Like a Boss

Chapter 4

I can’t believe I listened to Hannah, as her plan to trial if Mr. Fox likes me or not is ridiculous. But it’s too late now.

After a weekend filled with copious amounts of ice cream and Bradley Cooper, I decided that this job is way too important for me to mess up. Apart from my boss, I actually love everything about it. I won’t allow whatever is happening or not happening between Mr. Fox and me to affect my performance. I’m here to do a job, and that is all. I’m only participating in today’s experiment to humor my best friend.

“You look hot,” Hannah whispers from the side of her mouth.

“I look like a hooker,” I amend, ignoring the looks of my male colleagues as we walk down the hallway.

“Hardly. You can barely see it.”

The moment I make eye contact with Ken, I groan. I fiddle with the button on my blouse while Hannah smacks my hand away.

“Hi, girls,” Ken says, jogging to catch up to us.

Mr. Fox’s words from Friday night ring loudly, and I scowl. “Hi, Ken. Did you have a nice weekend?”

Hannah looks at me strangely while Ken smiles. “I did, except why did you bail Friday?”

I nearly fall over my feet. “I wasn’t feeling too well. Sorry I left without saying goodbye.”

“That’s okay. As long as you’re okay now. So, are you free for lunch?”

Internally flipping Tiger off, I nod. “I am.”

“Great. Well, I usually go to this sushi bar down the road—” His eyes drop to my chest midsentence. It appears Hannah’s plan has worked—but on the wrong person.

“Sounds great. I’ll meet you at twelve thirty.”

He looks surprised. As does Hannah. “Great, okay, see you then.” Giving my chest one final glance, he turns around and walks back the way he came.

The daunting glass door haunts me, but I pull back my shoulders. “I’ll talk later, Han.” I lean forward, giving her a hug.

“Good to see your outfit works. Although, it’s meant for Tiger, not your admirers. I want hourly updates.”

Muting a laugh behind my hand, I push open the door, hating how loudly my heels click on the polished floor. Placing my bag on the desk, I see that I’m a couple minutes early. I use this time to gather my wits and feel comfortable with my wardrobe choice.

Hannah’s genius idea involved a cream blouse and the blue bra Tiger gave me. If he remains unmoved, then I know he’s a total heartless jerk, but if I get a rise out of him, then hooray for me. It’s very childish and will probably backfire, but let the sinning begin.

When 8:02 a.m. ticks over, I take a deep breath and push open Mr. Fox’s door with a staged confidence. He’s sitting behind his desk, head buried in paperwork. As expected, he ignores me. At least the first part of the plan has gone how I expected.

Sauntering over to him, I place his coffee cup down on his desk without a word. I wait a second, but when he continues working, I take that as my cue to leave. Turning on my heel, I almost run to the door, but stop when Tiger decides to talk.

“Ms. Young.”

I close my eyes, hating that I still respond to his voice this way.

“Yes,” I reply, my back still turned.

“My two p.m. meeting. I would like you in attendance to take notes.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ll be eating lunch in the office today. Could you please ensure I have turkey on rye at twelve forty-five p.m.?”

Great. There goes my lunch date with Ken.

“Not a problem.” My back is still turned as the more, he speaks, the stupider I feel.

“Am I that repulsive you can’t face me?” he asks a second later.

I refrain from saying yes, but instead turn slowly. The moment I do, his eyes drop to my chest, widening the moment he sees the color of my bra. It’s subtle, but in the sunlight, the blue is highlighted underneath my sheer blouse. His pupils dilate, and my god, when he shuffles in his seat, I know that Hannah’s plan has worked.

Mr. Unaffected appears totally affected and, for once, not guarding his emotions.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?” I say, standing confidently as he checks me out.

When he lifts his eyes, his jaw firm, I melt. He swallows hard before replying. “T-that will be all.”

I celebrate when I hear his stutter.

“Very well.” I nod, unable to stop my smirk as I turn and walk to the door.

“Oh, Ms. Young?”

“Yes?” I reply midstep.

“Thank you for the coffee.”

Now is not the time to gloat. When I do a little celebratory dance in the bathroom, then I can celebrate all I want. “You’re welcome, sir.”

The moment I close his office door behind me, I take a deep, victorious breath. Victory has never smelled this good.

Ken was disappointed I had to raincheck on lunch, but I promised it wouldn’t happen again. I don’t see anything happening with him, but I’m not turning down the offer to get to know him as a friend because this is what moving on entails.

But it’s all business as usual as I’m sitting beside Mr. Fox, taking notes like he asked. I’m thankful I’m busy because the close proximity is killing me. But I focus on the task at hand because it distracts me from how good Mr. Fox smells.

The meeting is with an up-and-coming, kooky software developer who is trying to pitch his program which ingeniously detects and eradicates spyware before it has a chance to attack your computer. It’s different to any that are out in the market at the moment, and I think his approach is quite clever. However, I don’t think Mr. Fox agrees.

Fox Technologies is one of the biggest technology firms in the country. If there is a new craze in the latest apps, phones, operating systems, websites, software and hardware, you can bet someone from Fox Technologies designed it. Mr. Fox has truly seen it all, so as Marshall Powers is flipping through his eighth slide, I dare say Mr. Fox has seen enough.

As he glances down at his Rolex, he makes no secret that Mr. Powers is wasting his time. I can’t help but feel for the guy.

“As you can see,” Mr. Powers says, fumbling with the remote and skipping to the wrong slide. Mr. Fox sighs and leans back in his seat, twirling his gold pen between his fingers, unimpressed.

When he finds the correct slide, he continues. “As I was saying, this program is able to eradicate the spyware or adware ninety-eight point one percent faster than other security programs out there. Our impenetrable firewall and…”

But he’s not permitted to finish. “Ninety-eighty point one percent?”

Mr. Powers pauses, looking over at me for guidance. I wish I could help, as I know what it feels like to be under Mr. Fox’s microscope. “Y-yes,” he stammers, pushing his thick-framed glasses up his nose.

Mr. Fox rocks back in his leather seat, tapping his pen on the table. I know what he’s thinking even before he speaks. For someone who demands perfection one hundred percent of the time, ninety-eight point one percent isn’t going to cut it.

“Thank you for sharing your vision, but I’m afraid I’m not interested. I simply cannot work with ninety-eighty point one percent. I demand excellence, Mr. Powers. If you can guarantee one hundred percent, then come see me, but now, you’re simply wasting my time.”

Ouch.

Mr. Powers doesn’t hide his disappointment, but he smartly doesn’t argue. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fox.” He acknowledges him with a brisk nod.

As I begin packing up, I feel his eagle eyes watching my every move. It appears Hannah’s plan has worked, not that it makes a difference. I was stupid to think things could ever eventuate between us. It was a one-time deal. A one-night only fling. We are two very different people, and although our bodies think as one, our brains are certainly not on the same wavelength.

I think Mr. Powers’s presentation was well presented and his ideas were ones Mr. Fox could work with. His figures were good, so was his outcome. He is someone Fox Technologies should be snapping up before someone else does. But that’s not my call to make.

As I pack up my laptop, I sense Mr. Fox is still watching me closely. I’ve never had a good poker face, and now is no exception.

“Ms. Young.” His curt voice is an indication that whatever he’s about to say will probably piss me off. “Do you have something you’d like to add?”

Gathering my wits, I decide to express what I believe in as I feel Marshall Powers would be a very valuable addition to Fox Technologies.

“I don’t mean to step out of line, Mr. Fox, but I think Mr. Powers’s ideas are quite clever and advanced. The data which he presented is quite impressive and regardless of the percentage, I don’t believe there ever will be a a hundred percent foolproof product, seeing as new hackers are arising every day, finding new ways to penetrate internet security.”

When Mr. Fox shifts in his seat, I lower my eyes and bite my lip. I’ve overstepped a line. But the appreciation radiating from Mr. Powers makes it worthwhile.

“But that’s just my opinion. The decision is ultimately yours,” I conclude.

Mr. Fox silently mulls over what I’ve just said, steepling his long fingers underneath his chin. Mr. Powers looks over at me and gives me an indebted smile.The room is at Mr. Fox’s mercy, waiting for him to speak. I sit calmly, but inside, my stomach is in knots.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “Mr. Powers, are you able to compile all the important parts of your presentation and email them to me?”

He almost falls over his feet. “Y-yes, of course.”

“Good. I’ll take another look over it, seeing as Ms. Young seems to believe in you.”

My calm exterior almost slips, but I remain stone-faced, quietly packing up my notepad and supplies.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Fox. I really appreciate this opportunity. I will have the data in your inbox by tomorrow morning.” Mr. Powers races over and shakes Mr. Fox’s hand as he stands.

“You have Ms. Young to thank, Mr. Powers. She seems to see something in you that I cannot. Maybe she can see the perfection through the imperfection.”

This time, I can’t hold on to my composure and my pen skitters along the smooth, polished table. Mr. Powers saves it from tumbling to the floor, thankfully not paying too much attention to my clumsiness.

They bid each other farewell, while I try not to read too much into Mr. Fox’s statement. As the boardroom door closes and Mr. Fox stands guard in front of it, I know I’m in trouble. My heart is still racing from his earlier comment, as I can’t help but believe there is a double meaning behind it.

Hugging my laptop to my chest, I meet the eyes of my predator. He doesn’t say a word, just continues dissecting me, tilting his head to the side. He looks remarkable in a light gray, three-piece suit. His whiskers are a little longer today, giving him a rougher-looking exterior—I like it.

“Is there anything further you require of me, sir?” I ask, unable to keep the tremble from my voice.

He leans against the wooden door, sill silent, still watching me with an unreadable stare.

I can feel the static, the electrical current, the moment he folds his arms over his chest. We’re high up, fifteen floors, and bounded by frosted glass. No one can help me up here. It’s just my Tiger and me.

“Yes.” The single word holds so much promise and chance. “Come here.” Those two words however are spiked with nothing but danger.

My feet act before my brain can scream at me for going against better judgment, but the moment I’m enveloped in his signature fragrance, I tell my good sense to hit the road.

He makes no secret that he’s looking at my breasts as his gaze drops to the front of my blouse. My chest begins rising and falling, my breathing choppy and winded. Pushing off the door, he strolls forward, stopping an inch away. His towering height dwarfs mine, but I won’t allow that to deter me. I lift my eyes, a silent challenge.

“Does it please you to know that your antics have left my cock hard all day?”

“W-what?” I stammer, almost gagging on my tongue.

But he doesn’t allow a moment to collect my thoughts. He latches on to my wrist and presses my hand against his semi-hard length. A stunned gasp catches in my throat—he’s been hard all day? Because of me?

Answering my silent question, he guides my fingers to rub over the growing predicament in his pants. He feels incredible and memories of what he felt like inside of me, has me rubbing harder, not needing further encouragement.

“Congratulations, Bluebird, you’ve won this round.” He gently removes his hand from mine, confident I will continue this show on my own, and I do.

Each movement has him growing harder and harder until he’s standing at full salute. Peering down timidly, my mouth waters and I’m mortified that I want a taste.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he hums, watching me as I envision dropping to my knees and blowing him in this fancy room.

I continue stroking him, quickening the pace, watching Tiger’s mouth part, his eyes locked with mine. With steady fingers, he reaches forward and begins unsnapping the buttons on my blouse. When I’m halfway undressed, he parts the material with a finger, growling the moment he sees my blue bra.

“This looks even better than I imagined it would. And I can assure you, I’ve been imagining.”

I try to stifle what his words are doing to me, but there’s no point. Just like he said the moment we first touched, he knows what my body wants. And right now, it wants him. No matter how hard I try to hate him or stop myself from wanting him, I end up wanting him all the more. My traitorous body wins out yet again.

His finger slides along the silk of my bra cup, sashaying up and down at a deliriously slow speed. When he continues the movement, skating onto my bare skin, my flesh breaks out in an inferno of need, and I cup his erection firmly.

He grunts and arches into my hold. “You impressed me today, Bluebird. That smart mouth of yours always does.”

“Thank you,” I falter, sighing when he slips his warm hand into my bra.

His experienced finger traces around my areola, which has my nipples turning into rock-hard peaks. He rolls my left nipple, cupping my full breast and massaging me with a firm, desperate need. “I didn’t appreciate these when I had the chance. Shame on me because they are fucking unbelievable. I better make up for lost time.”

Before I have time to voice my approval, he yanks down my bra cup, freeing my needy breast. Bending forward, he leisurely circles his wet tongue around my areola before drawing my nipple into his mouth. I cry out, my movement over his pants stilling, as all I can focus on is the way his mouth feels on me.

With one hand firmly affixed to my waist, he slithers the other down over my quivering stomach. He continues his journey until his hand ventures underneath my skirt, nestling between my legs. The dampness on the outside of my underwear highlights how ready I am. He doesn’t speak, as our actions speak louder than words.

He continues sucking my breast, tonguing the underside and pulling my nipple until I am begging, pleading, needing more. My breast pops free as he drags his mouth away. “What do you want?”

How does he expect me to speak? He’s everywhere, but it’s not enough.

I groan impatiently, not wanting to talk.

“Tell me or so help me, God, I will leave you to take care of yourself,” he warns, the threat sincere.

“I want to… come. Please.” My voice is hoarse, sounding unlike me.

My answer pleases him. “Yes, you do.”

He dives for my breast, flexing his fingertips around my waist and driving his finger up and down my entrance. The delicious contact is still over my underwear, but doing it this way feels wicked, almost like we’re not breaking all the rules.

The more he sucks and strokes me, the wetter and needier I become; I couldn’t mask my moans, even if I tried. When he begins circling two fingers over my clit and then dipping low, a tight knot begins to form in my belly. I recognize this feeling, and I want to embrace it with both hands. So I do.

Wedging my palm between us, I press my fingers over his, begging him to give me what I want. He groans around my breast, his warm breath triggering my knot to grow and grow. We begin an in sync rhythm, hurriedly rubbing over my quivering center, speeding up my impending orgasm only elicited by him.

When he bites my nipple and drums his finger over my clit, I can no longer hold on, and I cry out my release so loudly, I’m almost certain the entire floor can hear me coming. But regardless, I couldn’t stop my explosion even if I tried.

It feels like minutes that tiny tremors rock my body, and I don’t fail to notice the entire time, Tiger holds me close, offering my shaky legs the support I need. When I finally come down from my orgasmic bliss, my eyes pop open and I appreciate the sight of Tiger with his guard down.

“That was truly beautiful.” He lifts the hand which was seconds ago between my legs and brushes a loose strand of hair off my brow. He smiles, a genuine smile, and the sight has me weak in the knees. “Are you okay?” he asks when I continue staring at him, speechless.

I nod, afraid of what my voice will sound like.

Giving my lips a brief kiss, he gently covers my exposed breast and draws my shirt closed. Is that it? We’re not going to make use of that sturdy timber table?

“Don’t look so disappointed. That was hot for me too.”

But he’s misread my regret. I’m grateful for the attention to detail, but right now, I just feel used.

I dress with uneven fingers, wondering what happens next.

Mr. Fox answers for me. “I won’t be in for the rest of the afternoon. I have a few matters to attend to. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Standing, speechless, I watch as he rearranges himself and straightens his tie. So that’s it? He gives me a mind-blowing orgasm and expects me to return to work? Is he really going to disregard what happened between us yet again?

It appears so. “Good day, Ms. Young.”

But I don’t think so.

“Don’t good day me,” I spit, my anger shining. “You don’t get to do that and then expect things to go back to normal, whatever the hell normal is with you!”

Mr. Fox smirks, which just infuriates me further.

I shove him in the chest and wave my invisible pom-poms when he bumps into the chair, taken off guard. “No, I am done being treated like this by men. My last boyfriend?—”

However, I don’t get to finish my sentence because Mr. Fox grips my throat and walks me toward the wall. He presses me against it, eyes on fire. “Don’t ever mention him to me. Ever ,” he warns, his hot breath fanning my cheeks.

Is he… jealous?

“Understood?”

His hand is still around my throat, so I nod.

He opens his mouth as if wanting to say something but changes his mind at the last minute. He lets me go and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I don’t know what just happened, but I intend to find out.

I’m feeling used, abused, and angry.

But this is no one’s fault, not even Mr. Fox’s fault. It’s all mine. No one forced my hand; I voluntarily gave it up when I shoved it between my thighs.

What is the matter with me? I know Mr. Fox is trouble, but yet, I keep coming back for more. Well, no more. Today’s indiscretion is the last of its kind, and this time, I mean it. No more falling victim to those eyes and our one-way attraction. I’m better than that.

I was hoping, by some miracle, Mr. Fox would come to me, professing his sincerest apologies for once again disregarding our actions, but he didn’t. He instead pretended like nothing happened and treated me like a complete stranger.

I don’t understand how he can switch his feeling on and off so quickly. But then I remember he doesn’t have any.

He’s left early—again, which has me wondering where he’s going. It’s just me and this empty office, which is why I’m ransacking Mr. Fox’s desk, intent on finding… something. There has to be a reason why he is such an unfeeling asshole.

His office looks like a hurricane has torn through it and I suppose, in some ways, it has. I have searched through his filing cabinet and drawers, but have found nothing. But that doesn’t deter me. I know he’s hiding something.

When I find a folder of his previous PAs, I cringe because there is a name for every letter of the alphabet. The reason most were fired has me wondering why I haven’t been added to this list. I’ve done far worse.

Suddenly, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Why am I different?

Hell-bent on finding out the reason, I toss file after file over my shoulder until I find mine. I examine over every inch of it, desperate to find a clue as to why I’ve not joined the laundry list of women who didn’t make the cut.

I don’t see anything of importance until I reach my work history and see a big red circle drawn around my ex-boss’s name.

Why is she important to Mr. Fox? Does he know her?

Hannah’s words play over in my mind. “I do find it strange he hired you without even meeting you.”

I continue reading over my file, and when I see Mr. Fox took the liberty to do his own research, I know something is very wrong. It appears that he stalked my social media as there’s a picture of Scott and me he printed out.

Why?

“Think,” I mumble to myself, massaging my temples as I slump into Mr. Fox’s chair.

The answer is staring me right in the face; I know it is. And when a beam of light catches something shiny on the filing cabinet, I realize it’s staring me in the face—literally.

Jumping from the seat, I race over the glass duck which caught my eye days ago. I thought it looked out of place in here. Someone like Dylan Fox doesn’t have these types of things in his office, which is why I pick it up and turn it from side to side, hoping it’ll give me the answers I so desperately seek.

But I come up empty.

“Goddammit.”

I go to place it back, but my thumb rubs over something raised at the bottom. Turning it over, I see it’s a small gold plate which is engraved. The writing is small and in script, so I bring it over to the desk and place it underneath the lamp so I can see it clearer.

But I suddenly wish I didn’t.

The duck falls from my hand, it shattering as it catches the corner of the desk. But I saw it, clear as day. The reason he hired me isn’t because he was impressed with my resume. I doubt he even read it. He knew who I was the night we met, and he fucked me senseless.

He knew who I was all along when I had no idea who he was.

And who he is… is my ex-boss’s husband.

To my darling husband, Dylan.

I’ll love you for an eternity.

Your wife, Audrey.