19. Natalie
19
NATALIE
W hen we hated each other, being close to Matt ground on my last nerve. Now, as friends, I’m still just as agitated.
He’s the romantic one. He’s the one who can’t separate sex from feelings. So why can he act like nothing ever happened between us and be a perfect gentleman and friend?
And why does that bother me?
It’s what I wanted, right?
But having his attention is like a drug. And this friendly attention should be close, but it’s nowhere near enough.
I even tried to get more. I added a special sway to my hips in my tightest skirt yesterday and nothing. My moans while I ate the dim-sum were downright pornographic, but he didn’t flinch.
And I’m not proud to say it only makes me want him more.
One the other hand, the way he knew which venue I liked the most? The way he knew my coffee order? That attention I don’t like.
Can I trade one for the other?
The fourth venue was...wow. Not only for the gala, but for the miniature part of me that wanted to get married a lifetime ago.
That small part would choose venue number four for her wedding. The same part wants to gatekeep it instead of using it for the gala, but the rational part of me prevails—like it always does.
Venue number four it is. I enter the important information into the spreadsheet for planning and cross off ‘finding a venue’ from my list. I still need to call and confirm everything, but the big part is done.
“Good news, everyone! I think we got ourselves a venue!” I exclaim at my team’s meeting. Everyone cheers, bright faces excited to see it.
I pull up the presentation I prepared, with photos of the venue.
“This is gorgeous,” Rina says, while the others ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ in satisfaction.
“Great, that’s done then. I’ll call the manager and Matt, you can accompany me to go sign the contract with them.”
“Sure,” he responds, unaffected by me. Even when I spent too much time this morning, looking for an outfit that is professional but revealing enough to affect him.
Huffing a breath, I get back to my desk after the meeting concludes. We’re making excellent progress, being slightly ahead of the timeline.
I answer all new emails and return a few calls before calling the manager of the chosen venue. We agree to meet tomorrow afternoon to go over the contract. In my peripheral vision, I see Matt entering the break room. He looks extra yummy today in a tight gray sweater and tan slacks. With the glasses, he’s once again the teacher from my fantasies. I follow him to the break room.
“Hey, tomorrow after lunch we’ll go to the venue to go over the contract, is that OK?”
“Sure, no problem,” he replies, sitting at the tiny table, poking the fork at his food.
Opening the fridge, I rummage through it, looking for the salad I brought for lunch. I know full well I left it on the top shelf, but I make a point of checking the bottom one while arching my back. I’m wearing my favorite jeans, and the fridge is directly in the eyesight of where he’s sitting, so why not use the opportunity.
Taking out the salad, I get up and turn around. He’s still poking at his food, completely unaware of my obviously lame attempt of seduction.
Letting out a quiet sigh, I join him at the table.
“Bon Appetit,” he says as I sit down.
“You, too.” His lunch, a poke bowl of sorts, is packaged in a glass container and he uses a wooden spork to eat it.
Of course, Mr. Nice Guy, who drives a hybrid and uses a reusable water bottle, also refrains from using plastic. I look down at my chicken salad, packaged in single-use plastic and my single use fork and frown.
“Everything OK?” he asks.
“Yeah, I just don’t feel like eating this.” I don’t bother explaining why his perfectly presentable persona grates on my nerves.
“Want to switch?” He doesn’t think twice before offering it.
“Oh, that’s fine. Thank you.”
“Probably a good call. I’ve been trying to meal prep, but cooking is definitely not my forte.” Ha! Finally, a thing he isn’t good at.
“Why not follow my lead, then?” I showcase my obviously bought salad.
“I do, sometimes. But I really want to get a hang of it. I’m hoping to have a family one day, and I’d like my kids to eat homemade meals.”
“Well, maybe your future wife will be a good cook?”
“Maybe. But I don’t want to depend on a woman having to cook mindset, you know?” Fuck. There he goes, being perfect again.
I nod and we continue eating in friendly silence. In another desperate attempt of seduction, I lean forward so my blouse shows an ample amount of my tits. His gaze turns up.
A-ha!
But he lowers it right away, being the gentleman he pretends to be. Fuck.
The whole thing is driving me insane.
I thought he was attracted to me. He certainly was attracted to me the few times we had sex. He even said he can’t resist me.
It obviously changed because he sure as hell can resist me now.
Is it weird I’m obsessed with it? Probably.
But sex is power. People wanting to have sex with you gives you power. And I like it.
Right now, it seems he has more of it and it’s unacceptable to me. I need to take it back.
The next day, I go full out. The tight pencil skirt with a slit up my left thigh leaves little to the imagination, the cream stilettos elongate my legs, and the silk cami with tiny straps has a hard time containing my boobs. I add a blazer, so I look more professional, and put on bright red lipstick.
Walking into the office, I feel like a million bucks. Rina eyes me warily, so I avoid her desk and go straight to mine. Today, we have a morning meeting on décor, so I step into the conference room and lean my hands on the desk.
“OK, everyone! We got the venue, now let’s see how’re going to make it more beautiful.” The pose makes my cami slip lower, and I notice Matt’s gaze on me for just a second before he moves it.
We’re back in the game, baby.
“Rina, let’s see what you thought of.”
One by one, team members present their décor ideas so we could decide on a theme together.
Last in line is Matt. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t prepare anything, being that this is the first gala he ever had the chance to plan, and he probably isn’t all that interested in décor.
“It’s ok, Matt, if you haven’t prepared anything,” I begin saying before he gets up and clears his throat.
“That’s ok. I did prepare something. The theme I’m proposing is...green,” he says, and confused looks circle the room. The only green I think of as I look at him is the green of his eyes.
“Stay with me. We all know green living and sustainability is a trending topic right now, as it should be. Also, it’s inseparably interconnected with poverty. So, I’m proposing our theme becomes more than that. I’m proposing a green gala,” he shows us pictures of gorgeous spaces decorated with an abundance of planted greens, “both in décor and in its essence. We can decorate the room with plenty of flowers, all planted because cutting them of isn’t eco-friendly, we can have a living wall photo drop, our goodie bags can contain reusable water bottles with the BYC logo, we could have a vegan menu, and so on and so forth.”
I spot Anne, and she has literal heart eyes. Looking around the room, the others aren’t far behind. Nice Guy Matt has them all under his thumb.
“I didn’t go further, since I don’t have experience with these things.” He shrugs.
“Thank you, Matt.” I get back up. “So, what do you guys think? Can we decide on a style today?”
“Umm, I really loved Matt’s idea,” Adrianna, another coworker of ours, says. The room fills with ‘Me, too’ murmurs.
Of course. His idea was great, but the fact they’re eating out of his hand annoys me.
“Raise your hands for Matt’s idea!” All hands eagerly arise.
“I guess that’s settled,” I continue. “The theme for this year’s gala is green.” Excited squeals fill the room. “Next week, we’ll divvy up the smaller tasks, so deal with your regular work and prepare to be busy.” We all know to expect it. Working overtime will become a rule over the next few weeks, but having Matt here is more helpful than I expected.
After the meeting, I deal with my regular work—posting on the BYC’s social media accounts and organizing Kiara’s PR schedule. This time of year, we try to maximize our media presence so the gala will be a hit event. A lot is riding on its success. The last year’s gala enabled us to hire another employee and implement some new programs for the kids.
Soon, lunch time is done, and it’s time for Matt and me to leave the office. I scarfed down a sandwich at my desk, wanting to deal with as many tasks as possible.
If I’m being honest, I love it. The organizing, the multitasking, crossing off items from my to-do lists. I somehow thrive in the fast-paced environment.
“I can drive today,” I say as we enter the elevator.
“It’s OK. I’ll drive.”
“Fine.” It’s not like I mind watching him grip the steering wheel.
I make a point of stepping out of the elevator first, leaving him an uninterrupted view of my ass.
Done with the Nice Guy routine, I’m hoping to get a glimpse of Matt who fucked me on the conference room desk...and the bar restroom...and the open deck of a yacht.
Damn, public places are a theme for us.
In the car, I slowly cross my left leg over the right, letting the slit of the skirt open up, showing a good piece of my leg. The only sign he noticed it is the twitch in his forearms, but that’s enough for me. The tension grows until we arrive at the venue.
I turn to him in front of the entrance.
“Do I have any lipstick on my teeth?” I show my teeth, running my tongue all over them. He gulps, audibly gulps, and victory blooms in my stomach.
“No, you’re good.”
“Thank you.” I flash him a dazzling smile. I can’t remember the last time I tried to seduce someone. Not to sound conceited, but it was easy so far. Most guys I met were so thrilled I’m not interested in a relationship; it was enough for them to chase me.
But this, Matt, is a challenge. One I plan to conquer.
The manager gives us another quick guide of the room before he and Matt step into legal talk. I walk around, memorizing the important details for our event.
“Thank you. We’ll have the contract signed and delivered by next week.” Matt informs the manager.
“Thank you for choosing us. I have a meeting starting soon, but I can walk you out before,” he responds after checking his watch.
“Actually,” I interrupt. “If it’s ok, we’d like to stay a bit longer. Take some photos and do some brainstorming for the décor here inside the space.”
“Sure, no problem. Take as long as you’d like. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” He shakes both of our hands before leaving.
The space has amazing potential. I already have a ton of ideas for decorations, but it’s not the real reason I wanted us to stay behind.
There’s a challenge I plan to win. Unbuttoning my blazer, I set it on the nearest chair, and look around the room. The round tables, chairs surrounding it, the chandeliers.
“I need to check something,” I declare before starting to climb up a chair.
“What are you doing?” His voice is half-angry.
“I need to check the chandeliers for something.”
“I’ll do it.” He starts pulling me back from the chair.
“You don’t even know what to look for. I’ll do it.” He sighs loudly.
“Fine. But at least take off the heels.”
“Sure.” I smile because that was also a part of my plan.
I sit down on the chair and slowly start taking off my shoes. My cami dips low, and I hear him take a deep breath.
Now barefoot, I get back on the chair. Realizing I’m still not tall enough, I step onto the table.
“You’re going to break your back,” he groans.
“Help me out then.” Another groan comes when he realizes that by coming closer to hold me, my ass is in front of his face.
And I don’t help him, no. I push my ass out as I step on my tippy toes to check on an imaginary part of a chandelier. His hands are featherlight on my hips.
“Done,” I say brightly.
“What were you looking for?” he asks as I sit down on the table.
“Just something for a decoration I have in mind.” I shrug it off. “Can you please help me put my shoes back on? This skirt and squatting don’t mix.” Suspicion crosses his face.
“Mhm,” he responds, unconvinced. He starts with my right foot, putting my stiletto on. I lean forward, so my cami reveals the tops of my boobs, and he sucks in a breath.
A second passes before he looks up at me.
“What are you trying to do?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m really sorry if I misjudged this,” he motions between us, “but are you trying to seduce me?”
“And what if I was?” It’s not what I hoped for, but at least he got the hint.
“I would tell you what I told you before. You’re going to have to make the first step if you’d like anything to happen between us.” Both of my heels are on, and he gets up from the floor, turning to look around the room.
Fuck. He is a hard nut to crack.
“What’s there?” I point to the entrance to the ballroom. Next to it, there’s a door with a bar-like opening on the left of it.
“It’s probably the coatroom.”
I head toward the door, curious to see it, but more curious to get him in a less open space.
The door opens easily, and we both step inside. The room consists of dark walls with multiple clothes racks extended from the wall. Numerous hangers hang from the rack and a long shelf sits on top of it.
In here, we’re completely secluded from the outside world. The counter area gives a free view of the ballroom, but we would hear if someone were to get in through the entrance. It’s perfect.
“I’ve never been in one of these,” he says with a smile. The smile turns to shock when I press my palm on his chest and push his back against the wall.
“You wanted me to make the first step...” I shrug, acting unaffected, although my pulse pumps wildly. Bringing my hands to the skirt, I lift it slightly up before making my way to kneel on the plush, dark red carpet.
Nice Guy Matt is still here, evident by the surprise on his face, but as his eyes darken, I know the other Matt I know will soon replace him. He just needs a little help.
I glide my hands up his knees, over his thighs, all the way to his belt. His breath hitches.
“What are you doing?” he says, his voice pained.
“What you’ve told me...” I work on unclasping his belt buckle and slide the belt out of his pants. I press the belt into his hand. He’ll need it.
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t what I meant...”
“Really? You can tell me, with all honesty, that you never imagined this?” My words taunt him.
I unzip his slacks, revealing his hard cock underneath the thin fabric of his boxers.
He swallows.
Sliding both the pants and boxers down, I grip his cock with my hand.
“Fuck . . .” he groans out.
“That’s what I thought.” I smirk, looking directly into his eyes before licking the precum of the tip of his cock.