Chapter 16 Nico #2
Bree leaves without a word.
Two hours later, Cressida, stops by my office with a scheduling question.
She glances toward Bree’s desk, then back at me. “Everything okay between you two?”
I can feel my brow furrowing. “Fine. Why?”
“No reason. Just seems. Tense over here today.” She says that last with a nervous giggle.
“Uh huh,” I tell her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a PR crisis. Everything is tense.”
Cressida nods, but I can see she’s not convinced. She’s Elspeth’s right hand. Discreet. But not blind.
People are starting to notice.
Fuck.
At three o’clock, I call Bree into my office to review something Paloma emailed me. I don’t actually need her input. The email is fine.
But I wanted to see her up close.
She stands across from my desk, laptop in hand, maintaining perfect professional distance. Her concealer is holding up well. I can barely see the marks.
I fucking hate that.
“The email looks good, Mr. Rossi,” she says.
Mr. Rossi.
Like we’re strangers.
Like I wasn’t inside her last night.
“Close the door,” I say slowly.
She hesitates. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Close the door, Bree,” I tell her.
She does.
But she stays by the door instead of coming closer.
“We said professional,” she warns me.
“I know what we said,” I reply.
“Why did you really call me in here?” she tells me.
Because I can’t stop thinking about you.
Because the sight of you sitting out there so close to me is slowly driving me insane.
Because I want to push everything off my desk and spread you across it and fuck the living shit out of you until you’re screaming my name and the whole fucking floor hears.
“The email...” I say instead.
She laughs. It’s not pleasant. “Sure. The email.”
“Bree—” I start.
“Don’t.” She holds up a hand. “Don’t say my name like that. Not here.”
“Like what?” I implore.
“Like...” She swallows. Hard. “Like you’re about to kiss me.”
The air between instantly flares up.
I can feel it arcing across the space, connecting us despite the distance she’s trying to maintain.
My body is already responding, memories of last night flooding through me with inconvenient clarity. My cock is pressing so hard against my tight slacks it fucking hurts.
“Go back to your desk,” I say.
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she replies.
“Then go,” I hiss, before I lose all fucking control.
She goes.
I sit at my desk for a long time after, not working.
Just thinking.
Replaying.
Wanting.
This is a fucking disaster.
The afternoon crawls.
I call her in twice more on flimsy pretexts. Scheduling questions. Calendar conflicts. Things I could easily handle through email.
She comes each time. Maintains professional distance. Doesn’t look at me any longer than necessary.
But I see the way she grips her laptop a little too tight. See the color in her cheeks that wasn’t there before she entered. See every crack in her composure that mirrors the cracks in mine.
We’re both trying so hard to pretend.
And we’re both failing.
Badly.
At five o’clock, the floor starts emptying out. Paloma leaves at 5:15. Cressida at 5:30. Even Elspeth, usually the last of the executive team, heads out by 6:30.
Bree stays.
She’s at her desk, typing something on her laptop, pretending to work. But I can see her screen reflected faintly in the glass. She’s not doing anything productive. Just moving words around on a document that was finished hours ago.
She’s waiting.
I should send her home. Should tell her there’s nothing more she can do tonight and she should get some rest. That would be the professional thing. The appropriate thing.
Instead, I wait until the floor is completely empty. Until it’s just the two of us and the hum of the HVAC and the city lights glittering beyond the windows.
Then I stand up and walk to my office door.
“Bree.”
She looks up instantly. Her professional mask slips for just a moment. Underneath is something raw and wanting. Like she was waiting all night for me to call her name.
“Come here,” I order.
She shouldn’t. We both know she shouldn’t.
She comes anyway.
The door closes behind her. I touch the smart glass panel, watching the walls turn opaque.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers.
“The worst.” I pull her against me.
She doesn’t resist. Her hands find my chest, not pushing away, just resting there. Feeling my heartbeat. Her eyes are wide and conflicted and beautiful.
“We said this can’t happen again,” she breathes.
“I know what we said,” I growl.
I kiss her. Slower than last night. More deliberate. Tasting her instead of devouring.
Her mouth opens under mine and she makes that small sound in her throat that I’m already addicted to.
I walk her backward until her ass hits my desk. Lift her onto the surface. Step between her thighs.
This is wrong.
I know it’s wrong.
The power dynamic alone makes this unacceptable.
But I can’t fucking stop.
She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer. Her fingers work at my tie, loosening it. I cup her face in my hands, angle her head, deepen the kiss.
This woman is going to fucking destroy me.
And I’m going to let her.
I reach for the buttons of her blouse. Get two undone before she grabs my wrists.
“Wait,” she says urgently.
I stop immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“This.” She gestures between us. At the desk. At the opaque walls hiding us from an empty office. “This can’t happen. Especially not here. Not at work.”
She’s right.
Fuck.
She’s right.
I step back. Run a hand through my hair. Try to get my breathing under control. My cock is still straining against my all-too-tight trousers, and I grimace at the pain.
“You should go home,” I say.
“Yeah.” She slides off the desk, buttons her blouse with shaking hands. “I should.”
Neither of us moves.
“Bree,” I reach for her.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “Don’t make this harder.”
She leaves. I tap the panel and the smart glass transitions back to clear. I watch her move toward the elevator bank.
Then she’s gone and I’m alone with the city lights and the hum of the HVAC and the knowledge that I’m completely and utterly fucked.
The problem isn’t the obsession.
Nor the sex.
Nor even the impossible power dynamic.
The problem is... well.
Fuck.
The problem is I think I’m falling for her.
And I have no idea how to stop.