CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EMILY
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S itting cross-legged on my bed, with my phone propped up against the pillows, I giggle as Lexi walks me around our local London bar.
“Emily’s in New York, everyone. Say hi,” Lexi calls out.
“Hi Emily!” a round of voices from people I’ve never met yell.
“You clown.” I giggle.
“So,” Lexi says. “Did you tell Sebastian he was a dick-faced asshole for cheating?”
No.
I should have, and I should have quit, but when you fly across the world for a job and he’s your boss and you have no money and... I should have.
I’m drunk but wide awake and can’t sleep, so I phoned my best friend to chat. Not being able to confide in Terri and Donna was harder the more I drank.
Stupidly, I told one guy as I was dancing, “I’m in love with my boss. Well, not in love . In lust . I already sucked his dick.”
The guy disappeared a few minutes later.
“Not yet. Lexi, am I a bad person for still being attracted to him?”
She pouts, considering the question.
“No. You can’t just stop chemistry, but I think you should start looking for a new job.”
She’s right.
I know she is. I have no idea how that will look, given my work history and the fact that Remington Obsidian is sponsoring my work visa.
“He’s asked me to attend a dinner on Sunday night.” I tell her. “I didn’t know that would be expected of me.”
Lexi blinks, sips her drink, and then narrows her eyes. “This sounds suspicious. Who else is going to this dinner?”
I shrug.
“Him and his cock?” Lexi lifts a brow.
I burst out laughing, the water I’m drinking sprays over my bed.
“Lex, oh my god.”
We both keep laughing until the screen changes as another call comes through.
I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.
Mr. Remington. Holy shit. What is he doing ringing me at midnight?
“Lex, I have to go. It’s Mom,” I lie.
“Okay, chat tomorrow.” She ends the call.
I take another two breaths, then press answer.
Sebastian’s face appears on the screen.
“Emily.” He’s scowling, but there’s heat in his eyes that I recognize.
I glance down quickly at my body. I’m wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts and a lacy top with spaghetti straps. It’s incredibly revealing.
My hand slaps to my chest.
“Hi. Oh, sorry.”
God why am I apologizing? I’m not at work. I can wear what I want to bed. This man...goddamn, he drives me insane.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No,” Sebastian replies, tugging his tie off and undoing some buttons. His hair is mussed, and it’s clear he’s had a few drinks.
“I need more information about that report.”
So you decided to phone me at midnight on a Friday night?
“Oh. I’ll follow up on Monday morning,” I reply, biting the side of my mouth as my pussy starts aching, heating, and wetting my shorts.
God, it’s a shame he’s taken, that he’s my boss, and that we never got to finish what we started.
“Good. It’s important.” His voice is thick as his eyes roam my body.
“Okay.” My voice wobbles.
“Emily,” he rasps.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Tilt the phone down.” Sebastian orders in the huskiest voice I’ve ever heard.
I draw in a sharp breath, knowing exactly what he’s asking. The screen cuts off so he can’t see my covered pussy.
“Do it now.” He growls.
Holy fucking shit.
I obey, moving the screen so it focuses on my crossed legs and the heated moist space between them.
I can only just see part of his face, and I know this is naughty, but now my sex is throbbing.
“Move the fabric.”
Oh god.
I close my eyes, knowing I should stop this. But I don’t. My fingers slide down the cotton of my sleep shorts, and I tuck them under and expose my nicely trimmed pussy.
“Fuck,” I hear him curse. “Jesus.”
My heart thunders inside my chest as I become drenched.
Can he see my juices?
“Touch yourself,” he demands.
“Oh god,” I whimper, moving my fingers to my clit and start doing circular movements.
I’m glad I can’t properly see him because we shouldn’t be doing this.
“Press them inside your pussy. Like I did on the plane,” Sebastian says, and I hear his zipper.
This is not happening.
But oh god, it is.
Yet, I do as he tells me.
“Both fingers.”
Moaning, I slide two digits inside and lean back against the pillows.
“Emily.” I hear, then look up and our eyes meet with the new angle. Desire plows through me, mixed with panic. “Keep going. Keep the screen there.”
No.
Oh god.
This is worse.
“Faster.” He instructs as he no longer watches my pussy, but my face. His own strain and movements prove that he’s doing the same thing.
We masturbate as one, moaning, until he lets out a growl, and it sends me over the edge.
My lids shut and I shudder as the orgasm plows through me. Refusing to open them, I grip the covers so hard I almost hurt myself.
“Goodnight Emily.” I hear.
Then the call ends.
My arm flops to the side, the phone falling onto the floor.
“Holy shit.”
What am I going to do?
T HE NEXT DAY, I try to block the memory of last night and fail. Then go over a million different scenarios of facing him tomorrow night.
Finding a dress for the event proves difficult, or perhaps I overthink it. I need the perfect dress. One that’s sexy—as instructed—but also I’m not available to cheat on your fiancée with.
But what? I am available for late-night phone sex.
How could I have done that? If he was my fiancé, I wouldn’t want him sexting with another woman.
I’m the worst person in the world.
I messaged Terri to find out what department stores had a Remington account. I wasn’t going to call Sebastian. It meant I had to lie and say I was getting his mother a gift.
Lie after lie.
Standing in front of the mirror, I run my hand down the shimmery black and gold figure-hugging dress. It has a cowl neck which doesn’t reveal too much, and ends right on my calves, so it’s perfect for a corporate event.
“I need matching shoes, please,” I tell the retail assistant.
“Do you have a preferred brand?” she asks. “Louboutin? Manolo Blahnik’s?”
I only just stop my eyes from popping out.
“Okay.”
Nothing in this store is cheap, and I stopped looking at the price tags when the woman started helping me chose a dress. If Sebastian wants me to dress up for this event, and this is where he holds an account, then I can’t exactly ask to see the discount brands.
She smiles and returns a few minutes later with four pairs. We choose a strappy black pair, and she hands me a purse, which matches perfectly.
“Stunning.” She grins. “He’s a lucky man.”
“Oh, no,” I reply before stopping myself. “He’s my boss.”
Shit.
Her grin widens. “Aren’t they all, dear?”
What?
She takes the purse. “Get changed and I’ll charge this up.”
Oh, god.
I slip off the shoes, hiding my flaming face, and go back into the changing room.
Great. Now she thinks I’m fucking my boss. Well, jokes on you, lady. I fucked myself.
Wow.
That sounds really bad.