Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Opal
The building where he works is understated like him — bold lines with smooth accents. Sexy and restrained. A sleek metal sign bearing his name stretches above the entrance, catching the light.
Is this man for real?
The doorman greets me as though he’s been waiting all night for me to arrive.
I gasp as I step inside the lobby. This place is gorgeous. It’s refined yet powerful, just like Mr. Lennox himself.
The gleaming marble floors, the perfectly arranged floral displays, the silent precision of the staff — it all feels choreographed but effortless at the same time.
And it looks more like an airport terminal than an office building lobby. There’s a fancy coffee place, along with a smoothie shop. There are so many people, and they all seem to be heading to different destinations.
Beautiful women are taking videos of themselves on their phones, and guys even younger than me in sweatpants and flip-flops type furiously into laptops, completely oblivious to the world around them.
This is a class of people who want notoriety. The people who want to have their name and face out there, and the ones who are going to work hard to get it.
And even still, each person is cordoned off in their own little world.
We are in the midst of a loneliness epidemic, and even the hot and powerful Julian Lennox isn’t immune from it.
It reminds me why I’m here. He’s so hard-pressed to have a connection with someone, that he has to pay me to do it.
The man with the most money, power, and influence in this city doesn’t want to meet a woman and settle down.
He wants something he can fit into his schedule between racketball and happy hour, and have a steamy little release without having to go through everything that normally goes along with it.
I look over at the front desk and spot him striding past it, looking like the hot boss he is.
The front-desk people perk up and smile when they see him.
The women tuck their hair behind their ears and the guys adjust their ties.
It’s clear that the men want to be him, and the women want to let him rearrange their DNA.
The buzz around me seems to melt away as he gets closer. The sea of people seems to freeze to let him through. He gives off the most unmistakable energy. He’s like a magnet — drawing you in, making it hard to look away — but he’s also untouchable.
Today he’s wearing something more buttoned-up and formal than yesterday. Charcoal gray suit, crisp white shirt, navy tie knotted just right, expression unreadable—except for the faint curl of a smirk when he sees me.
God help me.
He doesn’t break stride as he approaches; he just looks at me like I’m already his. Like I’ve been his since our first meeting.
And maybe I have.
“Ms. Harper,” he says, low and smooth like heat on bare skin. He stops when he’s a few feet away from me, looking me up and down in a way that is hot and heavy but not disrespectful at all. “Opal…you look…just absolutely incredible.”
He may not be looking at me disrespectfully, but my thoughts are anything but chaste.
I can feel my arousal making its way past the impossibly tiny thong I’m wearing, and even though I’m hot all over and my limbs feel heavy, a chill runs through me and my nipples become hard.
They might rip right through the expensive lace bra I’m wearing.
“Mr. Lennox,” I manage, tipping my head down, somehow keeping my voice steady even though I’m dying on the inside. “Thank you. This building is gorgeous. And your name on the front of it…it’s a nice touch. I like it.”
His voice goes deeper.
“Consider it a reminder of who you belong to.”
My body and soul seem to fuse together when I hear those words.
He starts to walk to the far wall of the lobby, where there’s a line of elevators with people streaming in and out.
I almost have to sprint just to keep up with him.
We bypass the elevators entirely, instead making a turn into a hallway with just a single elevator.
It’s like a mini lobby, with its own front desk and a security guard, standing still and expressionless with his hands clasped in front of him and his jaw tight.
Mr. Lennox pulls out two keycards and hands one to me.
“Don’t lose this,” he says. “You and I are the only two people in the world who have one.”
He taps a panel on the wall and the elevator door opens immediately. Once we get inside, there are only two buttons — one for the lobby, and one for “The Lennox Group.”
“How are there only two floors in this building?” I say, my brow wrinkling.
“This is the express elevator to my offices on the top floor.” He gives me a quick, small smile as he dips his keycard into a slot. “This elevator will only stop there, and the lobby. You’re never to be alone with another man. You will use this elevator, and only this elevator.”
A shiver runs up my spine. Mr. Lennox notices.
“Are you cold?” he says, his voice lurching, lined with a vague, free-floating tone of displeasure.
No. I’m actually hot. But you’re way hotter.
“A little bit,” I say, even though it’s a lie.
I wrap my arms around me. He removes his jacket and sweeps it around my shoulders, maintaining a respectful distance between us.
I grab the lapels of his jacket and pull it tighter around me.
It smells like him — deep orange and a hint of something dark and moody.
The elevator door opens, whisper-quiet, arriving at the top floor before I even know we’ve left.
"Come," he says, ushering me to an enormous glass wall with two doors situated in the center.
“Whoa," I whisper to myself as we walk the perimeter of the open floorplan. The cubicles have half-walls, workers peeking over them to confer, everyone clearly working their asses off but convivial with each other.
He glances over his shoulder at me, I guess to make sure that I haven't run away out of embarrassment or plain old I-don't-belong-here energy.
We round a corner, ushering us into an even higher level of sophistication. The walls are sleek, dark wood, and though the floor beneath my nervous feet is dark hardwood and my heels click in these nice new shoes, the floor seems to dampen the sounds around me.
All so I can hear my heart slamming in my chest. All so I can sense the blood whooshing through my veins.
I follow him down the hallway, having to hustle to keep up. The hallway is dotted with abstract artwork, each with a little light above it to illuminate them, just like in a museum.
But Mr. Lennox is the real work of art. Now that I have his jacket wrapped around me and I can get a really good, up-close look, I remember what I dreamed about last night. And I know what I’m going to dream of tonight, too.
There are two doors at the end of the hallway. He stops in front of them and undoes his cuff links, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to reveal a whole Sistine Chapel level of artwork on his forearms.
There’s a tidy desk across from the doors, with a neat stack of folders and a large computer screen.
“Is this where you want me to sit?” I ask.
“No,” he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, digging a set of keys out of his pocket. “I am not sticking you in some shitty hallway.”
“It’s not that bad,” I say. “It’s better than the den of sin you rescued me from.”
He throws me a sharp look, his eyes shifting into something darker, his jaw clenching; he doesn’t seem to like being reminded that I was in that place, listening to other guys’ voices, letting them share me.
I shudder when I think about it. I’m just grateful that he got me out of there before I had to shift into actual dirty-talk mode. I just hope I can do it for him.
Should I tell him the truth? Admit that I’m basically scamming him? He expects me to be a baller, a sexy-talking storyteller who can spin him a world of erotic role-playing and sensual delights, but instead, I’m just a desperate virgin.
“This is where you will be working.” He unlocks the door and with a swift motion swings the door open. “Your office.”
“Here?" I say.
"Yes," he says with a gentle nudge. "Go ahead."
I step inside.
This office looks like something you'd see in a movie about a girl boss. All of the furniture is white and light shades of peachy pink. A long conference table near the windows has a breakfast spread so luxurious that it would make Marie Antoinette blush.
I marvel up at him as he steps past me into the room. He walks to the desk and pulls the chair out for me.
"Come sit," he says, patting the back of the chair.
I walk to him cautiously, gingerly. His eyes are commanding and reassuring, and I so want to do what he says, but…what the hell is going on here? None of this is even remotely necessary.
“Thank you,” I say as I slip into the chair. “You’re a very good boss.”
“Don’t judge me yet,” he says, spinning the chair so I’m looking up at him. “We haven’t even started."
I grip the armrests. Now I'm sitting before this towering man, small as a little creature and definitely just as vulnerable.
"I'll be in the office next to this one," he says.
I nod my head up and down, a squeak coming through my throat.
He turns me around again so I'm facing my desk.
“Remember,” he says. “Answer when I call. I don’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing. You see my name, and you drop what you’re doing.”
I nod.
“Will do, boss,” I say, biting my lip.
“And remember, Ms. Harper,” he says. “If you fail to execute your duties, there will be grave repercussions.”
My throat goes dry.
“What kind of repercussions?”
“The kind of repercussions that will keep you up all fucking night.”
“I’d gladly stay up all night if it’s for you,” I whisper.
He lets out a sharp breath and turns to leave my new office.
“Do you want the door open or closed?” he says.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
“Closed.”
“Good choice.”
With a final look, he leaves, closing the door behind him.
And I’ll be here, waiting for his call with bated breath.