Chapter 13
THATCHER
“Hi, Mick,” I say, waving at the VSE building night security guard as I tap in my access card.
“Back again, Mr. Charles?” Mick looks up from his crossword with a smile.
“Just need to drop off some party paperwork.”
The elevator ride gives me time to loosen my tie. I’m exhausted from the party, but I’m also on a high. The party was a success. I’d have loved to enjoy it more, but I’m very proud of my work.
What I’m not so proud of is almost kissing Pierce or teasing him. Bad Meatball.
The office floor stretches before me, dark except for security lighting and the soft glow of sleeping monitors. I make my way to my desk, ready to drop the paperwork and go home.
The light from my monitor casts blue shadows across scattered papers as I boot up the system. While I’m here, I may as well see if anything important came through since I left early to set up the venue for the party.
The email notification chimes softly, drawing my attention to the screen.
I do a routine check of the report for tomorrow’s board meeting, just making sure everything’s in order before…
My heart stops as numbers jump out at me, suddenly wrong in a way they weren’t hours ago.
The quarterly projections, the ones I triple-checked before incorporating them into the main report, show a significant discrepancy that wasn’t there this morning.
The whispered words from certain board members were loud enough that I didn’t miss them as I walked past them at the party earlier. I was called a “charity case,” “a disaster waiting to happen,” and even “Van Stern’s latest mistake.”
I’ve learned to ignore comments like those. If an incident is going to happen, worrying about those words won’t prevent it. I know that much. And maybe I sometimes try a little too hard, but I don’t know how to be any other way.
My fingers clench on the mouse and the numbers blur slightly as I stare at them, but the error remains clear.
Someone updated the source data without adjusting the linked projections, creating a cascade of incorrect calculations that could undermine tomorrow’s entire presentation.
If this goes uncaught… If Pierce stands before the board with wrong numbers…
I’m not about to let that happen.
Numbers have always made sense to me. Just because I find joy in chaos doesn’t make me less capable of creating order. It’s one of the things my father has never accepted. Why don’t I harness my natural talent in the business world instead of playing with crayons, as he calls it?
My jacket lands on the back of my chair, and I roll up my sleeves. The spreadsheet expands across my screen like a puzzle waiting for me to find the missing pieces.
“Quarterly projections assuming standard market growth,” I mutter. “Adjust for seasonal variations, factor in the Miller account’s unexpected gains…”
Time loses meaning as I trace the error to its source, following digital breadcrumbs through linked spreadsheets and nested formulas.
The sudden flood of overhead lights makes me jump. I look up to find Pierce standing next to my desk, his appearance so unexpected that for a moment, I think I’m imagining him. But no, he’s real, and he’s staring at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
His tie hangs loose around his neck, jacket over his arm, hair slightly disheveled as if he’s been running his hands through it. The sight makes my breath catch.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice carrying equal parts concern and curiosity.
“I found an error,” I explain, forcing my attention back to the screen.
“In tomorrow’s board presentation. Someone updated the source data without adjusting the linked projections, and if we don’t fix it…
” I trail off as he moves closer, his presence making it harder to focus on numbers rather than his cologne.
“Show me,” he says, leaning over my shoulder to examine the spreadsheet.
His skepticism is obvious in the set of his shoulders, in the way his eyes narrow as he scans the figures.
But as I walk him through my discoveries, pointing out discrepancies and explaining my corrections, his expression shifts from doubt to admiration.
He pulls up a chair, settling beside me. Our shoulders brush as he reaches for the mouse, and the contact sends electricity through my whole body. “Show me what else you’ve found.”
We work in comfortable silence, broken only by soft explanations and occasional questions. His hand brushes mine when we both reach for the mouse, and neither of us pulls away immediately.
“Here,” I say, pointing to a particularly complex formula. “If we adjust the growth projections to account for market volatility…” My voice trails off as I realize how close we’ve gotten, how the space between us has shrunk to almost nothing.
Pierce leans in to examine the screen, his shoulder pressing warm against mine. “Impressive,” he murmurs, and I’m not sure if he means the calculations or something else entirely.
We turn back to the screen and continue working.
“There,” I say finally, voice slightly unsteady as I save the corrected files. “Everything’s fixed. Tomorrow’s presentation will be perfect.”
Pierce doesn’t immediately respond, and when I turn to face him, I find him watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. His eyes drop to my mouth for just a moment before meeting mine again, and suddenly, the space between us feels too small and not small enough all at once.
“Pierce,” I whisper, but I’m not even sure what I want to say.
He moves his hand from the chair to my shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, making my skin tingle beneath.
The kiss, when it finally happens, takes my breath away. Pierce’s lips are softer than I remember, yet commanding and warm, certain but careful. There’s a hint of coffee lingering in his mouth, mixing with something distinctly him that makes my head spin.
He makes a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and surrender, and suddenly, there’s nothing careful about it at all.
His hands move to my face, cradling my jaw with surprising gentleness even as his mouth claims mine with increasing hunger. I reach for him, fingers tangling in his hair, messing up the perfect style he so carefully maintains.
His tongue traces my bottom lip, making me gasp. He takes advantage of my parted lips to deepen the kiss, and all of a sudden, I’m back in that bathroom, with all the confidence in the world, wanting to make this man mine, even if it’s just for a short time before real life intrudes.
When we finally break apart, breathing heavily in the quiet office, Pierce rests his forehead against mine. His hands remain on my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks with gentle movements that make my heart race. The professional distance we’ve maintained for so long lies shattered between us.
“Thatcher,” he breathes, and my name in his mouth sounds like the moment just before dawn breaks. Beautiful. Inspiring.
When his eyes meet mine, they carry none of their usual control. Instead, all I see is want and need.
“We shouldn’t…” he starts, but his words trail off as I lean in to kiss him again, softer this time but no less meaningful.
His hands find my waist when I move to straddle his lap.
The office chair creaks slightly beneath our combined weight.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs, and the raw honesty in his voice makes me shiver.
His fingers slide beneath my untucked shirt, finding my overheated skin. When I roll my hips experimentally against his, the kiss turns hungry, desperate, full of months of denied wanting finally given freedom to express itself.
“Pierce…” I moan, needing the same relief I find every night in the shower, or the sanctuary of my room. Except I know this will be a thousand times better. A million times more explosive.
Pierce’s hands move to my ass, pulling me closer as his mouth trails down my neck. The sensation makes me gasp, makes me arch into his touch like I’m seeking something I didn’t know I needed. My dick is like steel in my dress pants, and I’m sure if I look now, there will be a wet spot.
Pierce’s hard cock rubs against mine, but there’s no relief in knowing what it looks like when we’re fully dressed. His teeth graze my collarbone, and the careful control we’ve both maintained for so long crumbles completely.
We grind and kiss, seeking that blissful moment of release. I don’t even care if I have to walk out of this office with cum-stained pants.
“Thatcher,” he breathes against my skin. “We should talk about this.”
I pull back slightly, though my hands remain tangled in his hair. “Do we have to? Can’t we just…have this moment? Let it be what it is?”
Pierce’s gaze betrays him for a split second, then his face resets to neutral. I still saw it. Is he…hurt by my words?
His hands stay on my waist, thumbs stroking soft circles that make it hard to think clearly.
“I don’t want to analyze it,” I continue, leaning down to press my forehead against his. “Don’t want to put labels on it or try to make it fit into neat little boxes. It’s good, isn’t it? This moment, right now?”
His breath catches as I shift in his lap, bringing us closer together. “Yes,” he admits, voice rough with desire. “It’s so good.”
“Then let’s keep it that way.” I trace his bottom lip with my thumb, watching his eyes darken at the touch, and then I tease that fucking sexy chin dimple I’ve wanted to lick for months. “We don’t have to define everything. Sometimes the best things just…are.”
Pierce looks like he wants to argue, but I silence him with another kiss.
“God, Thatcher. You make me lose my mind. I’m so fucking close,” he gasps when we break for air.
“Me too. I don’t care about the mess. Make me come, Pierce.” Our grinding becomes more purposeful, more intense. Pierce’s hands seem to be everywhere at once, in my hair, under my shirt, gripping my hips.
I’m so lost in the way he feels against me, the sounds he makes when I roll my hips just right, that I barely notice the echo of footsteps.
Pierce’s hands tighten on my waist for a moment before reluctantly letting go, allowing me to slide off his lap on unsteady legs.
We stare at each other with wide eyes and racing hearts as the steps grow closer.
“Evening rounds,” comes Mick’s voice from the hallway. “Building’s closing up for the night. Anyone still here needs to head out.”
“Thanks, Mick. We’ll be out in a minute.
” Pierce reaches up to straighten his tie while I attempt to tame my thoroughly messed-up hair.
I definitely need more than a minute for the blood to reach the rest of my body so I don’t walk out of the office with a visible boner. Serves me right for wearing gray pants.
We mercifully manage to not bump into Mick on our way out. When we get outside, the night air hits my flushed skin like a wake-up call, though it does nothing to cool the heat still simmering between us.
Pierce glances at me with an expression I can’t read. “You didn’t eat at the party,” he says suddenly. “I noticed. There’s a place nearby that does amazing pizza.”
“Lead the way,” I reply, wondering if he’s being the diligent boss or, like me, isn’t ready for our time together to end because we know this can’t happen again.
The pizza place is small and warm, tucked between taller buildings like a secret waiting to be discovered. We place our order and settle into a corner booth.
“So,” he says as we wait, sliding his tie off and rolling it up before putting it in the pocket of his jacket. “Tell me about the almost-disasters I missed at the party. I know there must have been some.”
“Well,” I start, watching his eyes crinkle with anticipation, “there was the moment when Geoff almost set off the emergency glitter supply I’d hidden in the flower arrangements…”
Pierce’s laugh is real and unguarded and makes me wish I saw it more often. I tell him about narrow misses with champagne trays, about how the jazz quartet almost played “Baby Shark” instead of smooth classics due to a mix-up with their sheet music.
The pizza arrives steaming and perfect.
“I like you like this,” I admit softly, earning a questioning look. “Relaxed. Real. Not trying to be perfect all the time.”
His expression softens into something vulnerable, making my heart race. “I like you any way you are,” he replies. “Professional, chaotic, and anywhere in between.”
When the pizza is gone, and we can no longer pretend we’re just sharing a casual meal, we step into the night air. I’m suddenly very aware that our night together, our time that felt so much like a fairytale, is coming to an end.
I’m about to say something when Pierce pulls me close and steals a movie-worthy kiss.
“Wow,” I gasp. “That was the best parting kiss I’ve ever had.”
“Wait,” he says as I start to pull away. His hand dips into his jacket pocket, emerging with a familiar pad of pink sticky notes. He produces a pen from another pocket, writing something before pressing the note into my hand.
His final kiss is softer, sweeter. Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with a racing heart and tingling lips. I look down at the sticky note, and my breath catches at the message: