Crush (Love in London #2)

Two

Amber

If Max Hunter thought he could get the best of me, he would be sadly mistaken. No man could. Not now, not unless I allowed them to. The only place I enjoyed surrendering to a man was in the bedroom. What can I say, I had submissive kinks and liked to be dominated. Outside of sex, I was the one in control.

Making my way across the yard towards the canteen, the heels of my Louis Vuitton pumps sank into the soggy surface of the ground. Of course, Max had a point about my choice of outfit, but I’d be damned if I let him know that. I’d also been wrong about the flood plan but so what? I’d apologised to him in my head, it wasn’t my fault he didn’t hear me.

I also needed my heels, I was on the short side, which made it difficult to lord it over those who deserved it. To be clear, ‘those who deserved it’ were the people who underestimated me.

And Max Hunter did that in spades.

I never seemed to be prepared for his level of dickheadedness. He was always one step ahead of me no matter how many bitch vibes I radiated. I mean, I didn’t hate the guy's guts or anything, he was just an annoying dick. The way he folded those huge veiny forearms over his chest was always glorious, but his need to control everyone around him still made my nails dig into my palms.

Max was arrogant beyond belief, a proper calculating alpha hole. It was unfortunate for the strong female population that he was also sexy as hell. Although as far as I was concerned, he was deeply forbidden. And not just because he was my boss.

He had a smirk you felt in your bones and could easily charm the underwear off all the office staff, but his smile was a little too loud for my taste. He was like most men, chaotic and reckless and after that one thing women kept in their jeans; and I don’t mean their car keys.

And there laid one of the problems, he brought back too many emotions from my past; messed up ones that an array of high-end counsellors had failed to eradicate. Hence my decision to keep him at arm's length. But I wasn’t stupid, despite my complete and utter distaste for who he was, I was fiercely attracted to him, nonetheless. I was a highly sexed female and he was ridiculously good-looking. Even when he was sporting bruises. Max occasionally came into work with a battered face. One of the guys at work said he was involved in a boxing club or something like that. It made him look even more dangerous and that would of course call to most women’s lady parts. My own were no different but I would continue to feign indifference as if my life depended on it.

When we were officially introduced, Max had called me the little mermaid , (as in Disney) which I’d found patronising. It hadn’t taken me long to establish that he was trying to be cute, but the damage had already been done. What could I say, I was a grudge bearer.

What also didn’t help his case was the fact that he was the guy who had hit on me at a party the previous week, and his attempt had been borderline rude.

I’d noticed him watching me that night whilst I was on the phone with my friend Mia. I had been outside a house party waiting for her to arrive. Mia had been running late and I didn’t want to go in there alone without knowing anyone. Having flicked the butt of his cigarette next to my neon pink Jimmy Choo’s, Max had then gone on to make fun of them, that cocky smile of his, no-doubt a winner with your usual bit of skirt but not me. His charm hit its target like a bucket of cold water, no one took the piss out of my fashion sense. Before I’d started to live a more low-profile life, designers had given me stuff for free just so that I’d be wearing it when the paps took pictures of me.

Max had made a couple more attempts during that night to hit on me before calling me a frigid bitch and saying something about a stick up my arse. Not the best way to get the girl. When he’d delivered a condescending playful pat to my backside, I’d slapped his face, hard .

Around a week later, when Daddy took me to meet Max in his office, there had been no spark of recognition on his side and that had pissed me off even more. Was I really that forgettable? His all-consuming arrogance still surrounded him when he was sober.

I would have remembered his pretty boy face anywhere . I mean, I’d met some handsome men in my time but he topped them all, even that one man from my past. My first love, or so I’d thought at the time.

Tugging my thoughts back from that dark place, I focused on my current tormentor. Yep. There was no question about my new boss being attractive. Max boasted an impressive height. One which allowed him to look down his nose at pretty much everybody. His shoulders were broad enough to carry his many social issues and the rest of his body was honed to physical perfection. Max worked out, a lot, and had huge inked biceps and rock-hard abs. I had seen him without his shirt on several times and he was a prime example of tattooed manliness at its best. During the warmer weather, the boys would work topless.

His face was also flawless (when he hadn’t been brawling) with a square jaw and straight nose and his whisky-coloured eyes were shrewd. Max’s black hair was trimmed into submission, almost military style and it shone like a blackbird’s feathers. The only thing that didn’t fit his bad-boy persona was his long black eyelashes. They made him appear almost beautiful; like a male model’s face sitting on a wrestler’s body.

Everything about his appearance was intentionally crafted to deliver a direct hit to the female hormonal system. Fit as fuck, and he knew it, which made it an even harder pill to swallow. I imagined he'd be the Holy Grail of the bedroom, but he still had man-whore written all over him. It was a shame that such an annoying personality was attached to such a prime specimen of masculinity .

Max was also a successful businessman in his own right which was rich considering Daddy had told me Max was a college dropout and struggled socially at school.

And recently I’d had a sex dream about him, which wasn’t a good sign.

I was supposed to be steering clear of commanding, arrogant men. Mia said I needed to keep my eyes peeled for Mr Nice aka normal. But Mr Nice didn’t seem to tick my boxes and believe me, I had given him enough chances. So far dating a guy my age was like an unpaid apprenticeship. I got bored easily and needed some darkness in my sex life. What could I say, it was the only thing I knew.

Pushing open the doors to the canteen, my un-caffeinated brain was sorely in need of a top-up. I decided not to go back to my office straight away. I knew Max was itching to wave the correct procurement plan under my nose so he could say; I told you so .

Smiling briefly at a cluster of co-workers tucking into their greasy breakfasts, I ran into Rory Hopton. He was one of those nice guys I spoke about and had asked me out on several occasions. One of the office ladies told me he’d gone out with a girl at work the previous year but was now single.

Rory was retrieving a bottle of fresh orange juice from the fridge and I joined him in the queue. He was tall and well-built with fair hair. His eyes were a clear crystal blue and he worked at the site with the scaffolding. Rory stood out from the other guys as he had no visible tattoos and always appeared clean and shiny.

“I was impressed how you stood up to the boss today,” Rory grinned as he turned towards me. I was surprised he was in my corner as like most men on site, he worshipped the ground the boss man walked on. He was one of those brown noser types that verbally sucked Max’s cock, but he seemed like a decent enough guy. He didn’t ogle me like the rest of his team.

Rory was also around my age, maybe twenty-two or three. Another Mr Nice box ticked. It had been suggested I stay away from men with a large age gap to my not-so-tender twenty-one. Another coping mechanism from my therapist after the breakdown of my relationship with my first-ever lover. A man who had been almost ten years older than me. And I suppose breakdown is the wrong word, as he had been forcibly extracted from my life. For a good reason, although the teenage me hadn’t thought so.

“You should have seen the look on his face. He was well wound up when he passed me in the yard. Although, he was already in a mood when he got in this morning. Maybe someone pissed in his Cheerios?”

“Maybe,” I said with a wry smile. Max Hunter probably only drank testosterone for breakfast. The guy was like a boiling kettle always needing to let off steam.

“I’d say you won that round anyway.”

So, Rory thought I had scored a point that morning. I didn’t really agree with him, but I smiled demurely and thanked him anyway.

“So, I heard the boys have a bet as to who will snap first. You know, between you and Hunter,” he said with a cheeky look. I noticed he had dimples which made him appear more boyish.

“Really? And who is your money on?” I replied with an arched eyebrow.

His grin widened. “Oh, on you, definitely .”

“I can assure you. I have no intention of snapping.” I needed to shut the conversation down as I didn’t want to be caught talking about the boss behind his back. Yes, Max Hunter could be an arrogant git but he was doing me a favour by allowing me to be there. See, I wasn’t an ungrateful bitch.

Rory, it appeared, had other ideas. “You seem to have one of those love-hate types of things going on.”

“Really? I hadn’t thought about it,” I said dismissively and he seemed to get the message.

We then talked shop whilst waiting to pay. I ordered a cappuccino and Rory copied me and added one to his tray with the juice and a Mars bar .

It was quite smoky in the canteen, which suggested Rita had burned something again. Rita was the cook who managed the small kitchen and was responsible for feeding Max’s jungle of men. My stomach growled at the smell of bacon which lingered around us, but I just went for the drink; too many carbs.

As we shuffled along the counter, Rory asked. “Do you fancy going out to dinner tomorrow night? I know this great little place near me?”

Pursing my lips, I twisted to look up at him. He was a nice-looking man, maybe this was my chance to feel normal again.

For me, dating wasn’t a prerequisite to sex but my friend Mia had been encouraging me to try and give a ‘normal’ relationship a go. Even though she was in the middle of dumping her man, saying how they held you back, the hypocrite.

“Maybe. Where were you thinking?” I asked, grabbing my tray, and pushing it along the shelf. The café was only small but it was busy. That would be due to the delay caused by the flooding. Wes Buchanan’s A-team would need to pump the water out before anyone could start anything.

“It’s an Italian place. Do you like Italian?” His response was slightly too enthused but I didn’t let that sway me. This was a man I could be nice to.

“I love it. But just so we’re clear. It’s just dinner,” I explained gently. I didn’t want to lead him on. If the date went well and I felt a spark, I might see him again but I wasn’t about to jump into bed with someone I worked with. Co-worker relationships were also frowned upon, so I’d been told.

“You’re very direct,” Rory replied.

“I believe in being honest.”

“Well, it’s refreshing in a female. My last girlfriend loved to play games,” he admitted. I felt a hint of the ich. One minute the guy had asked me out and the next he was bringing up past girlfriends. Was that what your regular normal guy did? How would I know when I had nothing to compare it with? I wasn’t a virgin or a slut, but I didn’t do boyfriends. Recently, I had been seeing a couple of guys (not at the same time) on and off for some casual fun but that was it. Oh, and I’d had two one-night stands which I had decided wasn’t for me.

Rory and I sat chatting over coffee, the conversation moving past exes thank God. Although, he did ask how long I’d been single and I said a few years.

I could feel other members of staff watching us, probably listening to hear what we were talking about. Nosey parkers.

But then I had been the object of fascination for years. My father’s wealth and status along with our titles had seen to that.

I was Lady Amber-Leigh Swift, heiress to Lord Jonathan Charles Swift’s billions. I had dropped the Leigh part when I’d hit puberty. The full version of my name with the added title had always felt over the top.

As well as the money, I was also envied for being fortunate enough to have been born with my late mother’s beauty and a pretty-decent body; albeit one that I had to work hard at. I wasn’t the type of girl who could eat anything and get away with it, but I had everything else on a plate (no pun intended).

At five foot two, I possessed a petite build with a decent-sized chest and a small waist. My tummy was flat and toned, something Mia always complimented me on. When I let my hair down it fell to my waist in chestnut waves. I say chestnut as that’s preferable to admitting I was ginger. My skin was pale and luckily, the only freckles I had inherited were on my nose. My mother’s had been all over her body. I say had as she sadly passed away when I was twelve. God, how I missed her.

To everyone on the outside looking in, I was a Queen. And yet, I wasn’t. I was a square peg wedged into a round hole.

It was all a big fat lie.

I was no Queen. A Queen worked hard, looked after her subjects, and fought for what was right. She served her country; I did fuck all and lately, I wasn’t proud of that fact .

Everything I had was given to me on that previously mentioned plate. I was twenty-one years old and had achieved nothing .

As far as the label ‘poor little rich girl’ went, I was all over that and then some. I still lived in the family mansion, was waited on by a houseful of staff and had a driver who would take me anywhere I wanted to go. Even my Nanny still lived on the grounds.

In a nutshell, I was as pathetic as shit and had nothing to call my own.

To add insult to injury, due to my previous relationship and what had happened afterwards, I was also viewed through a veil of pity, and at times that felt even worse.

Not many people knew about that period of my life as my father had paid to keep it out of the media. The sole reason for this was to protect his little princess of course, and not to protect the prince, a man who was anything but in my family's eyes. The label, ‘twisted bastard’ sprung into my mind.

But that’s a story for another time. I was done dwelling in the past. That’s partly why I accepted my father’s suggestion to work on one of his latest projects. It allowed me to spread my wings and decide what I wanted to do with my life. Well, the rest of it, having already squandered the second half of my teenage years.

Michael Jackson said it best; I’d been looking at my man in the mirror for the last five years and didn’t like what I saw. It was time to make that change.

There was one good thing to come out of my teens. And that came in the form of Mia Huntington-Smith. The one true friend who had stuck by me even after I’d made such a mess of things. Mia was also from a wealthy family and privileged like me but as down to earth as they came.

We’d met at a group therapy session and there had been an instant rapport. Mia was tall and slim with chocolate brown hair and curious eyes .

Over the last several years, she’d developed her own channel and was a fashion vlogger and influencer on YouTube. My friend now had thousands of followers and was a career woman in her own right.

I helped her with her inbox occasionally as she received hundreds of emails every week. It gave me something to do. There was nothing worse than too much time on your hands. Thoughts drifted and questions of ‘what if’ surfaced when you had too much thinking time.

Mia was the type of friend I could spend precious time binge-eating and getting shit-faced with whilst we put the world to rights. She never made me feel like the poor little rich girl or the pet project I was, and she never pitied me. There was also no jealousy from her, not one iota and she listened, like really listened. Mia was the only one who knew the full truth of what had happened in my first-ever sexual relationship. My father and those he’d employed to psychoanalyse when it had ended thought they knew, but they didn’t have a clue. Not really.

Speaking of the devil, my phone started vibrating and I pushed to my feet, quickly thanking Rory who had paid for my drink. I had agreed to dinner the following night and would meet him at a restaurant called Felice’s. It was on the opposite side of the city, but I had the luxury of Dexter, my driver, who also doubled up as a bodyguard. Thankfully, after years of nagging, my father had cut down my security detail. I was a wealthy woman and there was always the risk of being taken (again). That was another reason I now kept my social life out of the media. It hadn’t taken long for the paps to lose interest, as I’d retreated from appearing in public, they had soon gotten bored and moved on to someone else.

As I made my way over to the office I was using, I spoke briefly to Mia on my iPhone. She was in the process of trying to break up with her boyfriend Carl but he wasn’t having any of it. Carl was the clingy type and Mia had always wanted to travel the world once her inheritance kicked in .

When Mia turned twenty-two, she would have access to even more wealth. She had told Carl that she didn’t want to be held back from travelling. Carl now ran his family's business so he wasn’t in a position where he could just drop everything. Mia would be able to vlog from anywhere.

I wanted to go with her, but I wasn’t sure how I’d ever be able to snap my father’s apron strings. He’d probably have me followed. Daddy was overprotective.

My friend started to complain that she hadn’t had sex in over a week. Like that was a long time. “I keep crying so I can remember what it feels like to be wet.”

I got the giggles.

Mia had a great sense of humour and was probably the only person who could make me laugh.

After I’d attempted to put out her recent fire, I ended the call and walked into the cabin where my temporary desk was.

The project was still in the early stages of development and several storage containers had been turned into offices. Max’s chambers were above the one where I had been dumped and you accessed it by steps that ran externally against the unit. I could always guess when he was in a mood from the sound of his footsteps. Max liked to pace around when he was upset and most days you could hear him stomping.

Each container had large windows to allow you to see what activity there was on site. I was only allowed certain places as I had yet to be given the appropriate PPE. I knew my wings had been clipped on purpose as Max didn’t really want me there. I’d moaned to him the other day about being stuck at my desk all the time; hence him offering me the opportunity to front questions that day. Like that had done me any favours.

The project was only in its second phase of construction. We were building a bar to connect to an existing hotel and I found the process interesting. Although I’d only been there a few weeks, I’d learnt loads. And from him , of all people, Maxim James Hunter. Not that I would tell him that, his ego was already the size of London.

As I pushed back into the horrendously uncomfortable chair, I went through my phone, swiping away and smiling at a few TikToks.

“Is that thing glued to your hand?” came a familiar voice. I guiltily lowered the offending device as Max strode into my office. He looked larger than life in the small space and as he approached my desk with a not-too-happy expression, I wished I wasn’t sitting down. It made me feel vulnerable and on edge.

I mentally prepared myself for a showdown as he towered over me. My tongue was my only protection against him. I was a bitch on purpose to keep the wolf at bay. Although he tried to hide it, the attraction between us ran both ways.

“I suppose you’ve brought the procurement plan so you can gloat?” I questioned.

“You think I’m that petty?”

“You really want to pull at that thread?” I replied, keeping my tone bland.

My spine stiffened as he perched on the edge of my desk close to my laptop. A device which looked out of place due to it being surrounded by my make-up bag, face cream and a couple of bottles of perfume.

The sweet air which surrounded my workspace started to become choked by Max’s masculine aura.

From his body language, I could read he was in attack mode, his usual mood around me. Over the last few weeks, I had got used to how far I could go with him when in said mood. I’d seen Max laying into a couple of sub-contractors that had fucked up last week and the only way to describe his temper would be nuclear.

A muscle jumped in my jaw, “What do you want, Max?”

He dashed a hand down his face. He could glare all he wanted to, but I could see he was tired. Running such a large organisation took it out of a person, as did the constant partying and womanising I knew he participated in regularly. I tried to block out Mia’s gossip that she’d been told he was extremely well-hung. I suppose he would be when he was huge everywhere else.

Max Hunter was a bit of an enigma. I was surprised he had enough hours in the day, running a large company as well as an abundance of hookups. He also juggled a serious bromance with his best friend Gabriel aka Gabe Knight. I had heard of the Knights before meeting Max and they were not a family one trifled with having connections with some dodgy people, so I’d heard.

They were also a big deal in the legal world and Gabriel himself was a highly decorated law student. Why anyone would choose a career covering up other people’s fuck ups was beyond me. I’d only met him once and he was OK. The boys were joined at the hip though and so their relationship was anything but healthy.

Max was staring down his nose at me with an odd expression, wonderment possibly?

“Well, are you going to tell me what you want?” I repeated the question as I hated being left to stew. That knocked him out of his daze.

“You,” he replied flatly.

My pulse twitched, “Sorry?” I suddenly felt appallingly nervous.

His whisky eyes gleamed, “To do some bloody work.”

I felt a ripple of irritation. The man was such a slave driver and loved bossing people around. Luckily, I managed to rein in my petulant outburst.

“I am working,” I said calmly enough, pulling my chair further up to the desk and attempting to log on to my computer, which I failed to do. Drat. The message to say I had one more try came up. I gave in and glared up at Max. His looming presence was the reason I couldn’t remember my bloody password.

“You can wipe the sour look off your face. You haven’t even logged on yet. You’ve spent the morning flirting, drinking coffee and chatting with your friends from the looks of things,” Max scolded .

I scowled. The guy had a point but I would be damned if I’d apologise. He wasn’t my boss, not really. He was showing me the ropes as a favour to my father. I wasn’t even getting paid.

“Well, you clearly don’t have anything better to do if you have the time to spy on me,” I pointed out tartly, pressing the enter key on the keyboard of my laptop a little too hard. His gaze flicked to the monitor’s blank screen.

“I wasn’t spying on you. It’s my job to monitor what my employees are doing.” His expression couldn’t have got any smugger. The man had an answer to everything.

I pushed back in my chair, to give myself some space and this caused Max to slide off the edge of my desk and lean over it. I watched as he planted both hands on the surface, his eyes drilling into mine. He loomed over me, vibrating with dark impatience.

“Stop fraternising with my staff and speak to your friends on your own time. You’re here to learn about project management. That’s the only reason you are here,” Max lectured.

“Fine, is that all?”

“No that is not all. Did you take a phone message for me recently?

I released a loud, elongated sigh. “Not that I remember.”

Max quirked me a look to say he didn’t believe me. “Really, no one called me from the Council?”

BOOM!

Ah, yes. I had taken a call for Max. “Oh, yeah. Robert someone?” I attempted to keep an innocent note in my tone knowing what was coming.

A muscle in his jaw started to tick. “Please don’t tell me you told Roger Beresford to go fuck himself,” Max growled.

Sticking my nose high, I replied coolly, “Fine I won’t.”

I’d taken a call from that pig of a man for Max on Friday and he’d been thoroughly offensive. Talking to me like I was a silly empty-headed secretary .

Max released a huff and looked toward the ceiling, his body was so tense, that you could almost see the angry vibes rolling off his shoulders. He took a beat to gather himself before he cast me a look so sharp it could have cut glass. “Are you intentionally trying to crap all over this project?”

As if I’d purposely try to screw him over. Yes, he annoyed me but I wasn’t the type to ruin a man’s livelihood. I lowered my chin, a hurt expression tugging at my features. “No. I'm not, as you so eloquently put it, trying to crap over anything. He was rude to me.” I attempted to sound like I was the one who had been wronged. And I had been, sort of.

Max rubbed the scruff of his jaw. “So, what, he was rude to you. Couldn’t you just suck it up like anyone else would have done?” I noticed the sleeves of his horrendous shirt were now rolled back, revealing his thickly veined forearms.

Leaning back in my chair I gave him a like-for-like glare. “No. I couldn’t just suck it up Max,” I huffed. Offended that he thought I’d allow anyone to treat me like shit. And yes, I did once but that was in the past. I wasn’t the same girl anymore.

I watched as he started to knead the back of his neck, his hand furiously working the muscles there. Goodness, he was cross. He momentarily pinched his nose between his thumb and finger and closed his eyes whilst stating. “In business, the world is full of idiots but with the important ones you have to play nice.” Max dropped his hand and shot me a pointed glare as he added. “On occasion, we all have to take one for the team.”

Take one for the team! As if.

Feeling put out I muttered. “ Not going to happen. I don't ‘take one’ for anyone thank you very much. Not anymore.” I said the last bit under my breath.

He shifted from one foot to the other. He couldn’t keep still. “What does that mean?” Max stropped off before fisting his hands by his sides. Probably to stop himself from shaking the shit out of me. I can honestly say, the man looked like he wanted to murder me in cold blood .

I crossed one leg over the other and allowed my foot to bounce, trying to appear at ease. “ Exactly that. I'm no man's little bitch. He spoke to me like I was his lackey. He knows better now.” I noticed Max’s eyes skimmed briefly over my exposed thigh before he recovered.

He then exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he lowered his voice as Anne, his mean-looking assistant walked past the window. The old bat was making her way up to the office they shared. “He could stop my license. Do you get that? No license, no liquor which equals no bar, Amber. You need to call him and apologise.”

Shooting Max a dismissive look, I started pressing the keys on my laptop. “I don’t think that will cut it, to be honest. He was rather upset. Roger gave me another message for you after the first one with a totally different tone.”

He looked at me like I was a lost cause. “And you were going to deliver this message to me, when?”

“Err, now?” I began sweetly, clearly enjoying his annoyance.

“And?”

“You’re not going to like it,” I pointed out, pulling an eek expression with my lips.

“Try me.”

I paused for dramatic effect. “Well, he said if you want the license you’ll have to go down to his office and suck his dick.”

“Brilliant,” Max snorted with disbelief, raking his hands through his hair. I watched as Max prowled back and forth in front of my desk. Oops.

His next words were muttered under his breath. “Fuck. This is so not fixable. I order you to call Beresford and apologise.”

“No. I have my pride just like you have yours.”

“You're going to give me a stroke, woman,” Max said whilst making a forlorn sound .

“Firstly, don’t call me ‘woman’ and secondly, if that happens, you can blame the twenty-a-day death sticks you choke on.”

Max was a smoker.

“Do you even care that you could have fucked over the project? Is this all just shits and giggles to you?”

“I don’t think you see me laughing and of course not. I’m here to learn. I took the call as you weren’t available. I did it to help.”

“Well, please don’t do me any more favours. From now on, you don’t answer any calls,” he stated.

“Fine. It sounds like someone needs his fix,” I scoffed, ignoring how he made me feel like a schoolgirl. I hated the fact that this man could pull so much emotion out of me without even trying.

“What did you say?” Max snapped briskly. Baiting this man was nothing short of foolish but hey ho, that’s me.

I refused to allow him to intimidate me. Sticking my nose in the air, a move I had perfected over the years, I pointed out, “You obviously need a date with a nicotine patch.” I had mentioned him smoking in the past and knew it got to him.

In my opinion, smoking was a weakness and Max thought that too if my mentioning it riled him so much. It was funny really, as his breath was never smoky. He was probably a gum chewer, another nasty habit.

“You’re such an ungrateful little bitch.”

“Sticks and stones,” I muttered.

“ And lazy.”

Max continued to look down that razor blade of a nose, frustration curling between us.

Where the hell did he get off, talking to me like that? No one had ever dared called me a bitch, well, not to my face anyway .

My lip curled in annoyance. “How am I lazy? You haven’t told me what you want me to work on today,” I pointed out with a head tilt.

“I sent you an email first thing. One which you still haven’t managed to reply to.”

Ah, oh dear.

Max then shoved back from my desk and motioned towards it with a sweep of one hand. “And clear your girly shit away, this is supposed to be an office , Amber,” he stated, motioning my make-up and stuff with a wave of his hand; items I considered essentials.

A silence stretched between us as the cogs whirred in his set-pot of a head. I imagined there was an Amber section up there. A tidy little place where he filed all the nasty names he wanted to call me. If Max had branded me as a bitch, so be it.

“Fine. I’ll tidy my desk. Anything else you’d like to add to the list?”

The silence stretched as a cocktail of thoughts washed across his face.

Max rolled his shoulders and then said, “I want you to write a report on how you think the best project managers spend their time. I want a thousand words and it needs to be in my inbox by Sunday. Got it?”

A fricking essay? What the actual hell? Max knew I wanted some action on site but kept forcing paperwork shit on me. He could be such a demanding dick, a thousand words indeed! His request was clearly a punishment for the back chat from earlier.

“Well?” he said, leaning towards me.

The scent of his aftershave hit my nose, and my goodness it was nice. Drat, why did he have to be so good-looking and yet not have any clue on how to speak to a woman? One he wasn’t intending on shagging anyway, not now we worked together, it would be against the rules.

My cheeks flushed, “Fine. I’ll do your stupid report,” I agreed, not in a position to tell him where to stick his request .

“And what about the practical side of things? I want to be on-site more instead of just being in the yard.” Most of the stuff I had been lumbered with was office-based. I wanted to get out there, not necessarily get my hands dirty but at least see how the plans on paper were executed.

“When you dress the part for starters,” he said with a slight sneer, unfolding before me like a block of unleashed temper. And there it was again, derogatory comments about my clothing.

I pushed to my feet and jammed my hands onto my hips, shoving out my chest. I refused to let him intimidate me as I knew I looked nice. I had been doing office-based stuff and so had dressed appropriately, having googled it a few weeks ago. If he’d told me I would be on site, I could have come prepared. I had a walk-in wardrobe and therefore an outfit for any occasion.

I managed to keep my tone light. “OK so for site work, we’re talking about boots, jeans, and a sweater? Is that what you imagine me wearing?”

A thoughtful expression crossed his face but the context of it was hard to read. I watched as a slow smile tugged at his lips. “You don’t want to know what I imagine you wearing, Amber.”

The way he said that sentence was pure sin and before I could reply, my nipples tightened in my bra. My body’s reaction was not welcome, how could I be so turned on by words alone?

Max had managed to fluster me and my mouth parted but my tongue felt like lead. Maybe it was smarter not to respond to that.

The space between us suddenly felt sexually charged and he must have felt that too, I could see that flicker of desire in the amber pools of his eyes. I hated how the prospect of his words suddenly fired me up so much.

He eventually recovered, his expression switching again to that of the boss, “As I said, I want that report by Sunday at the latest and make it good. I need to give Jonny an update on your progress. Wouldn’t want Daddy to cut you out of your trust fund for being a disappointment, would we?” he drawled before turning away and striding towards the door. I felt like saying ‘That’s Lord Swift to you’ but held my tongue. My father thought the sun shone out of Max’s backside for some reason.

I flipped him off behind his back but at the sound of my iPhone ringing, he turned with raised eyebrows, catching me. Shit.

Quickly withdrawing my finger, I ignored the call, and leaned over my desk, pretending to read something on my screen.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Max questioned with a semi-amused expression.

Shooting him my starchiest look, I replied, “No. I’m working.”

Max nodded his head with a hint of a smile, “It’s about time.” For once I didn’t detect any sarcasm. After one last look, he turned and left.

I plopped down on the chair behind me feeling hot all over. I needed to have words with my body. She needed to be let out of her cage, but Max Hunter was and never would be the one to free that side of me. After that first day of meeting him and the unwanted emotions I’d felt at his nearness, I knew I would have to keep him at arm's length.

So, I would be my best bitch and annoy the hell out of him. An angry man would mean loss of control and therefore easier to manipulate or fight. I had learnt that from the best of teachers.

One day I would get the better of Max Hunter and I would milk the hell out of it.