2. Angie
ANGIE
My brain glitches and skitters around desperately as I try to come up with something to say. Deny it all? Pretend like I was hacked? Make some lame excuse?
Cry. Start crying. That might work? Unless he’s into weepy girls…
But something he said nags. I’ve been chewing on it for hours now. And he’s not saying he’s upset or acting like he’s embarrassed for me at all, but instead he seems like he’s trying to figure out if I meant that nude-photo dump as some kind of awkward attempt at flirting.
Looking at the guy, he seems like this might not be the first time a woman’s thrown a bunch of nudes at him out of nowhere.
“I don’t… I didn’t…” I start saying, but my cheeks are burning and I can’t breathe, and I’m looking at myself and myself is looking right back, tits out, legs spread.
Connor seems to understand. He turns the screen away from me again. But I notice he doesn’t close the image. “You aren’t in trouble, Ms. Bellandi. I’m only trying to understand what happened. I’m not upset.”
“I’m so sorry,” I finally manage to blurt out, which is probably what I should’ve led with. “I’ve been having a really hard week, and I’ve been busy with those expense reports, and I guess I attached the wrong files?—“
He holds up a hand to stop my flood of explanations. “Why do you keep these images on your work computer?”
I cover my face, ready to implode out of existence. “My mother.”
“Your mother?”
“She snoops on everything. There’s no such thing as privacy.”
“You’re an adult, Ms. Bellandi. Your mother can’t punish you for photographing yourself.”
“No, you don’t understand. I wouldn’t get in trouble. She’d want to offer advice, which is way worse. Please, Mr. Maguire, I’m so sorry.”
He leans back in his chair again with a sigh. “So it was a mistake then.” He sounds… strangely disappointed.
I nod, feeling small and stupid. “I know that sort of thing is inappropriate in the workplace. I never should have kept them on my work laptop. I’ll delete the folder, I swear.”
“That’s a shame.” He crosses his arms. My eyes catch on them, on the ink visible, the veins and the muscle. Two words in black, wrapped in ivy and flowers, cut through with a sword. Family-Death.
“What’s a shame?” I ask, lips numb, chest heaving.
“Deleting all these pictures. You’re very good at photographing yourself, Ms. Bellandi. Exceptional.”
“Thank… thank you.” I bite my lip, aware that this is straying into dangerous territory. He should not be saying anything remotely like that. HR would burn him to the ground and he’s practically begging for a sexual harassment lawsuit.
And yet… my cheeks are flushed red and his praise is like a fireworks display in my heart.
After Brad dumped me for Lavender Lane, I’ve been feeling like a slug smashed into a messy pulp. My self-esteem is practically in the gutter.
But if a man like Connor Maguire finds me attractive…
No, stop, this is stupid and weird!
“I’m aware of the situation we’re in right now, Ms. Bellandi.
There is a… power imbalance in this room.
” He says those words like he enjoys them.
His lips tug into the barest hint of a smile, but his eyes remain hard.
It’s terrifying and arousing all at once.
I lick my lips, hands shaking. “I’m going to ask you something, and if you say no, you can turn around and leave this office with no repercussions.
Your photos will be deleted. The email will disappear.
It will be as if this little mistake never happened. Do you understand?”
I nod, a whimper deep in my throat. I know what’s coming next. I know what he wants by the way his eyes graze down my body, simmering with heat and lust. He glances at the screen again, and I know what he’s seeing. That’s me, my breasts, my mouth, my legs.
He looks back and I know he’s comparing, weighing, judging, wondering: does she really look like that under all her frumpy clothes?
Under that too-big sweater? Those thick dress slacks? The ugly shoes?
Yes, asshole, I really freaking do.
“What do you want to ask me, Mr. Maguire?”
I don’t know why I say it. Like I’m challenging him.
Like, screw you, asshole, I really am hot.
I can be sexy! Sometimes! Under the right circumstances!
And sure, maybe my ex told me I give head like I’m trying to clean a drain with my teeth (whatever that means) but he can kick rocks and screw himself.
Connor Maguire’s hands press against his desk as he stands.
Crap, I forgot how tall he is. Big and broad, a massive hulking brute of a man.
How does he even fit in this room? He’s so out of place in an office, it’s like a joke.
He should be in a ring beating another man to a pulp or something, covered in blood and brains, reveling in death and broken bones.
“I have an hour open in my schedule this evening. Would you like to recreate one of these poses for me, Ms. Bellandi?”
Oh, shit.
I knew it was coming. Maybe not that, exactly, but something like it.
This man wants me.
There’s no denying the lust-dripping hunger in his eyes.
And maybe under other circumstances, I’d be repulsed, but not tonight. Not with Connor Maguire. And he’s right, there’s a power imbalance… but for some sick reason, that makes this so much hotter.
It’s wrong. This situation, it’s everything I should hate.
I’m a good person. I follow the rules. I do the right thing, always, a living contrast to my nightmare of a mother, to my deadbeat father, to my loser ex-boyfriend.
Good girls don’t get themselves into situations like this one.
Good girls get the hell out of the office when the Big Boss propositions them.
But I’ve been good for a long time, and it hasn’t gotten me anything but dumped, abused, taken advantage of, and ignored.
Right now, for the next hour, good can go ahead and screw itself.
“Which were you thinking?” I whisper, heart racing wildly, right up into my throat.
Connor’s expression barely reacts. It’s like he knew what I’d say.
He comes around the desk, his body shockingly powerful and well-built. I step back, afraid he’s going to touch me and also desperately wanting him to, but he moves past, to the door, and turns the lock.
It clicks home with a sharp thud.
Oh, god. For a brief moment, I think I’m stuck. Trapped again. Metal all around. Heat, screams, broken glass, blood. No, I’m not there, I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m safe.
He pauses, going still, brows tugging down. “Are you alright? I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Ms. Bellandi. I’m only making sure nobody interrupts.”
“It’s okay.” I drift to the couch and sit on the edge. “I have trouble with enclosed spaces sometimes.”
“Should I open the lock?”
“No, no, it’s really… it’s okay.” I drag in a stumbling breath through my nose and smooth my palms over my thighs. “You were going to tell me which image you like best.”
His smile is wicked. It’s delicious, filled with promise, and terrifying. I want to laugh and scream. Who is this girl right now? I don’t recognize myself reflected in his gaze.
“The one I showed you. Stay right there. Top off. Legs spread. I want you to look at me the way you looked at that camera. Was that photo for a boyfriend?”
“Ex-boyfriend.” I don’t move, heart pounding, adrenaline spiking. “Are you going to…”
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”
I look down at my feet. “I mean, are you going to take my picture?”
“No, angel, I won’t.”
I stiffen. Nobody calls me angel. “Just Angie.”
“You keep calling me Mr. Maguire. Whenever you’re ready, angel.”
Asshole. I look up again, dizzy with excitement and nervous energy, and it’s now or never. I have to make a call. Get up, run away, maybe always regret never having a shot at being with a man like Big Boss?—
I reach down and tug my sweater over my head.
One smooth motion. I toss it aside, trembling with nerves.
Connor watches from across the room, rapt. His attention is intoxicating. I unbutton my slacks, kick off my shoes, and lift my hips. Slowly, I take my pants off.
And show him the purple panties.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his mouth open.
I can’t stop the smile. Yeah, sometimes life works out. I don’t normally wear the sexy stuff to work but I forgot to do laundry.
“Your lucky day.”
“You have no idea, angel.” His voice is laced with desperate want. It’s incredible, hearing a man like him talk like that.
Like I’m worth wanting. Like he’s going to collapse if he doesn’t see more of me.
Boring, good-girl Angie.
His angel.
Confidence floods me. I’ve never felt this way in my life, not a single time. I’m a nothing girl from nowhere New York, an anonymous nobody with a two-year degree and a dim future. I should never, ever command the attention of a man like Connor Maguire.
Except he’s almost shaking as I continue to strip.
Arousal burns into my core. I’m so wet I bet he can smell it.
That should mortify me, but it doesn’t. Instead, I let my hair down, shaking it out like in the photo, pretending like I’m back in my room and preparing to get naked for another series of pics.
I slip off my undershirt and unhook my bra.
Connor’s mouth falls open and he stands as still as a statue.
“It’s okay, Mr. Maguire,” I whisper, not even sure where my voice is coming from, how I’m saying anything at all right now when I’m this afraid, but it’s like I’m buzzing with new energy, like I’m someone else. “You can come closer.”
He lets out the most erotic, sexy groan I’ve ever heard.
I sit on the edge of the couch. My clothes are tossed around me. I look at him and slowly spread my knees open, showing my purple panties, and press my tits together like in the photo. The pose is simple, one I’ve done a billion times; but for some reason, it breaks him.
Connor Maguire unbuckles his belt.
My mouth opens in surprise. I grip my thighs, motionless. He moves closer, unzipping his slacks. One powerful hand slips down the front… down into his boxer briefs (black and simple)…
And he grips himself.
He grips… his hard cock.