12. Emzee
EMZEECHAPTER 12
P acing the lobby of the building where Danica Rose Management’s offices were, I told myself not to be nervous.
Jorge, the head of security, gave me a nod each time I passed the reception desk, but it didn’t do much to calm me.
I couldn’t help worrying that Ford would be a disappointment.
Yes, he’d said that he would come and teach a workshop for See Yourself, and yes, we’d confirmed the day and time and we’d even talked about it this morning over breakfast…
but there was a part of me that wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t let me down.
The fact was, everyone else who’d agreed to help with the nonprofit had found a way to back out at the last minute, and they were all from the same world that Ford was.
It was hard not to be wary.
In my experience, those who occupied the highest social and economic circles could be a bit lacking in the area of personal responsibility.
And although things had been going well with Ford lately, there was no guarantee that he’d come through.
I checked my delicate Shinola watch for about the hundredth time and smoothed down the front of my skirt—my favorite black pencil skirt that usually helped me feel powerful and in control—and resisted the urge to call Ford and demand a status report.
After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be here for at least another twenty minutes, but that didn’t make me any less neurotic.
My girls were counting on this seminar.
Before I could complete another circuit of the lobby, Ford came strolling into the building, looking absolutely delicious in a dark suit with a charcoal patterned tie.
As Jorge took Ford’s ID to get him checked in, my husband’s eyes focused on me.
“What’s wrong? Did you think I’d bail?” he asked.
“No!” I lied.
“I’m just…excited. Why don’t I show you up to the conference room?”
He nodded, but I caught his eyes wandering down the length of my body.
It seemed that he liked the way my skirt hugged my curves.
I couldn’t help thinking he would probably like it a whole lot more if it was shoved up around my waist.
“Lead the way,” he said, a wolfish gleam in his eyes.
We stepped into the elevator and suddenly Ford was all business, going over all the main points he’d be covering in his presentation.
“It runs just under an hour long, and then I figured I’d just take as many questions as we have time for.”
“Sounds perfect,” I said.
The doors dinged open and we stepped into DRM’s offices.
Ford frowned a little as I led him down the hall toward the large conference room I’d reserved.
“Do you not worry that some of the women might have a hard time being here?” he asked, glancing around.
“I mean, with everything that happened before…with your father, and the agency…I don’t know, maybe they’d have some kind of post-traumatic stress?”
I nodded, impressed that he’d given the issue some real thought.
“That’s actually the whole reason I hold most of our classes over at the studio space nearby. But it doesn’t have the audio- visual setup that we need today, and since you’re speaking about business, it seemed the more appropriate venue.
“Don’t worry, though—the email I sent out specifically mentioned that we’d be in the agency’s offices for your seminar, and I called all the girls who signed up to confirm that they were comfortable with the location.
So we’re good to go.
”
“That was smart of you,” Ford said.
“And compassionate.”
I felt my stomach do a little twist at the compliments.
“Thanks. And here we are.”
After I opened the door, I gestured for him to enter first.
The conference room was mostly ready, with a projector and a screen and some cables laid out so Ford could plug in his laptop and get started.
As he set up, clicking through a few files and getting his PowerPoint open, I took a seat in the far corner and set down my bag.
“We have water, but do you want me to grab you a coffee before the girls arrive?” I said.
“Thanks, but I’m properly caffeinated for the day,” he said, and then seemed to notice my bag and notebook on the chair.
“Are you staying for the whole thing?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Is that a problem?”
“Why, Mrs. Malone,” he said, smiling.
“Do you not trust me to run this workshop?”
“Why, Mr. Malone,” I responded.
“Do you think this program would have survived after the very first guest lecture if I didn’t sit in?”
It wasn’t just that I was there to keep the speaker on track—there was always the very real concern that some of my girls might have a hard time relaxing with a man in charge of the room and only other models around.
Choosing a safe venue was only half the battle.
After all, the male power dynamic was exactly what had harmed most of these ex-models in the not-too-distant past.
My goal was to help them, not put them in situations where it would be difficult for them to focus and therefore succeed.
Everyone knew this wasn’t a Jeffrey Epstein/Ghislaine Maxwell situation, that I wasn’t grooming them to be passed off to someone like my father—they knew I would do everything in my power to keep them safe.
But that also meant I was often a bit overprotective.
I didn’t care.
I would fight to the death to keep them feeling safe.
Which also meant I was going to give Ford a little talking-to.
Because as much as I didn’t want to bring down the mood, I knew what an incorrigible flirt my husband could be.
I couldn’t think of a time I’d seen him interact with a woman without pouring on the charm.
It didn’t matter if she was a fresh faced co-ed or a grandmother with a dozen grandkids.
Ford saw a female and instantly turned on the charm.
That wouldn’t work here.
He couldn’t flirt with the girls.
He couldn’t give off any kind of sexually charged dynamic.
“So listen. I just want to reiterate that they’ve been through a lot,” I said, walking over to him.
“And some of them are uncomfortable around men. It’s one of the reasons I prefer to have women teach the workshops.”
Ford nodded.
“I get it. Really.”
“Good,” I said, relieved.
“I just want you to understand where the girls are coming from.”
He nodded again, but before we could talk more, the door to the conference room opened and the girls began trickling in.
They smiled at me, but when they saw Ford, I noticed a few of their smiles faltering.
I glanced over at Ford, whose own smile had dimmed a bit.
He’d noticed their change in attitude when they’d seen him.
Sitting down at the back of the room, I was nervous all over again.
I held my breath as Ford introduced himself.
“I have to thank my lovely wife, Emzee, for inviting me to come in today and teach you all about real estate,” he said.
“Do you mind if I turn off the lights? It’ll be easier to see the PowerPoint, and I’ll turn them back on afterward so you can read the hand-outs I brought.”
The women nodded, and I could sense them loosening up a little already.
I was impressed.
Not just by Ford asking permission, but with the tone of his voice as well as his demeanor.
I hadn’t been sure he’d really heard what I was saying, but wow.
There was absolutely no flirtation in his words, none of the usual winking or banter.
My playboy husband was stepping up, 100% professional, treating the women around the conference table as seriously as he would treat any man.
The lights went down, and as Ford talked us through his background, his job, and all the ins and outs of real estate development, I found myself riveted.
Not just by what he was teaching, but by how he delivered it.
And he was calm, approachable, and thoughtful in responding to questions.
I even asked a few myself to keep the ball rolling.
After he was done and the lights came up, he passed around packets that contained notes and resources and other helpful information.
When I got mine, he flashed me a small smile, but by the time he was back at the front of the room he was all business again.
“So let’s go over a typical career path, and bear in mind that not all real estate is about commercial or residential development—some of you may be interested in becoming an agent, helping people find their first home or working with a restaurant owner seeking new locations.”
He spoke with authority, but not aggression.
The eye contact he offered came with brief frowns of concentration, not little winks of acknowledgement, and he paid no more attention to any one attendee than he did to any other.
In fact, the only time I saw even a hint of the flirtatious Ford that I knew was when he’d walk over every so often to give me a big grin or a shoulder squeeze that everyone could see.
It felt good to bask in his light, but I’d almost forgotten how sexy it could be to bask in it whilst in public.
As he started to wrap up, I realized I was practically squirming in my chair.
All the intelligence and tips and authentic displays of helpfulness that Ford had showed during the seminar had me more hot and bothered than I could have ever imagined.
By the time the last questions had been answered, I was just about ready to bone my husband right there in the conference room.
Ford concluded his talk to a round of applause.
As the women filed out, he handed each of them his business card and told them they could reach out if they had any more questions.
Once we were alone again, I closed the door and quietly locked it.
When I turned back to Ford, he was packing up his computer, completely oblivious to the way I was staring at him.
Like he was a five-course meal and I was starving.
Luckily, I’d reserved the conference room for two full hours.
We still had it for another fifteen minutes.
My entire body was buzzing with desire as I pushed away from the door and stalked toward him, unbuttoning my blouse as I did.
By the time Ford looked up, my shirt was open to my navel and my cleavage was showing, plumped up above my black lace bra.
He did a double take, and then his smile morphed into the wolfish one I knew so well.
“Why, Mrs. Malone,” he said, turning and crossing his arms as he leaned back on the desk.
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Malone,” I said, finishing with my shirt and opening it wide so he could see that the black lace was see-through.
“Are you looking to be seduced?”
It was a question I didn’t really need to ask.
When I reached him, he grabbed me by the waist and spun me around to face the conference table, his hard cock pressed up against my ass.
His hands slid over the tight stretch of my skirt before going down to the hem.
“Is this what you want?” he demanded.
I spread my hands on the table, arching my back.
“Yes,” I hissed.
“You’re a dirty girl,” he said, but I could hear the heat and delight in his voice.
“We have less than fifteen minutes,” I said.
“I can make you come in five.”
His confidence only made me hotter, and by the time he got my skirt up past my hips, my underwear was soaked through.
Ford let out a groan when he realized it.
“Did you like my class?” he asked, running his finger along the fabric, touching me, teasing me, but not giving me any of the relief I was dying for.
“Yes,” I moaned as his other hand came forward to cup my breast, which was practically spilling out of my balconette bra.
His thumb and forefinger pinched my nipple, and I gripped the table with anticipation as I listened to him unzip his pants.
I was waiting for him to slide my panties off, but instead he just pulled them to the side as he rubbed the tip of his cock against my hot, ready pussy.
“Ford,” I moaned.
“Hurry.”
“You want this cock?” he whispered, his voice in my ear.
I nodded, loving the feel of him stretched out on top of me, of being pressed down against the cool surface of the table, my hips braced against the edge.
“Were you paying attention in class? Or were you thinking about my cock? About me fucking you here, at work, where anyone could walk in and see us?”
All I could manage was a breathy moan.
“You’re going to have to be quiet,” he warned me.
“Very, very quiet.”
I’d never considered myself an exhibitionist before, but I was starting to realize that I really, really liked it when we had sex in a place where we might get caught.
Even though I’d locked the door, there was always the possibility that someone could walk by and hear us.
And it was going to be very, very hard to be quiet with Ford teasing me mercilessly with his cock.
He was right there, brushing up against my entrance but refusing to fill me up the way he knew I desperately wanted him to.
“Tell me you were thinking about me,” Ford demanded.
“I was thinking about you,” I gasped.
He pushed forward, just a little bit, just the head of his cock slipping inside me.
“Come on, Em,” he said.
“You can do better than that.”
“Please,” I begged, my voice hoarse.
“Please fuck me, Mr. Malone.”
With a groan, Ford sank deep inside me, filling me up, stretching me.
My head went back and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
It felt so good.
So naughty and dangerous and perfect.
My underwear was still drawn to the side, but Ford gripped the silky fabric in his hand and used it to rub my clit.
The sweet, slick pressure was too much and soon I was muffling my cries with my hand.
Ford began fucking me harder, faster, whispering dirty nothings in my ear, clearly doing his best to make good on his promise to make me come in five minutes.
It only took three.