Chapter 3
Laurent
My eyes flicked from my screen to her heels, trailing up the length of her stockings until they disappeared beneath the curve of her skirt. She had some real meat on those bones. My body reacted instantly, and the pressure inside my trousers became unbearable.
“Try to be on time tomorrow. Or else,” I said, my voice colder than I felt.
She didn’t reply, but that slight hesitation—just a beat too long—was all the response I needed. Her back straightened, spine taut.
I sipped the coffee. Unfortunately, it was perfect.
I popped the lid to inhale the scent—not because I loved it, but to drive away hers.
It clung to me all morning like a virus.
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At 1:45 p.m., I checked the boardroom. It was pristine.
The projector sat centred on the table, a laptop already positioned where I was due to sit. Along the sideboard, neat trays of fruit, sandwiches, and snacks were laid out—nothing extravagant, just efficient.
No drinks were necessary. The complimentary machine and water dispenser in the hallway would suffice.
I was about to close the door when I caught a scent in the air.
Her.
The door slammed.
The glass partition didn’t shatter—but it wanted to.
I turned and strode down the corridor for a cold drink of water.
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It was late. I should’ve reviewed the analytics at home, but once I got started, the merger idea took root.
Tech was the future—and our reach bled into science, medicine, and innovation. We didn’t just predict trends; we hosted the exhibitions that created them.
I raised my arms and stretched my back before standing to shut down the computer. The rest I could review on my laptop. I messaged Garrett to bring the car around. He doubled as my driver and my bodyguard—efficient, discreet, and silent. Just how I liked it.
When I opened my office door, she was slumped at her desk, dozing. Her head rested on her hand, lips slightly parted.
I slammed my door shut again—loud.
She jolted upright, blinking as she tried to compose herself.
“You’re not getting paid overtime,” I said, walking past without a glance.
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I stared at Garrett’s back again. He always remained calm, but that was part of his job. I glanced out the window again, but the view didn't hold my attention.
Then I broke the cardinal rule.
“Garrett, have you ever come across a woman who irritates you to the point of violence?”
His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror before he smiled.
“My mother and Natalie Clarkson, but we were six years old at the time. Why?”
How bad could his mother be? I thought of mine and nodded. Mine was so overbearing that I limited my contact with her. As long as she got her money, she didn’t give a damn.
“I was just wondering… if you had, how did you deal with it?”
“Gym and weights.”
Mm. That would help me work out the excess rage.
I’d considered going to a bar and hooking up with someone for the night, but that would have to wait until the weekend. Tomorrow morning, I’d be in the gym.
“Is anyone bothering you?” he asked, eyes back on the mirror.
“No.”
She was burning me up from the inside out.
Didn’t women have better instincts than men? Or was it intuition? She had to know what she was doing.
I reached for my drink.
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My body ached all over, but nothing could disrupt me today.
I came to a halt outside my office, watching her through the glass.
Her hair was loose—darker at the top, tumbling in soft, sunlit curls down her back. The dark grey dress clung to every curve, cinched tight at her waist, accentuating that bountiful ass.
Her legs were bare, and the tall heels gave her that graceful, commanding look.
She scooped up my breakfast and coffee from her desk without looking my way, then marched into my office like she owned it.
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Today she wore a champagne-coloured blouse that, with just the lightest breeze, could have popped open.
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Another week of perfect servitude. There was nothing I could do. She’d trapped me in my own personal hell.
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Dear God, I need help.
I spilled my coffee—on purpose—just to make her bend down and clean it.
Right beside my feet.
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She knocked once, then stepped in without waiting. Her tablet was tucked against her chest, fingers scrolling, her brow furrowed with purpose.
“I just flagged the duplication you mentioned,” she said, coming around the desk. “But I think you meant the secondary folder in the global access list—here.”
She leaned over—uninvited—reaching across my desk to show me the location.
And that’s when it hit me.
Her scent.
That soft, unfiltered sweetness I’d started dreaming about.
And then the full weight of her breast brushed my shoulder.
I stopped breathing.
She kept talking. Completely oblivious. Or pretending to be.
My hands fisted beneath the desk. One twitch and I’d drag her into my lap.
I swallowed. Hard.
“Here,” she repeated, pointing again. “See what I mean?”
I saw nothing. My vision blurred. I could taste her perfume in my mouth.
How the fuck did she smell so good—all the fucking time?
Her hair brushed my face as she stood upright, and I shuddered.
“Get out,” I rasped.
“Oh,” she breathed, her mouth forming a perfect O, hands tightening around the tablet.
She turned and bolted.
I dropped my head into my hands. I needed to fire her.
Or fuck her.
Either way, this couldn’t go on.
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To: Simon Harlow
Subject: Immediate PA Role Reassignment Request ??
Hello Simon,
Please initiate the process of transferring Ms Lucia Hart to a similar role elsewhere within the company.
I trust you’ll find a suitable department aligned with her current responsibilities and skill set.
She has performed adequately, and I expect the transition to be handled discreetly and with minimal disruption to workflow.
In her place, I require a new personal assistant with extensive experience—preferably a candidate aged 45 or above, male or female. Competence, discretion, and emotional resilience are non-negotiable.
Please ensure this is prioritised. I would like options on my desk by end of week.
Regards,
Laurent Dubois
Chief Executive Officer
Dubois Enterprises
I read the email over again before hitting send. Instant relief hit me, because soon she’d be someone else’s problem. I slapped the laptop closed.
The office was empty, but I chuckled to myself.
She couldn’t play her little Miss Fuck Me games anymore.
I wasn’t a fool, and no one could play me.