver? Did he sleep at all? By himself, hopefully. I tamp down my inner jealous teen. “I better go before I get too comfortable.” How is that a bad thing? Once again, I watch him dress in the dark, but I don’t tell him again that he can stay. I’ve said it once. It should be enough. I’m not and never have been a clingy girl. He rounds the bed and stands above me, cupping my face and placing a bittersweet goodbye kiss. “I’ll see you at work in a bit.” Then he’s gone. Once more, I’m left to wonder what the hell I’m doing with him. What we’re doing with each other. I roll on my back and prop an arm on my forehead. Maybe I’m overthinking this. Maybe he’s not thinking enough.

IN THE MORNING, with a cup of coffee in hand, I stalk straight Ingrid’s office. She beams when she glances up from her

computer. “You look like shit.” I sit in one of her funky chairs and prop my feet on the opposite table. “Thanks. You look fucking amazing too.” I sip my coffee quietly, wishing it was something stronger. I grumbled my way to work after not getting a lick of sleep after Theo left. “You know what I mean.” She drags her gaze back to one of her computer screens. “Yeah.” I nod. “You think I look like shit. Thanks.” “I mean you look exhausted. Is it a good tired or a bad tired?” “That doesn’t make any sense.” “Yes it does. Good tired means you’re getting laid. Bad tired means you wish you were getting laid.” I laugh, throwing my head back and hitting it on the chair. “Ow.” I rub it absent-mindedly. “I think this is the most crass conversation I’ve ever had with you.” “It’s not crass. It’s girl talk.” She props both elbows on the desk and folds her hands. “Spill it. Who’s the new man in your life?” I shake my head and mumble inaudible words into my cup, thinking about the new man in my life, the only man in my life. As soon as he secretly shows up naked in my head, he pops into Ingrid’s office, all debonair in his expensive suit, cleanshaven, ready for devouring, and not frazzled-

looking like me “Ingrid, I need a progress report… Oh.” The ‘oh’ is for when he sees me. He adjusts his tie. He was balls-deep inside me hours ago, and all I get is an ‘oh’? “Miss Newman.” His head bops up and down once. Miss Newman? Miss? Newman? What happened to ‘baby’, ‘beautiful’, ‘sexy’? Hell, right now I’ll even take Talia. But Miss Newman? I remove my feet off the coffee table and sit upright, nodding and glaring at him. “Mr. Solomon.” He doesn’t correct me. Doesn’t ask me to call him Theo. He addresses Ingrid again. “Reports on my desk in half an hour.” “Got it, boss.” Ingrid grins at him and he leaves without another word to either of us. So this is how it’s going to be. Right. Good thing I haven’t requested to change my desk plate to Mrs. Talia Newman-Solomon. I stand, ignoring the sharp pain in my chest. “I’ll print the reports for you.” “Thanks, babe!” See? It’s not that hard to throw around a little pet name in the office. Ingrid can do it, why can’t he? Or am I being unreasonable?

THE REST of the day passes in an extraordinarily boring manner. Why did I ever think hooking up

with the boss would be more exciting? I blame all those chick flicks Stella makes me watch, leading me to believe I’ll be ravaged on a desk or a copy machine by my hot boss. Wait…that’s porn. Hey, a girl can dream. Whenever we cross paths, Theo continues to address me the same way. I refer to him as Mr. Solomon. Other than indirect questions regarding Ingrid’s projects, we have little to no communication, but I brush it off. We’re both tired from last night, or this morning, whatever. I don’t know why I expected anything more. Ingrid did mention Theo prefers his professional life separate from his personal life. This is what he’s doing. And I’m fine with it. Of course, I am. I welcome this challenge. My lady balls are intact after all. Two days ago, out of sheer boredom, I did another Google search for more information, but found less about Theo’s personal life. Who is Theodore Solomon? I’d read about his parent’s car crash. I feel heartbroken for the little boy who was left behind, but as I see Theo now, knowing he’s a successful business man, owning and running multiple companies all over the US, it’s hard to feel sorry for him. Plus he kinda has me, so…lucky him.

I CONTINUE on with my life, simply because I won’t let a man hold me back. Learned my lesson

and all that. After another ball-busting hour and a half at the gym, I head home, almost missing Stella as she runs out the door on her way to work. She gives me a quick hug and tells me to have a good night. I intend to. A long soak in the bath is on the list. Maybe an episode of The Walking Dead after dinner. I might even have time to paint my nails a different color. I didn’t get to paint my nails. I didn’t get to feed my zombie fix after a bath and dinner for one. Five minutes after receiving a text from Theo to unlock my door, we hit the bed. Hard. He fucks me until I’m screaming so loud the neighbors must know his first name. I’m merciless on him, acting out my pent-up aggression, clawing at his back while he ravishes me. Theo doesn’t say anything about the scratches, even though he probably saw them in the mirror when he went to the bathroom to get rid of the used condom. He returns to me, slipping under the blanket and hooking his legs with mine. He can do sweet, which sucks because he doesn’t give enough time for it. “I’ll be gone this weekend,” he informs me. Not exactly what I want to hear after fucking, but okay. “Denver again?” “No, New York.” He doesn’t say more about it. For all I know, he’s got a wife and kids there. Although I’m thinking Ingrid would have told me.

“Okay.” I am not clingy, I remind myself. “How long?” I ask just in case he thinks I’m a heartless vixen or an emotionless sex android built to give him pleasure. “Most of the weekend and maybe Monday.” He draws circles on the smooth skin of my belly, around my navel. Is Lyra going with him? I shimmy away from Theo, pretending that he’s tickling me. In reality, jealousy pokes its ugly head in. Yeah, it’s a bitter pill to swallow. I’m fucking an Adonis, built by gods, and I can’t say shit about it. Moreover, that cunt gets to spend more time with him while he’s away…from me. Before I can stop myself, the words come out, bitterly. “Lyra’s going too?” If Theo suspects anything, he doesn’t show it. “Yes.” And that’s that. Conversation over. He plays with my boobs, pinching my nipples in that weird pain-pleasure way he does, which makes me hiss, and then he maneuvers his hips off the bed, preparing to mount me again. Pushing his hands away, I nudge his legs with my knee, and his back hits the mattress in a thud. If he’s going to be gone with someone else, I’ll have to give him something to remember me by. I have his arms pinned above his head, and my tits are hanging, swaying over his face—a little tease of my nipples over the seam of his lips.

Throwing my hair over one shoulder, I slide down, rubbing my breasts over his torso, ending at his groin. His cock is hard and heavy, and I reach for it and squeeze it between my tits. He fits there perfectly, and still allowing me a few more inches to suck. I milk him with the softness of my breasts and with the warmth of my mouth, and he growls and groans, his hands gripping the top of my headboard, veins popping angrily on his arms. When I graze the smooth, wet tip of his cock with my teeth, he bucks. The wild man in him takes over and I suddenly find myself with my head on the mattress, my back curved in a way that, thanks to my yoga teacher, doesn’t hurt, my ass in the air and my legs cradled by his strong arms. He doesn’t wait another second before delving his face into my pussy, harsh and punishing. My hands find the edge of my mattress and I dig my fingers in. An orgasm crashes over me not a moment later, and while my eyes roll back, he laps at everything I have to offer. Before I can recover, Theo stands on my bed, knees bent. He gathers both of my feet with one hand and the other grips my ass. The stream of moonlight coming through my windows creates a halo behind his head and shoulders. Theo is my dark angel, coming to me at night and claiming everything. At this angle, he appears even bigger. A shiver runs along my spine. I can barely keep my

excitement so matter how many times I’ve had him. He slams his sheathed dick into me. If he hadn’t been holding my feet so tight, I’d have fallen off. He’s either trying to break my bed or me. Maybe both. He fucks me into exhaustion, making me orgasm more than I’ve ever had, and not long after, he prepares to leave. The urge to ask him to stay is stronger than ever. Instead, I pretend I’m asleep. He kisses my slightly parted lips, and then sneaks out in the middle of the night.

CHAPTER TEN

THIS GOES ON FOR WEEKS. At work we’re almost strangers. Every now and then, I steal glances at his office or make an excuse to pass by, and fingers crossed, I’ll see him and he’ll send me a secret smile. That hasn’t happened yet. At night, he comes over at almost the same hour each time, pants always halfway down his legs and cock ready for mounting. There are nights when I want to say no, to tell him to fuck off and find someone else to play with, but since he’s Theo Solomon, he won’t have a hard time finding some other chick to warm his bed and ride his cock. So I keep my mouth shut and my legs open. No one notices anything unusual, not that there’s anything to take note of. I arrive at work at the same time every day, with lattes in hand for Ingrid and Sheila. Lunch becomes a routine of

places I visit weekly, sometimes alone, sometimes with Bryde or Ingrid. Some afternoons Ingrid and I spend hours out on job sites. And there are days when Theo’s flying off to some other state, always with Lyra, who, although I don’t have to answer to her anymore—a stipulation in my contract—pisses the life out of me. I avoid her most when she’s just come in from her trips with him. I hate how she calls him Theo, like she owns the name. She endlessly yaps about the people they meet, the restaurants they dine at, et cetera, blah blah. What the fuck ever. Not once have I bugged Theo about it. It isn’t my place to ask or demand. We get our fill of each other, and afterwards, he leaves. Even the regular arrival of packages from Sabine’s shop has turned into something I come to expect, but I stuff them in a drawer, never bothering to use them unless Theo’s coming over. There are no surprises. Life has become predictable. And I hate it. Even worse, I'm starting to hate myself for being his booty call, because that's what I am. A sexy, curvalicious piece of ass for Theo to fuck and fondle. I am his dirty little secret. “What’s with you lately?” Ingrid asks me while we browse a design center for chairs for a new restaurant, before the owner and chef arrive. I pull a hair elastic around the knot on top of

my head. “What do you mean?” “You’ve been…” She flicks her wrist and purses her lips. “Quiet.” Patting my hair in place, I snort. “Me? Quiet?” “Shut up. You know what I mean.” Running a hand over a sleek clear Lucite chair, I contemplate on what her observation, and shake my head. “I really don’t.” “Yes, you do. You’re trying to hide it, but I can see through you,” she says pointedly. Outside the store, the streets of downtown Chicago are filled with tourists, walking with their cameras pointed toward the sky, at the teetering towers lining the busy streets. I don’t want to face the realities of my life. I want to be a tourist somewhere else and not worry about the situation I’ve ended up in. I’m due for a vacation, a weekend at my parents’ lake house for some peace and quiet. Sure some people might say I’m the worst daughter, not bothering to keep in touch with my aging parents, but I can say the same about them. It would be a miracle if they remember having a daughter in Chicago. I could use a break from it all, from Theo. If Ingrid has noticed, maybe it’s affecting me more than it should. “I’m taking a vacation,” I blurt out as she drags a padded white leather chair from under a round glass and metal table. Ingrid’s head snaps up, almost knocking her

sunglasses off her face. “What? Where did that come from?” I shrug and sit cross-legged on a charcoal settee. “I wanna see my parents.” “Your parents? You’ve never mentioned them.” Concern washes over her face. She walks over to me, pushes my shoulder to give her space. I skooch over and she sits. “I’m not all that close to them, but every now and then, I miss them. Sort of.” Ingrid regards me carefully. She takes her sunglasses off, folds the arms and puts them back in its case inside her Hermes bag, and again, peers at me. “Now, I’m really worried.” She reaches for my hand. “You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?” I give her hand a squeeze back. “I know.” She waits for me to say more, but I don’t. I can’t because I don’t even know where to start or what to say. “Well, just give me the dates and I’ll approve it. You deserve a break, but I have to check it against Sheila’s schedule.” “Right. Sure thing.” It’s decided. I’ll take a good three or four days away from everything and re-evaluate me and the complication with Theo. I’m losing myself. My inner fire is suffocating. “Not this weekend though.” Ingrid gets back on

her feet. “Never this weekend. There’s no way in hell I’ll miss your birthday.” And finally get to step into the penthouse of the man I’m fucking. Instead of just throwing a regular party for herself, Ingrid has strong-armed Theo into hosting a dinner party. If it wasn’t for her, I’d skip the party. To be frank, I always thought the first time I saw his penthouse would be when he finally asked me over to fuck on his bed—for once. Like any other hope, that’s gone out the window. I’ll have to settle for taking a peek at his bedroom between courses. Today, Theo’s returning from another trip, but Ingrid dragged me out of the office before I could see him. I’ve stopped asking where he’s going, and he’s stopped telling. He’s been gone for three days. In that length of time, we have had zero contact. No texts, no sexy selfies. Nothing. And it sucks. I want him to tell me he misses me. How long does a text message take? A second or two? I return to the office with Ingrid and head straight to the kitchen for my afternoon coffee. Theo will come over tonight, as usual, and he’ll keep me awake way too late. I’m stirring cream into my cup when Lyra enters with a few other girls, all hanging onto every single word she’s saying. Despite my desperate attempt not to listen, I do. I have ears, after all, and Lyra is fucking loud.

“Good thing Theo’s such a gentleman,” Lyra tells her posse. “If not, everyone would have seen my boob.” Add sugar to your coffee, Talia, my subconscious orders, but it’s drowned by Lyra’s ramblings. “He was pretty quick, too. He had me wrapped in his arms, like super tight and we had to pretend we were dancing while I fixed my nip slip.” She cackles, giving witches and hyenas a run for their money. “I could swear he wanted me to go to his hotel room after, but you know me.” Here she comes, feigning innocence. “I'd like to be wined and dined first, and not just for business. Maybe that's why he asked me to his penthouse this Saturday for dinner.” I’m almost out the door. Just a few more steps, but I can’t hold back a snarl. Theo asked her to go to Ingrid’s dinner party? As his what? His date? Ingrid invited me, and Sheila, but she can't find a sitter. Henrik will be there, and apparently his sister is coming too—with a date. I thought…I thought this was a chance for Theo to show that we have something other than raw, primal attraction. I spin around, my mouth foaming, hands ready to throttle the bitch. “I can’t believe you’re all buying her bullshit. Theo’s not interested in you. Just give it up.” Lyra pushes through her fans and stops in front

of me, arms crossed over her low V-neck dress. “How the hell would you know? We spend a lot of time together, just the two of us. As soon as he realizes that we click, there’s no stopping us.” “Give it a break. There is no ‘us’. There’s no you and him.” My heart’s pounding in my ears. My jaw tenses. Lyra narrows her eyes, and purses her lips, making her look like an anteater. Then the bitch laughs. “Oh I get it. You think you can get with him.” Her sharp black eyes travel up and down my body. I’ve faced that types of look before. Far too many times, it’s the look that try to make me feel ashamed of my appearance, of my shape and size. Lengthening my neck and pushing out my boobs, and in my five-inch heels, I tower over her. “As a matter of fact…Theo and I…” “Miss Newman,” a deep, booming familiar voice interrupts me Fuck. We all swing our heads toward the door, where Theo stands with a don’t-shit-with-me, hardened look on his face. Even from five feet away, I can hear him grinding his teeth so hard the joints in his jaw are about to pop. The angry vein on his temple makes an appearance above his scar. “My office now,” he commands. Mouth gaping, I flash seething eyes at Lyra and at her smirk. “This isn’t over.” I point a steady finger at her.

She slaps it away. “Oh I think it is.” I follow after Theo, but before I am fully out the door, she adds, “And I think you are.” I stomp my way to Theo’s office. If he thinks I’m backing down, he’s got another thing coming. If he wants to reprimand me for wanting to say what’s in my head, then he should have drawn out the rules. ARC Industries doesn’t have any rules against coworkers dating. And we’re not dating. We’re fucking. “Sit.” Bossy much? “Let’s just get this over with.” I remain standing, not bothering to close the door behind me, hands fisted at my sides, ready for war. Theo works a hand over his jaw, and shakes his head. He walks past me and shuts the door. As soon as I hear the lock clicks, his lips slam on mine, hot and greedy. Not expecting this kind of attack, my words drown in his kiss. Despite the vile way I'm feeling, I respond, sagging against him. “You need to be quiet.” He throws his jacket down on the ground. “You can’t tell me what to do.” “Talia, I said shut up.” He walks me backwards to the door, loops my arms around his neck and skims his hands over my hips. “Hold on tight.” Theo tugs my skirt—ironically the same fuchsia skirt I’d worn the first time we met—up over my

thighs, exposing my thong. He rubs his rock-hard erection over the damp flesh covered by a scrap of lace. “Wrap your legs around me.” A bit confused but incredibly turned on, I do as I’m told. I hold on to his tie, choking him a little before untying it and throwing it down on top of his jacket. I’m merciless with his shirt, ripping it open, buttons flying everywhere. While one of his hands supports my ass, the other works on my pussy, double time. I sink my fingers into his exposed chest and drag my nails down to the top of his belt. He groans, but doesn’t stop me. We’re burning up and I’m surprised our clothes aren’t singed. As soon as I release him, he fingers my lace thong aside and in one hard second, he slices through me, filling me with hard cock, and I cover him with slicked heat. “Hush, Talia,” he rasps when I moan and swear. “Be quiet.” He’s gotta be joking. This is not smooth, love-making. This is dirty, filthy fucking against the door of his office, where the rest of his staff is working their asses off, where anyone who passes by can hear the thumping on the thick wood, in the rhythm of my heart against my rib cage. It’s a total turn-on and I can’t help but moan again. Theo covers my mouth with his hand, but I struggle and his thumb slips into my mouth. I suck and bite down on the fleshy part and he groans, “Fuck, fuck , fuck,” on my neck. With my eyes

closed, I swim in ecstasy. His movements are frenzied, a relentless slamming into my pussy. He squeezes my ass cheek, as his thrusts claiming every inch of space between us until my inner walls constricts around his length. Theo grunts and rams harder a few more times until he has nothing else to give. With jelly legs, I stagger and hold on tight to his shoulders, while he sets me back on the floor and we settle back down to earth, to reality. And I start to think. What the fuck was that? With his head down, he tucks his glistening cock back into his pants. “Bathroom’s through that door.” He nods at an opening on the side wall. Of course he’d have his own bathroom. He couldn’t be seen pissing in public. My mind’s a jumble of excitement and confusion, I make my way to the bathroom and slam the door. I grab a handful of tissue and clean the wetness off between my thighs. My pussy twitches. We’ve never had sex that explosive before. We’ve never had sex when both our emotions are through the roof. We’ve never had sex without protection. I finish washing up, straighten my clothes, and fix my hair. When I exit the bathroom, he’s changed into a new shirt. His head is lowered and he’s cradling his hand. “You bit me.”

I don’t say anything about it even though inside I’m screaming ‘you deserve it!’ Instead, I state the obvious. “We didn’t use a condom.” Theo’s head shoots up and he glares at me like it’s my fucking fault his dick made its way inside me without a rubber. “Don’t think I’ll get pregnant,” I say at the same exact time he blurts out, “I’m clean.” Right. Totally different concerns. Why did I ever think we were in sync? Just because I know he loves the color blue—the man wears all shades of it —that his pupils take on a light chocolate brown hue when he comes, that he’s a boxer briefs man, that he chooses to shave his head to make him look tough and gives him an edge, that he’s obsessed with working out early in the morning, that he prefers to chew peppermint gum over spearmint, and that his favorite sex position is him on top with my legs practically wrapped around his neck…just because I know all these—it doesn’t make us anything. I chuck my emotions out the door. This is shit I can deal with when I’m not facing him. Theo massages his temple with his index finger and I see the bite mark on his palm. “Listen, about tonight,” he starts. “Yeah…don’t come over.” I’m surprised by my words just as much as he is, but his shock is more obvious. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and his eyes

narrow into slits. “I have plans.” His mouth gapes. He stares at me in what may be disbelief, but I can’t know for sure. I can’t stand seeing the fire in his eyes, so I look down and fix my bra strap underneath my blouse. “Is there anything else, Mr. Solomon?” I say in a casual tone when I bring my gaze up. I have trouble reading the expression that crosses his face. Rubbing his hands together, he focuses on them and simply shakes his head. “That’s all, Miss Newman.” Without hesitation, I walk out with my head high and my heart wailing. Ingrid is chatting with Sheila when I get to my desk. “There you are. We were just talking about vacation times,” she tells me, getting up from my chair. “Lyra’s coming to your dinner party?” I sound like a Class A bitch. It’s her birthday and it’s Theo’s penthouse. They can invite whomever the fuck they want. But a mixture of shock and disgust comes over her face. “No, she’s not.” I take over my chair, avoiding her gaze. “Theo invited her. She told everyone in the kitchen.” “What? I don’t want her there.” Deciding that it’s not worth it, unless I want my heart crushed more, I don’t say anything else. I busy myself with rearranging my office supplies on

my desk to keep my hands from shaking. “I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. He can’t do that.” “He can and he did,” I say flatly. “I don’t think so.” Ingrid turns away, and in a flash I hear her yelling Theo’s name. The problem is I care too much about this, about this whole situation. I thought it would be our chance to be together comfortably around others, coworkers, friends. But I am nothing, only someone he uses to fulfill his fantasies. I deserve more, and I can easily turn my head away, shut my mind off anything Theo Solomon, but my stubborn-ass heart refuses to let go.

STELLA’S DRESSED in her running gear when I get home. “Hey, you! No gym this afternoon?” “No. I’m taking a break.” “Any plans?” “Nope.” “Dinner? My treat. We never got to celebrate your new position.” After what’s happened at work, I think I deserve a fun night out with my friend, and a grown up meal. “That sounds good. Anywhere in particular you want to go?” She places earbuds in her ears. “Yeah. I know the perfect place. When I get back from my run I’ll

give them a call.” “Let me guess, the owner owes you a favor?” I tease, letting a small smile out, and I feel like it’s the first time today that I’ve done it. “Yeah, something like that. See you in an hour.” After a soothing shower, scrubbing every nook and cranny of my body, straightening my hair and donning a simple, crimson, cut out dress, which shows off my best assets, I feel like a knockout, ready to wow the public. Even if inside, I’m a little shattered. “Wow. Just wow.” Stella asks me to do a turn and I comply, careful not to trip in my six-inch sandals. “And you, oh my God, look at your tits! I’ve seen them before but not packaged like this.” We both laugh even as we continue to head out. Stella takes me to a quintessential modern French restaurant. The walls are decorated with contemporary art and gauzy white curtains. There’s a long, marble-top bar across the room and it’s surrounded with people waiting for a table. Stella must have pulled some strings—or smacked some asses—to get us a table last minute. We’re seated amongst the most beautiful people in the city, all elegantly dressed, eating caviar and drinking the most magnificent wine. I’m a little out of my element but Stella is great company. Knowing I’m a little wary of the pricey menu, Stella asks me to

trust her with ordering the food and I agree. Swirling her white wine in the glass, she regards me with curiosity in her eyes. “What’s going on with you and that man you’ve been sleeping with?” I’ve just popped a caviar on a squid ink cracker in my mouth when she asks me this. Quirking a brow at her, I chew slowly, letting the right words formulate in my head. Stella has never been around when Theo comes over, and he’s quiet when he leaves. I didn’t think she knew about our trysts, but it doesn’t surprise me. She’s an astute observer. I guess it comes in handy with her work. I grab my glass and gulp the refreshing chilled chardonnay, hoping it will drown the ache in my chest, which is suddenly present from thoughts of him. “Nothing’s going on,” I lie between clenched teeth. “How long have you known?” She cocks her head to one side, crossing an arm over her chest. “A while. Why didn’t you tell me about him?” “It’s really nothing, and I think…” I try not to pout. “I think it’s over now anyway. He’s way out of my league. It was just one of those things.” Theo is a business magnate and I’m a secretary. He’s Mt. Everest and my rope doesn’t reach that high. I helped him scratch an itch, and in return, I got a few earth-shattering orgasms. Who would want more of that? Tipping the lip of the wineglass at her, I continue, “It’s okay though. I’m over it.”

Stella reaches over the table for me. “I don’t think it is. You like him.” I look down on our intertwined hands. “Maybe even more?” I chuckle drily. “Nah. It’s just physical.” “You keep saying that, but eventually you’ll have to admit that there’s some truth in what I’m saying.” “Maybe. But I think it’s over now so no point in digging deeper.” I reach for my drink again and ignore the solid wall building around me. She settles back on her chair and sips her wine, eyeing me suspiciously. She drops the topic, and we go on with our meal, nomming on artfully-plated, rich and decadent food.

A LITTLE TIPSY from the wine pairings—and I think our sommelier is crushing mad on Stella—I excuse myself and head for the little girl’s room. After checking my lipstick and adjusting my boobs for maximum comfort, I head back to our table, passing by the lengthy bar. A hand stops me in my tracks, pulling me back, and I face Derek, my prick ex. My still gorgeous ex. “I thought that was you. Hi, Talia.” He tries to kiss my cheek but no matter how wine-addled my brain or how good-looking he is, I squirm away and his lips end up pressing on my hair. “You look—” With a head-to-toe glance, pausing a little too long

on my cleavage, he’s blatantly checking me out. “—great. Wow.” “How’s it going, Derek?” I don’t bother to look around for whichever chick he’s with. Derek has never been one to go anywhere, or do anything alone. “Let me get you a drink.” He doesn’t wait for my answer. Just taps on the bar, catching one of the bartender’s attention. “Amaretto Sour.” He holds up an index finger. The bartender quickly mixes my drink and slides it to Derek. “Still your favorite, right?” He grins like a sexy idiot and hands me the drink. “Thanks.” I let the glass sweat in my hand. Derek shakes his head and breathes heavily. “I miss you.” I would have taken him seriously if he isn’t gawking at my tits. “How’s Shannon? And that other girl from your class, Chantal?” I’m not done. I may not have cried much for this jerk, but I gave him a lot of my best years. “Oh, how about…” I snap my fingers, thinking of his other conquest. “That one from your gym, Tessa, right?” Glancing over his shoulder, I squint at a blonde who’s exactly his type. “Does she know about them? Are you all one happy group?” I sip the drink, pucker my face and then place it back on the bar. Derek rubs the back of his head. Good, I’m

getting to him. “Things didn’t work out with Shannon.” “Too bad. You guys were great together,” I taunt just as I realized Shannon is a lot like Lyra. Maybe that’s why I never took a liking to Lyra. No, she’s just a bitch. Derek sidles up to me and plays with the thin necklace hanging along my neckline. “I should have listened to you. You were right. She’s a bitch. She’s nothing like you, Talia. Nobody’s like you.” What the fuck? Before I realize what he’s doing, Derek tenderly strokes my cleavage. I step back and laugh at him. I laugh so hard I’m afraid I’d have to visit the bathroom again. I pat his shoulder while wiping tears off my cheeks. “Thanks for that, Derek. Thank you. And thank you so much for admitting how many girls you’ve fucked. I gotta say I’m glad we barely had sex when we were together because you sucked at it. And remember when you asked me why I’m not into sex toys?” Derek hunches his shoulders forward, trying to physically get smaller. By now we have a good crowd listening and watching us. “Well, let me tell you why, ‘cause I’ve never had the chance. I never picked up a dildo ‘cause I was so afraid you’d get jealous of how big it is. Didn’t want to give you a small penis complex. So thank you, Derek. Thank you for being such a manwhore. Thank you for making me realize what

a huge douche you are.” I press a hand on my chest. “Now, I have a job I love. I have great friends. I’m living my life for me and no one else. And yes, you’re right, I look fucking fabulous…no thanks to you.” Stella appears by my side, muffling her laughter with the back of her hand. “I’m ready to go home,” I say to her and leave Derek cowering. In all honesty, I don’t feel good about embarrassing him like that, even if he deserves it. I’m better than that. I’m better than him. There may have been signs of his cheating—late night texts he’d hidden from me, excuses about being out late—and I’d turned a blind eye to all of it because I was comfortable with Derek. No, I didn’t see us getting married and having babies. I adored him, but I didn’t love him. My heart didn’t ache because he left. It hurt because I turned a blind eye to all his actions and I pretended it wasn’t happening to me. Shit like that doesn’t happen to strong women like me. I’m afraid I’m doing it again…with Theo. But this time, there is a clear ache in my heart. It’s only been a few hours since I’ve last seen him, and I already miss him. I know we could have more, and I’ve wanted more, but I’m terrified because I got it in my head that he’s beyond my reach. He isn’t. He came on to me; he made the

first move. Even though I continued to ignore his advances, he persisted. He sought me out. Except, how do I reach for the moon again when I’m already on my way down to earth, letting all my insecurities get to me?

STELLA and I reach our street in silence, but her phone hasn’t stopped vibrating since she turned it on after dinner. “Crap. I have to go to work.” “You guys have emergencies? What? Not enough whips to go around?” Her small laugh bounces in the cab. “No. It’s actually one of the girls. I have to check on her.” It’s a warm night and the stars are out. I turn to Stella. “Let me get out here then. I’m gonna take a little walk.” “Sure? You have your phone with you?” “Yes.” I reach into my purse, take out my cellphone, turn it on—we have a rule about turning off our phones during dinner out—and wave it at her. I ask the driver to stop and let me out, and I give Stella a hug. Out on the sidewalk, I wave goodbye as the cab makes a U-turn and heads back the way we came. I pass a few shops that are closed and some that are still open—a rustic pizza place Stella and I love, a tattoo parlor I’ve promised myself I would check out once I get the nerve to get inked, a small shop

that offers two hundred different flavors of shaved ice cream. The hum of cars passing by relaxes me. I love this city. I love this neighborhood. I’m sure as hell glad I got a permanent job so I can continue live the life I want. If only I could figure out how to tell Theo that I love him and I think we should give us a try. Be couple. Give our relationship a title. Playing with my phone, I scroll through our messages. Some lame flirtations. Several sexting messages, up to the first picture I sent him, of me in the bubble bath. What if I take a selfie of me now, here, outside, not naked? Would Theo come running? I pose for a single selfie. It’s blurry. My lips, slightly parted, aren’t as vibrant as when the night started. My eyes are half-lidded. My heart is open. I hit send. Two seconds later I receive a text back. It could mean he’s still at work…and not on a date with Lyra. Where are you? I stop and look around, letting a smile play on my lips as I type my response. Taking a walk Alone? It’s late. Yes, why? I’m a big girl. I’m allowed to stay up late. I think you should come home. “Bossy much?” I mumble, but I like that he

says ‘come home’. It gives me weird tickles in my belly. I suck a deep breath and slowly let it out between pursed lips. Maybe you should come home. I shake my head. He won’t get it. I’m typing a message to clarify my point when I receive another one from him. I am home, but you’re not here. There’s a pinch in my chest and butterflies have a party in my belly. Is he playing with me? I hug my phone and keep walking, slowly, so I can continue to send texts. But he keeps going, faster than I can type. Where are you? I don’t like you going out this late alone. Stop bossing me around. I’m not. Hurry home, gorgeous. “Whatever.” I roll my eyes and work the next text in my head while I keep walking. I turn left onto my street, and freeze at the sight of Theo sitting on our stoop, with his head down, eyes on his phone. I’m a fool staring at him with my mouth open. He must have sensed it, sensed me. He raises his head in a slow motion and as he sees me, his eyes fill with vibrance. I walk up to him, while I silently urge my heart to calm the fuck down. “What are you doing here?” My words slur a little.

Theo stands, rubbing his hands together and blowing a breath in them. “You’ve been drinking.” I shrug. He can’t admonish me for having wine during dinner. I’ll still show up to work tomorrow, albeit a little grumpier than usual. “I’m here to see you.” Taking a step forward, he nuzzles the tip of my nose and strokes my arms before embracing me. “I know you told me not to come. I tried to stay away, I just don’t want to.” “Really?” I mumble against his chest and hide my stupid unstoppable grin. “Yes. I didn’t even care if you were on a date. I just wanted to see you.” “A date?” “I saw you get in the cab earlier. I was even stupid enough to try and chase you down but I hit the lights around the corner and lost my chance to stop you. I tried calling but I kept getting your voicemail.” I’m running this scenario in my head but the pounding pulse in my ear is making it difficult for me to think. “How long have you been waiting?” “Forever.” I laugh, shaking my head, thinking I’m going to wake up from this dream. When I press my ear on his chest, I listen to the rush of his heart and it proves how real this is. “But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.” Suddenly, I’m not laughing anymore. My inner

cheerleader does cartwheels and backflips. Fuck, there’s an entire band partying it up inside me. “Well, I’m here now.” I look up at him, and see pure honesty in his eyes, edged with a bit of fear. “And I wasn’t on a date. I went out to dinner with Stella.” “Hmmm. That’s better. I wondered what kind of jerk would have left you to walk alone at night.” He lowers his head and rubs his slightly parted lips on mine. “I wanna ask you something.” Yes, I want to scream, whatever it is. “Uhhuh?” “Come home with me so I don’t have to leave early. I can still train in the morning but I’ll go back to bed with you after. I hate leaving you alone in bed.” “You’ve never invited me to your place before.” “Yes, I have.” Theo tilts my chin up with his finger resting underneath it. “At the gala. The first time you came on my hand and I tasted you on my fingers. You shot me down.” How could I have forgotten? I’ve been too busy petting my own insecurities that I didn’t see what he’s been saying or doing all this time. He wants to be with me. He wants to take me home. Theo embraces me even tighter, pressing his face against the top of my head. Since I’ve found myself in an uncomfortable scene, I change tactics.

“You’re awfully clingy tonight.” “Yes, and good luck trying to get rid of me. So, is that a yeah?” “Okay. Let me grab some clothes.” We walk up to the house, hand in hand, and he reluctantly lets me go when I have to unlock the door. Theo comes up to my room with me, and I, all frazzled, destroy my room, throwing stuff around, not being able to decide what to pack. He lies down on my bed, stretching his arms and tucking his hands under his head. “I don’t know what to bring.” “You can stay naked the whole time, if you want.” He spreads his wicked smile wider. I throw a shirt at him and he catches it. Theo stands and joins me in front of my closet. He turns to face me. “Sit. I’ll take care of this.” “I don’t think so.” “You have to learn to listen to your boss.” “It’s after work. You’re not my boss right now. Not at this hour, and not in my room.” He rubs his jaw, and his smile disappears. The playful man is replaced by the ruthless, terse businessman who runs multi-million dollar companies. My panties get wet. “Sit.” I roll my eyes but comply. Methodically, he searches my closet, takes out a black bandage dress, which I, in fact, am planning to wear to Ingrid’s party, a pair of black slingbacks, a red skirt,

and a white cream blouse. He folds them carefully into the open bag I have on the bed. He didn’t tell me how long he wants me to stay with him, but I’ve chosen a small bag to make sure I don’t overstay my welcome. “Ahm…boss, you’re missing some important stuff. Like underwear?” He lifts a steady hand in the air, looking around the room. “Right. Where are those?” I point to my underwear drawer. Theo opens it and riffles through them, inspecting them closely, mumbling to himself. “These are everyday underwear. Where are the special ones? From Sabine’s?” “Second drawer.” He closes the top drawer and opens the next. Then he completely pulls the drawer out and pours the entire contents into my bag, pushing them down to make them all fit. Not gonna happen since he’s bought me too much. “There. We’re set.” I throw my head back, laughing. Where has this guy been this entire time? “Do we need all that?” “No. But you can model them for me.” He tries to stuff them in the bag again, and somehow manages to zip it closed. Shaking my head, I retrieve my makeup bag from the bathroom. I throw it into my purse, with my phone charger and my keys, before we head downstairs. “Where’s your car?” I ask when we reach the

sidewalk, searching the street for his Porsche. “Not car. That.” He points at the sexiest piece of black and silver machinery I’ve ever seen. “Didn’t know you owned one.” He might be right. I may need all my underwear this weekend. What I have now has disintegrated from anticipation. “You didn’t ask. Come.” He helps me sit on a beast of a motorcycle, which is a challenge with the dress I’m wearing. The hem rides up but I don’t care and he seems to enjoy the view I flash him. He pops a helmet on my head and then places my overnight bag and purse in the saddlebag. Then he produces a leather jacket for me. “It fits.” I’m amazed how I can zip it over my boobs. “Yes, I know. I’ve memorized your curves enough to know what fits and what doesn’t.” He cups my face and angles it so his tongue can plunder my mouth. “That’s creepy and romantic,” I say when he lets me go. “That’s me.” He kisses my nose before bringing my visor down and mounting the Harley. The first time the motorcycle vibrates between my legs, I think I might have an orgasm. Then my excitement heightens when he tells me to wrap my hands tightly around his abs. Hells yeah. “Careful.” He adjusts my arm higher.

“Why?” “Just got a tattoo.” “Really?” My hands itch to lift his jacket and shirt and see it. “I’ll show you later. Hang on, beautiful.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FROM HERE ON IN, the only way I’ll wake up is if I have Theo’s head between my legs. I squirm on his wide bed. Reaching down, I smoothen my palms over his shaven head and unapologetically arch my hips off the bed, pushing harder into his mouth. He groans against my pussy and my God, the reverberations from that shoots an electric jolt to my already curled toes. “Theo, please. Don’t. Stop.” My cries come out in staccato pants. I push the sheets off me and meet his searing, hungry gaze. Theo pauses and smiles before sticking his tongue back between my folds. “Fuck.” I dig my fingernails into the flesh of his shoulders and he goes ballistic, bringing me over the edge and pushing me to my limits. He’s there to catch me after, wrapping me in his warmth. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he rasps, kissing me

on my lips, with my essence on his tongue. “Good morning yourself.” I let my hands roam over the hard planes of his torso, and he hisses when I reach his fresh tattoo. “Whoops. Sorry. I forgot. Let me see.” We were so busy last night that I missed the opportunity to study his fresh ink. “What are those?” I trace around the image. “Rabbits fornicating…” he replies and continues, “as rabbits should. I was inspired.” He chuckles. I prop myself up on my elbow and take him all in. He’s at ease, comfortable in his own surroundings. His place is a white and gray haven, with hints of blue. Last night, I didn’t really bother much with details, just those that matter like how sturdy his dining table is, how the area rug in his living room doesn’t give me carpet burns, that his shower is big enough for two people to do all sorts of dirty stuff to each other, and that his bed can take a whole lot of pounding. Theo did get up at earlier this morning but promised to return after his workout. I mumbled and went back to sleep, only to wake up with him feasting on me. “We better get going or we’ll be late,” he tells me, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to stop his exploration of my body with his hands and mouth. I squeal when he finds my ticklish spot, the instep of my foot. Trying to shake him off, I warn him, “Oh yeah.

We should go soon. My boss is kind of a prick about tardiness.” Theo raises a brow at me and his lips curl into a smirk before holding onto my fleshy hips and flipping me onto my stomach. “A prick, huh?” “Yup.” I moan as he grinds his pelvis against my ass. “Biggest prick I’ve ever met.” Theo runs short bursts of kisses over my spine, my skin raising in goose bumps in their wake. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you can handle him.” I tilt my head to look at him with lust-filled eyes, wiggling my bottom to tease him more. “There’s only one way to find out.” Pressing his full weight on me, he hums in my ear, and in one swift move, he eases in me. No matter how much I’ve had him inside, it takes a few heartbeats for my muscle memory to kick in and adjust around his thickness and length. But since I’m constantly soaked when he’s around, he slides in easily. He circles his hips before pulling out inch by fucking inch, and in the same way, he pushes back in. He’s taking his time loving me and I luxuriate in him. His cellphone beeps on the side table, and I wait for him to reach for it but he’s lost in me, buried so deep, clenched by my pulsating walls. We’re going to be a lot late. Who gives a shit? I’ve found one of the perks of sleeping with the boss. I get to stay in bed a lot longer during workdays.

BYPASSING BREAKFAST, we take turns in the shower, convinced that if we shower together there’s no way in hell we’ll get to work at all today. I shriek the first time I see myself in the mirror. How the hell did he find this sexy? There’s only a bit of mascara smudges left around my eyes, and I suspect I’ll find more on his white pillows. But my hair. Holy mother of Diana Ross, it’s huge! I don’t take too long in the shower. After taming my hair into a sleek, tight bun, I tip-toe into his closet, instantly having closet-envy. It’s bigger than my bedroom. I find my work clothes pressed and hanging beside a full-length mirror, and my lingerie, red lace bustier and matching tangas, on a long bench in front of the closet doors. I laugh out loud and he peeks in, already in his signature blue suit. Yum. I squeeze his face in one hand and give him a quick peck on the lips. “Thanks for getting these ready. But don’t you think that’s a little too sexy for work?” I point at the lingerie. Theo walks over and hands me the bustier. “I like knowing what’s waiting for me underneath. Like a dirty secret.” He helps me with the hooks while I hug the cups over my breasts. “Naughty,” I tease, and he snakes his hands around my front, palming my tits. He continues to help me dress, letting me press

a hand on his shoulder when he slips my legs through my panties. When I’m all good and covered, he steps back and rubs his hands together, pleased with his work. “Beautiful.” And for the first time, even though I’ve heard it from his lips so many times, I believe him. “Don’t you wear glasses? You did when I first met you.” I roll my eyes. Neither of us would ever forget the first day, when I smacked my face on the floor. “They’re fake. Fashion.” Pensively, he regards me, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Too bad. You had this sexy librarian thing going on. It’s always been my fantasy.” I swing a hip to one side and prop my fists on it. “You like?” Theo pulls me to him and lets me feel how much he like indeed.

WE EVENTUALLY MAKE it out of the house, into a car and to work. In the elevator, Theo slides a hand on the small of my back and draws circles over my silk blouse. With a sideways glance, we share a moment, and that’s when I know it’ll be business as usual. I can’t deny being disappointed, but I’ll wait until later to talk about my concerns. Baby steps, right? When we reach our floor, I glance around,

wondering if anyone has noticed Theo and I arriving at the same time. Then I realize how silly it is. We’ve taken the elevator together so many times before. But someone does take note that Theo’s late. “Are you just coming in? That’s a first!” Ingrid punches his right bicep. With a serious look, he shakes his head at her. She shrugs before hooking a hand around my arm. “We’ve got a busy day, girl.” I throw Theo a silent goodbye and he offers a quick, secret smile. My stomach flips. God, he’s so gorgeous. I eye-fuck him until he reaches his office. Once he closes his door, Ingrid leans into me. “I fixed the whole Lyra B.S. She’s not coming to dinner. Theo said she invited herself when he just happened to mention it last week. Would you believe her nerve? Ugh. She needs to get over him. He’s never going to stoop so low and date someone like her.” Someone like her? Does she also mean someone like me? No, I can’t go there again. Theo is with me. He likes me for what I am, for who I am, and the difference in our social status doesn’t affect that. Ingrid continues while we walk down the hallway to my cubicle, where Sheila’s already hard at work. “So you don’t have to worry about having to deal with her outside work.” “I wasn’t worried about it.” Dumping my purse into the bottom desk drawer, I settle in my chair.

“Yeah. Sure. Well, anyway. I’m glad you’re coming.” She looks around before speaking again and props her arms on my desk, her face near mine. “Henrik’s best friend is going to be there and he’s hot, smart, a talented chef, and recently single,” she says in a sing-songy voice. There’s a prickle at the back of my head, and before I see him, I know Theo’s standing behind me, listening to Ingrid set me up with another man. This should be interesting. With a deep inhale, I spin around and plaster a smile on my face. “Yes, Mr. Solomon?” I resist the urge to bat my lashes. His face is hard, unreadable. I wait for words to come out, but he clears his throat, glances at Ingrid and Sheila, and then pins me with those caramel eyes. “Could you come to my office in about ten minutes?” A hole appears in my gut and I sink into it. But I nod and bite down on my lip. Neither of the girls seem to notice something’s off, and why would they? It’s not like I’ve shared any juicy details of my secret love affair with our hot boss. Theo turns on his heels and stalks back to his office. Ingrid pats my shoulder grabbing my attention again. “We’ll head out after your meeting with him. I want to finalize the chair orders for the restaurant today.” “Got it.”

LYRA’S ANTEATER face appears before me outside of Theo’s office. “He asked to see me,” I tell her, keeping my chin up and trying so hard not to smack the smirk off her lips. “They’re waiting for you.” “They?” Her smirk gets bigger. She knows something I don’t. Who’s 'they'? Who’s in there with Theo? The bitch doesn’t answer my question, and she turns away from me, knocking on Theo’s door before opening it. “Tanya’s here.” “Talia,” I correct her but she doesn’t give two fucks. With shaking legs, I enter, and my heart pumps double-time when I see Elena, an ARC HR rep in the office with Theo. Shit. This doesn’t look good. “Have a seat, please.” Theo waves me to the chair beside Elena’s. For once, I keep my mouth shut and sit. I don’t like these kinds of surprises. “That’s all, Lyra. You may go now,” he addresses the sourpuss standing by the door. “Yes, Theo.” God, I do not like the sound of her voice. It grates on my nerves. Hands crossed on my lap, I wait for someone to start talking. I don’t know Elena all too well. She has a homely look that comforts people in her presence. Great for a Human Resources manager,

but in my case, right now, it’s no help at all. “I asked Elena to witness when we sign this.” Theo hands me papers. Some kind of contract or form, thick enough that it weighs heavily in my hand, but that could also be because of my nerves. I look down at it and read Consensual Relationship Agreement. “To disclose our…relationship. It serves to protect both of us from…” I wave a hand in the air, stopping him from whatever else he needs to say—because he just said relationship. Theo acknowledging that we have a relationship thrills me. However, I also see this as a kick in the lady nuts. Is he afraid I’ll claim sexual harassment? I recall threatening him a while ago, but that was before I started to fall…I bite down on my lip, a little too hard. Elena touches the top of the form, capturing my attention. “You don’t have to sign it, if you don’t want to, Talia. You can take it home, take it to your lawyer and decide.” She glances at Theo. I can’t believe she’s saying this in front of him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he relaxes against his desk. A lazy smile slowly makes an appearance on his otherwise terse countenance, tugging at my heartstring. Will he end this ‘relationship’ if I don’t sign it? Because I’m uncomfortable with the situation, I make a joke. “Yeah, I’ll sign it. It’s not like it’s a

marriage contract, right?” Elena snickers, and I realize my mistake when Theo pales momentarily. He coughs once, straightens his spine and squares off his shoulders. I can’t believe I blurted out the “M” word. Mental forehead slap. “I mean…Theo, I don’t mean.” I switch my panicked glances between him and Elena. “Elena, would you give us a moment?” Theo requests. Not waiting for another word, Elena stands and leaves me alone with Theo. I shake my head vigorously. “I didn’t mean to…it just came out and…” He kneels before me, taking the form from my lap and placing it behind him on the desk, and wraps my hands in his. I keep my head down. My empty stomach swirls, and I’m about to puke. My pulse hammers in my ears. “Is that what you want?” he asks, tilting my chin up so I can look him straight in the eye. “I…it’s a joke…I don’t mean…” “Would you want to marry me?” “Now?” He chuckles and my heart warms. “Maybe not now, but someday?” “We’ve just started—” I wave a trembling hand between us. “—this. I don’t even know what to call it.” “I thought the consent form was a good idea. I

want to date you. I want to be with you all the time. I want to publicly express what I feel for you. If that’s okay.” “Yeah,” I say, all breathy. “I want that too. Here at work?” I scrunch my nose. “Maybe not so much here. If you only know how much restraint I’ve had to exercise not to touch you, kiss you every time you’re around, Talia. Rumors will fly. I don’t want people saying anything bad about you.” “I can handle it.” I raise my chin, with joy bubbling in my chest and my heart filling with more adoration for this guy. My guy. My man. My Theo. “I know you can, but I want you to feel safe and protected. I’d rather not think about us not working out, but it happens to a lot of people. It’s all up to you.” His eyes turn a milk chocolate hue. I can see myself falling deeper for this man, if I’m not already. That’s for me to figure out later on. It’s easy to understand his concerns. I squeeze his hands and lift them to my lips. “I’ll sign, and you don’t have to worry about PDA here in the office… much. I get it.” Theo cups my face with one hand, massages the back of my head with the other before kissing me. I melt in an instant. He stands and heads to the door, pausing and staring back at me with mischief in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He exhales heavily and nods his head down. My gaze moves to what he’s pointed at—a massive bulge in his pants. I slap a hand to my mouth to keep the guffaw from coming out. “I gotta settle this down before I let her back in.” I walk over to him and place my hands on his chest. “Sorry.” “I’m not. This is pretty much my usual state when you’re around me, right from day one.” Wow. That’s awfully romantic, isn’t it?

AFTER WE’VE SIGNED the document, Elena stays to chat with Theo about other office matters, and since they don’t concern me, I excuse myself, heading straight to the kitchen to kill the growl in my belly. As soon as I step into the room, I spot Lyra and the same posse who was with her yesterday, and I want to back out. Don’t these girls have work to do? A complete hush falls as their heads turn toward me. Keeping my gaze on the coffeepot, I ignore them. I ignore Lyra’s whiny voice, even when she starts yapping about cancelling tomorrow for Ingrid’s dinner party and breaking Theo’s heart. Keep stirring, Talia. Just keep stirring.

“I felt really bad that I had to tell him I couldn’t make it after all, but I promised Theo I’ll say yes to his next invitation.” My jaw clenches and I growl at my coffee. Not soon enough, the room silences again, and before I can breathe, Theo greets everyone. I turn and watch how the room seems to gravitate toward him. “Ladies, how’s the coffee this morning?” “Super great!” Lyra replies a little too enthusiastically. “Would you like me to make you a cup, Theo?” “That’s all right. I think Talia’s got one for me.” He doesn’t even bother to look at her as he stops beside me, while I’m calmly taking a sip from my cup. I lower the cup from my lips and he takes it, drinks from it, and hums. My jaw wants to drop, but I’m keeping the laughter from escaping. Everyone else’s does though, especially Lyra’s. She’ll have to peel her chin off the floor. “Great coffee.” Theo leans in, slides a hand around my waist and settles it on my back before bringing his lips to mine. It’s a quick, chaste kiss, but it says more than any words could. “Thanks for the coffee, beautiful.” He gives me back the cup, and we walk out together. Not hand in hand, but close enough that I can feel the sizzle of warmth on my skin. “That was brave. I thought we weren’t doing

the whole PDA at work thing?” I nudge his arm. “I’m having a great morning. Felt like I could rebel a little. My girlfriend taught me to have fun every now and then.” “Whatever you say, Mr. Solomon.” We stop near his office, our foreheads practically touching. “Dinner out tonight?” “Hmmm…” I run a finger underneath his tie and he moans under his breath. “I’d rather stay in and watch a zombie movie. If you get scared, you can snuggle up to me, and maybe I’ll let you get to second base.” His laughter warms my chest. “Sounds good to me. Have a pleasant day, Miss Newman.” “You too, Mr. Solomon.” I walk away with the stupidest grin on my face and add sway on my hips, after all, I do have an audience. Someone who loves each and every inch of my curves and can’t get enough of them.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Let me start by saying thanks to Allie Cooke. She gave me the idea to take on this pseudonym and write smexy scenes, and not feel like I have to hide under a rock. Like a F*cking Boss, previously called “Like a Boss”, first showed up in the Curved Lines Boxed Set. Thanks to the ladies involved in that project, each one showed me how to work hard and kick ass in this industry. To Dayna, my magician editor, you amaze me. To Cover Design for such a sexy cover, wow. Just wow. To Penelope Marshall, girl, power on! To Emily Wilder, let’s rock this joint. To Rebecca, my Beta reader and all the reviewers, thank you for all the support. To my family, the house will eventually clean

itself.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Quinn has perfected the art of procrastination. Point in fact, it has taken her a little too long to write this mini-bio. She has "healthy" obsessions with reading and writing steamy romance, and an unhealthy addiction to red wine, bourbon, and dark chocolate with sea salt. She doesn't people until after coffee. When Quinn is not scribbling Erotic Romances, she loves to curl up with her puppy and watch foreign films. Quinn lives in a house that never stays clean, no matter how much she wishes it would. She also writes contemporary sweet romance, romantic comedy, and chick lit under Michelle Jo Quinn. Sign up for her randomly sent newsletter for updates and giveaways, including free ebooks: https://madmimi.com/signups/205764/join

RomanceAuthorQuinn [email protected]