Chapter 9 #2
I swallow, then call out, “Ms. Vaquer, in my office, please.”
She floats in, notebook in hand, expression unreadable except for the flicker of heat behind her eyes.
She waits. For a second, neither of us speaks.
I watch the micro tics in her face, the quick scan over my shoulder to the monitor, the two-blink interval, the half-smile that doesn’t engage her eyes.
She is collecting data on me. She is always collecting data on me.
“You left something in the report,” I say, voice perfectly flat. I push the silk across the desk.
She meets my gaze, not blinking. “Just thought you might want to proof the material. For the demo.”
I want to tell her to get on her knees. I want to bend her over the table and show her exactly how “demo” works in my world. Instead, I pick up the scrap and twist it between my fingers.
“It’s not regulation,” I say.
She tilts her head. “Neither are we.”
For a beat, I can’t breathe. Then I remember to exhale, slow and silent. “Go finalize the NDA addendum,” I tell her, making up work to get her out of the room before I do something that lands me in HR, or jail, or both.
“Right away, sir,” she says, but the line of her mouth says, You wish.
She leaves. I stare at the door, then at the silk. The urge to wrap it around my wrist and jerk myself off in the executive washroom is so strong I almost do it.
Instead, I message IT about the vendor breach and schedule a conference call for 9:00. I run projections on the Q2 numbers, I triple-check the legal filings. For two hours, I am the model CEO.
But every other minute, I run my thumb along the silk, dreaming about what I’d do to Cat if I could.
When the time comes for the meeting, the tension in my jaw is measurable in Newtons.
I sweep in with my jacket perfectly buttoned, the folder tucked under my arm, the silk hidden in my pocket.
The boardroom is a glacier, glass, steel, and the bare minimum of human presence.
I sit at the head, Cat to my right, and run the call with flawless precision.
I am ice, I am iron, I am everything I need to be to lead this company.
But all the while, my mind is stuck on the curve of Cat’s thigh under the table, the way her tongue traces her bottom lip when she thinks I’m not watching, and the thought of binding her wrists with the silk and making her beg for every inch.
I close the meeting in record time. Everyone filters out except Cat, and we stride the hallway together, the tension a livewire between us. We get in the elevator together, alone, silent. I press the button for the executive floor. The doors close. For four seconds we do not move, do not speak.
“You’re staring, Boss,” she says making eye contact with me in our reflection of the elevator doors. Her expression is neutral, attentive, the picture of a competent executive assistant.
I snap.
I pin her to the wall before either of us can flinch. My left hand clamps around her waist. My other hand grabs her jaw and I tilt her face up. She does not resist. She leans into it, just enough to let me know this is mutual destruction.
I press my lips to hers, hard, bruising.
Her mouth is pure voltage, sweet and biting all at once.
I taste coffee, lipstick, and something wild.
Cat’s hands find the lapels of my jacket.
She claws them, pulling me closer, her nails digging through the wool to the skin beneath.
Her thigh slides between mine, her heel grinding down to anchor us both in this moment.
She moans, low in her throat, and it vibrates into my mouth, into my bones.
Every fantasy I have had since the first time she called me “sir” floods back, her bent over the desk, tied to a chair, screaming my name through a knotted gag.
I want to fuck her here, in the elevator, with the whole building listening.
I want to see if I can make her cry uncle before the doors open.
Instead, I pull back, barely, just far enough to see the subtle copper streaks in her brown eyes. She is panting and my glasses are crooked. Her lipstick is ruined, but she smiles and reaches up to adjust them for me. She is so fucking beautiful.
The elevator chimes. The doors open on the executive floor. I step back instantly, Cat smooths her dress, fixes her hair with one hand, wipes the lipstick from her teeth with her tongue. She is composed in under three seconds while I am unraveling faster with each heartbeat.
In my office I close the door, lower the blinds, and drop into my chair. My hands are shaking. I pull the scrap of red rope from my pocket, hold it between my fingers. I think about all the things I could do to her, all the things I have wanted to do since day one.
I stare out at the city, assessing the world I built, the walls I carefully engineered to keep the two parts of myself separate. I know what I am doing is a mistake. I know it will end badly.
Yet the thought rises, unguarded, from somewhere deep. I am playing with fire, and the part of me that has spent my entire life engineering firewalls wants it all to burn.