Chapter 7
The problem is the anklet.
This is my very professional assessment on Monday morning. Every time I shift my foot under my desk, the chain moves, and I lose my train of thought.
I should have taken it off Sunday morning. There was a moment I could’ve unclasped it and left it on his nightstand before sneaking out of his condo with a bare ankle. His cum inside me would’ve been my only souvenir.
I didn’t take it off, but I did leave.
It was 5 a.m., and he was still sound asleep.
I woke up tucked into his side, and the panic kicked in before I’d even opened my eyes.
The dinner had been too good. The anklet was too pretty.
He’d asked me to stay the night, and I had, and somewhere between dessert and waking up wrapped in him, I’d let myself imagine more of this.
Then I imagined saying goodbye when my contract ends.
The thought hit hard enough that I got out of bed.
I kept the anklet on because the thought of taking it off hurt too much, and apparently, I’m not the kind of woman who can do the simple thing.
I’m not ready to look at what any of this means.
Not when my time at the company is ticking down and my boxes are still packed, ready for wherever I move next.
He didn’t text on Sunday, and I’m annoyed about it. I also didn’t text. Both can be true.
“Morning, Lily.” Rachel appears at my cubicle with a grin. “You look cute today.”
“I look like I got three hours of sleep. Which is accurate.”
“Hot date?”
My fingers freeze on the keyboard for half a second. “Netflix and bad decisions.” I pull my work email. “How was your weekend?”
Rachel launches into a story about her sister’s engagement brunch. I laugh in the right places and ask the right questions. The performance is so smooth I almost buy it myself.
She’s still telling me the story when Bren gets to the office and walks past us. He’s in the navy suit that I’ve decided is my favorite. He also looks well rested, which makes me hate him just a little.
He says, “Good morning, Lily. Rachel,” in the voice he uses for everyone. And then he slows just long enough for his eyes to find mine.
I’ve been working on my poker face since I left his condo. He sees through it in two seconds, and his eyes narrow. But Rachel is here, and he can’t say anything. He continues past us and into his office.
“Did he look annoyed?” Rachel asks, and something in her tone makes me give her a sharp glance. She’s grinning again, but I can’t read what it means.
“I don’t know,” I murmur as a flush runs up my neck. Please god, don’t let her suspect anything.
She shrugs, “Oh well, I’d better get to it.”
I slump down when she leaves. Ugh. My thighs have been pressed together since the navy suit walked past my cubicle. My body is voting yes on things my brain hasn’t authorized.
He doesn’t intercom me all morning, but every time he comes out of the office, his eyes find me. I catch him at it twice before 10. At 11, he pauses in the break-room doorway, staring at me a beat too long before going back to his office.
Is he playing chicken with me and waiting for me to come to him? Why is this so hot? At the rate this weird game is making me wet, my panties are going to need to be incinerated by lunch.
I’m grumbling to myself about one of us having to be an adult when my desk phone rings. Frank owns a manufacturing company we hold the bad debt on. Normally, he’s all buttoned-up Southern manners: ma’am this, pleasure-to-speak-with-you that. Today, the words run into each other.
“Lily, I need Mr. Harrison. Right now. I got a notice that one of my properties is being scheduled for auction, and that is not what we agreed to. I have a private buyer coming in two weeks, and if I lose that property, I lose the buyer and I lose the company—“
Frank is terrified and trying to hide it because scared men get worse deals, and Frank knows it.
Bren is in a closed-door meeting with Kevin, so I can’t put Frank through. Which leaves me to handle this.
“Frank. I’m going to fix this. Stay with me.”
I pull up his file. The auction notice turns out to be a routine filing, sent out automatically weeks before anything actually happens. The second I see that, I know what to do.
“That notice doesn’t mean a decision’s been made. It’s procedure. Give me sixty seconds, and I’ll tell you exactly when Bren can call you back and exactly what your buyer needs ready before then.”
Frank exhales loudly. “Thank you.”
It takes me forty seconds to scan the loan terms and find a callback window on Bren’s calendar. I walk Frank through what I can and assure him that Bren will help him with the rest. By the time we hang up, he’s calling me ma’am again.
“How long was that call?” Bren asks from over my shoulder.
I give a peep of surprise and almost jump out of my seat. He’s leaning against my cubicle wall and sipping from a mug of coffee.
A quick glance at the screen on my phone gives me the answer. “Eleven minutes.”
“How long have I been standing here?”
Um, why doesn’t he tell me?
“I don’t know.”
“Most of it.” His eyes are dark and glittering with something that is definitely not work-appropriate. “You turned that from a crisis into a follow-up in eleven minutes.”
“It was always a follow-up. Frank just didn’t know it yet.”
“That’s what this job takes, Lily.”
He straightens and walks back to his office. He’s gone all of three seconds before I clench around nothing. This is going to get worse before it gets better.
I sit there with his words in my ear and the picture builds before I can stop it. I imagine years of this and knowing every client by name. There’d be a cute glass terrarium with an air cactus on my desk because I kill any other type of plant. I’d be good at this job.
I am good at this job. I’m not supposed to want this.
My brain doesn’t care.
For the next few hours, whenever Bren is in the common area, I joke around with everyone and fake reasons to not be at my desk if he walks in my direction. By 2 p.m., I’m getting annoyed. I want him to demand I come to his office.
My body tingles whenever I think of him. Past me did not anticipate this scenario yesterday while I was being cranky that he didn’t text me after I snuck out. I didn’t expect to want to fuck him as soon as I saw him today.
So I turn the volume up. Louder jokes. Bigger smile. I tease Rachel about her sister’s fiancé. I volunteer for the Thompson intake nobody wants and answer the phones too brightly. If anyone’s keeping score, I’m having the best day of my professional life. I refuse to let him know he’s affecting me.
By 5 p.m., the office empties out. Rachel waves goodbye, and I send her off with a joke about surviving Monday.
By 5:15, it’s just me, Bren, and the hum of the HVAC. I haven’t been not-wet since this morning. My desk is clear, and there’s a frozen pizza at home that doesn’t require thought.
His door opens, and he comes out. His sleeves are rolled up and his tie is loosened. The expression on his face is the same, patient one he’s worn all day.
He stops by my desk. “Come talk to me.”
Oh, now he wants to talk? I’m about to tell him I’m a very busy woman, but instead I find myself walking with him to his office. My legs are clearly staging a mutiny.
When he shuts the door and locks it, heat flares in my core. That fucking lock does it to me every time.
“Sit down.” He’s not using his Dom voice, which makes everything worse because it reminds me of Saturday night. I don’t want to remember how much I liked Saturday.
I don’t sit. I lean against the bookshelf with my arms crossed. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were going to.”
He’s close enough that the warmth coming off his shirt is its own kind of pressure, and all I want is for him to bend me over his desk and make me not be able to think of anything but his cock. That’s what I signed up for, not whatever that was on Saturday night.
“What happened after we went to bed?” he asks.
I shrug. “Nothing. I had a great weekend. Great food. Fantastic sex. Ten out of ten, would recommend.”
He doesn’t smile, but his Dom voice is back. “Lily.”
“Bren.” I match his tone and tighten my arms. “I’m fine. I slept weird. Being dramatic is my signature personality trait when I’m tired.”
He takes a step toward me and pauses. I want to retreat, but I’m not that woman. I straighten up, and the anklet shifts. The small tug sends a pulse up my calf. I don’t want to think about the anklet right now either.
He takes another step. “What scared you?”
That question is a door I’m not opening. “Nothing scared me.”
“And yet you left while I was asleep.”
I lift my chin. “I had things to do.”
“On a Sunday at 5 in the morning?”
He knows what time I left.
“I’m a very productive person.”
He reaches out, and his fingers brush my cheek softly. It feels like a brand.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he says quietly. “But don’t lie to me.”
Those words hit me like a physical blow. My chest tightens, and suddenly I’m feeling everything I didn’t want to feel today. Sunday was torture, and I’ve been annoyed at him all day and wanting attention.
I’m taking what I want.
I uncross my arms and fist my hands in his shirt, yanking him against me.
My mouth crashes into his. He kisses me back instantly and slides his hand around my waist. He walks me backwards until the bookshelf digs into my spine.
Something wobbles on the surface behind me, but I don’t care. I’m ready to climb him like a tree.
His fingers fumble at my buttons, and he curses before he grabs the fabric with both hands and yanks.
The fabric gives way, buttons flying. One pings on his desk.
I barely have time to gasp when he’s diving for my bra.
He’s desperate for my tits, yanking the cups down without bothering with the clasp.
His palms close over them, and he pulls at my nipples.
My hips buck against him. I can feel how hard he is through his slacks, that thick ridge pressing into my stomach.
“Lily—”
He pulls back, and his breath is ragged.