Chapter 5
THE NIGHT HE CRACKED
César
Like an office siren, she tempts me. I find myself walking by her office more times than I care to admit.
Each time threatens to pull me under her spell, drown me in a desire so potent it’s all consuming.
I’ve had my fair share of women and felt lust before.
All of it paled compared to this feeling now.
Lety is the forbidden fruit I desperately want to taste for myself.
Today she’s wearing a dress that hugs her curves sinfully, making my body heat with each roaming glance.
Her long, brown legs are on full display as I walk by toward the end of the day under the guise of checking in on my employees.
Truth be told, I don’t notice or care about anyone else.
I’m checking in on her. Lety’s head is down as she reads something on her computer.
Her beautiful brown eyes are hidden behind her thick, black lashes.
She bites her bottom lip in concentration, and my cock stiffens at the sight of her.
The power this woman has over me…and she doesn’t even know it.
She hasn’t noticed I’m here, watching her like a fucking creep. I lean against the doorframe, expecting the groan of the wood to rouse her. It doesn’t.
So, I watch. Like my own private showing.
Only this time, she isn’t CurvyBabe, and I’m not DineroDaddy.
I’m her boss, and she’s my employee. This is all kinds of fucked up and goes against HR policies I helped create.
However, I can’t bring myself to care. Rules were meant to be broken.
And for the boss, some rules didn’t apply.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
After a few moments of my girl being completely absorbed in whatever the fuck she’s doing, I clear my throat from just outside her door.
Lety glances up—and jumps. Her eyes go wide, and she gasps, clutching her chest like her heart’s about to give out. “Are you trying to kill me?” she hisses, voice sharp and breathless. It’s her standard greeting to me when I sneak up on her.
I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face. She looks so thoroughly startled, it’s almost impressive.
“Didn’t think I was that scary,” I tease, then chuckle when she glares at me. Anyone else would roll over and show me their bellies simply because I’m the boss. But Lety? Mi Reina? Nah, she shows her claws.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Estrada?” She wields my last name like a weapon, pinning me with her stare. “If you put another file down on my desk, I may scream.”
“If I was going to make you scream, Mrs. Zavala, it wouldn’t be with a file.
” The words slip free before I can stop them, but once out, I find I don’t regret them.
Especially when I notice the adorable blush coloring her cheeks.
I’ve successfully rendered her speechless and proven that she’s not as unaffected by me as she pretends to be.
“How much more do you have to do?” I ask before she can respond.
Still in a daze and unsure about me, she shrugs. “Probably a few hours more.”
“Give it to Melanie. You’re coming with me.”
“I’m what?” She sputters indignantly. “Unless you want me to have to redo everything Melanie touches, you best let me finish my work.”
I ignore her and step into her office without so much as a word. The air between us thickens, the temperature seeming to rise the moment I cross the threshold. Lety stiffens, clearly not thrilled by the intrusion, but I don’t give her a chance to object.
Without acknowledging the sharp look she throws my way, I lean in and press the lid of her laptop closed with a quiet finality. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
“César, I can’t just—”
“I’ll meet you out front. My car.” I cut her off just as her voice bubbles with frustration, already turning away.
Behind me, I hear her sputter in disbelief, but I don’t stop. I walk out, leaving her to stew in her irritation. I’m a fucked-up man because it makes me smile. I also know she’ll follow me, wondering what the hell I’m up to.
* * *
“Are you going to tell me why you kidnapped me?” An irate Lety asks from the passenger’s seat.
She crosses her arms over her chest, which pushes her tits up in an almost obscene manner.
If I were a better man, I’d avert my gaze.
Except I’m very much not a better man, so I keep sneaking glances at my assistant.
I’ve seen her bare tits before, but only through a screen.
“You willingly came into my car,” I remind again, having just had this same discussion not five minutes ago.
“Is that what you’ll tell the cops when they find my dead body in the dumpster behind the alley?” She glares.
I raise a brow, earning an embarrassed blush from her.
“Sorry. I’ve been watching a lot of Dateline,” she admits. “And I’m tired and hungry, which isn’t a good combination for me. We’ve worked together long enough for you to know that.”
My lips twitch to a smile. “Then I’ll feed you.”
“You’ve been feeding me all week, César. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to continue to do that.” She squirms in her seat, though I’m not sure if it’s from nerves or something else.
“Let me take care of you,” I murmur, turning down my street and easing the car past the wrought iron gates of my neighborhood.
The community is exclusive, lined with sprawling estates.
Each one is unique in architecture, but all boast the same air of wealth and grandeur.
Manicured lawns. Stone facades. Homes that whisper old money and power.
From the corner of my eye, I see Lety relax her shoulders, looking more at ease in my car. “Fine, but can we do Chinese this time? Don’t get me wrong, those street tacos have been delicious, but I’m ready for some shrimp fried rice.”
I would buy her the whole damn restaurant if she wanted it. Except I think that would overwhelm her, and that’s the opposite of what I want to do. So, I nod. “Shrimp fried rice it is. As long as we can get wonton soup with it.”
“That’s a given.”
Her bratty response makes the corner of my mouth quirk up.
I’m keenly aware that I don’t bring women home. Ever. My house is off-limits—a personal sanctuary where the line between business and pleasure stays clear. But Lety…Lety isn’t just anyone.
She’s different.
She’s mine—or she will be, if I can manage not to fuck this up. But I’m done being patient. I’m a viper, ready to sink my fangs into her.
I’ve never been the type to settle down.
Never saw the appeal. Women have always been a temporary indulgence.
Lety, though? She consumes me. Takes up all my waking thoughts.
I think about her constantly—her sharp tongue, the way her eyes flash when she’s annoyed, how her voice lowers when she’s tired or vulnerable.
She’s in my head when I wake up and when I fall asleep.
I catch myself watching her when she isn’t looking, memorizing the curve of her neck, the way her fingers fly over the keyboard when she types. She makes me irrational, possessive.
No woman has ever occupied my thoughts the way she does. No one has ever made me want more. It’s a new sensation, but it feels right. Like I was always meant to find my way to her. Now I just need to convince her of the same.
She’s quiet as I pull into the driveway, and I don’t blame her. The house is a lot. Floor-to-ceiling windows, clean modern lines, wide driveway, and manicured hedges. Lety’s eyes widen as she takes it all in, but she doesn’t say anything. She just tightens her arms over her chest and stares ahead.
“I don’t usually bring people here,” I tell her as I shut off the engine. “You’re the first.” And she will be the last, but telling her that might freak her out. I need my girl to get used to the thought of us. Because “us” is an inevitability.
She arches a brow. “Should I feel honored or concerned?”
“Honored.” I give her a crooked smile. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you keep your phone in case you want to call Dateline to report me yourself.”
It’s meant to be a joke, and luckily it lands. Lety lets out a small, reluctant laugh, but it’s a win. She follows me out of the car and up the steps, her heels clicking lightly on the stone. I unlock the door and push it open, gesturing for her to enter.
The lights come on with a soft hum, casting a warm glow across the open floor plan.
My place is clean thanks to the fantastic cleaning service I hired.
The room is decorated in tasteful furniture in neutral tones that complement the dark wood floors and abstract art I didn’t choose but paid way too much for.
I watch her take it all in, fingers twitching at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to touch something.
“You live here alone?” she murmurs, almost accusatory. Like any minute a wife and a kid I’ve never told her about will walk out and catch us.
“I do.” I set my keys in a glass bowl near the door and turn back to her. I’m not surprised she asks because the house could fit two families comfortably.
She doesn’t say anything as I lead her farther into the house, but I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves.
She’s not used to this—being taken care of without having to ask.
She’s used to men watching her and wanting her body, but never her.
Not really. That’s what I gathered from our private chat as DineroDaddy and CurvyBabe.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I say, gesturing to the plush seating area sunk into the floor just past the kitchen. She hesitates, but it’s fleeting, because she soon kicks off her heels, letting out a content sigh.
“You’re so lucky you don’t have to wear heels,” she murmurs under her breath.