2. Troy
TROY
The less time I spend in the presence of my curvy assistant, the better. She’s too much temptation for me.
I had the discipline of a monk before she walked into my office a year ago. Now I’m barely hanging on, usually restrained only by the fact that I’ve made sure that Laura hates me too much to ever consent to my touch.
Her hatred of me is an insurance policy. Because no matter how weak I am, no matter how much I want to succumb to temptation…I always know that she’d never have me anyways.
The certainty of her rejection is bittersweet. A comfort and a curse at the same time.
A cage.
Today she’s worn that silk top again. The one that leaves nothing to the imagination at all.
The flowy material drapes over the contours of her body like it’s daring me to reach out and touch.
To feel the silky white material between my fingertips.
To slide it over her skin, to glide my thumbs over the soft, full breasts that I know lurk beneath.
Today I’m pretty sure that Isaac noticed her, too. I see his smug face watching her through the glass as she retreats from my office.
Isaac is the kind of man who thinks that all women can be bought. For most of his life, he’s had the advantage of his family name and fortune. And just enough charm to tempt a woman into bed for a night.
Not enough charm to convince her to stay for any longer. The mask comes off, the monster comes out, and the women leave. Replaced by another unsuspecting one only a week later.
Some might say I’m cut from the same cloth, but they’d be wrong.
Men like Isaac wear a mask and conceal the truth. Whereas I never lie. I don’t wear a mask. I might be an asshole…but I’m an honest one. And there’s more honor in that, than playing whatever games Isaac has spent his life perfecting.
“Hot,” he says with an approving nod, tearing his eyes away from Laura’s retreating backside and smirking at me. “Nice choice. A little on the young side, but that’s no problem. No problem at all.”
“Laura is twenty-nine,” I say stiffly.
His eyebrows wing up.
“Really?” he asks, glancing out the glass windows in her direction. “Wow. She’s aging exceptionally well. Wonder what her mother looks like.”
I pick up a remote from my desk and jam my finger into a button. The electric blinds that line my office whir to life, concealing the rest of the floor from view.
“Distractions are dangerous,” I tell Isaac.
He chuckles, like we’re sharing the same joke.
But we’re not. We’re not sharing a god damn thing, least of all my assistant.
The one that I can’t have. The one that keeps me up late at night thinking about her curves and smiles and all of that big curly hair that I’d like to bury my nose in and inhale like it’s some kind of vital, life-giving substance.
The way Laura makes me feel is animalistic and primal. Something I’ve never felt for a woman before in my life.
I’ve also never thought of women as a threat before. Women have wanted things from me before, but it was never hard to say no. To tell them I don’t want commitment, marriage, or babies.
But I already know that Laura isn’t the kind of woman I can say no to. That’s why she’s dangerous. One look at her, and I started making plans. Rearranging my life. Reconsidering long-held beliefs that I never imagined I’d ever change my mind about.
I’m not a family man.
Not a settling down kind of man.
I’m nobody’s husband. Not even boyfriend material.
At best, I’m a fuck buddy who doesn’t mind paying for an expensive dinner and cocktails before the deed.
At worst, I’m a commitment-phobic asshole whose only redeeming quality might be that I’m at least a step above a man like Isaac.
Because unlike Isaac, I like women. I respect women.
I just don’t want to ride off into the sunset with one in a car that says “JUST MARRIED.”
I don’t want to share my space with a woman. To share my bed. To have mundane conversations with a woman for the rest of my life. Conversations like “What should we eat for dinner tonight?” and “Did you remember to reschedule Junior’s pediatrician appointment?”
It would be torture. To build a life with another person. To have to collaborate, compromise, consult, and communicate…constantly.
That kind of life isn’t for me. At least, that’s what I always believed.
Until her.
“She’s quite a distraction, then,” Isaac says with a chortle, oblivious to my murderous expression.
“I don’t see why you keep her around if she’s so dangerous.
Eye candy is nice, but I know what you mean.
After my last…situation…Human Resources transferred a male assistant to me.
Said they thought working with men from now on would be a better ‘fit.’ Ha! ”
I grind my teeth. I’m the CEO of this company, but that never stops Isaac from kicking back and talking to me like I’m just one of the boys. Hearing that Human Resources had to bar an entire gender from working beneath Isaac due to sexual harassment is not welcome news. Not at all.
Note to self: Fire Isaac Lawson as soon as fucking possible.
My blood is boiling now. And of course, this is when Laura decides to saunter back into my office in that damned silk shirt, a plate of scones in her hands.
“Nice and warm,” she says with a deadly smile aimed in my direction that communicates more than words ever could.
“Thank you, Dollface” Isaac grins at her. She smiles back at him and I can’t tell whether her smile is warmer and more genuine for him than for me.
“On second thought,” I say, snatching the scone from his hand. “We need to reschedule this for next Friday.”
“Why next Friday?” Isaac frowns.
Because that’s how long it’s going to take to finalize your termination paperwork.
After my last firing spree, Jing from Human Resources had a talk with me. Apparently even though I have the right to fire people on the spot without consulting HR, this habit of mine can be counterproductive to HR’s goal of creating a safe working environment.
“We need to wait until after the quarterly finance meeting,” I lie to Isaac. “Let’s wait until we have all the data.”
“Fine, fine,” Isaac says, as though I need his approval to reschedule. “I’ll bump the meeting to next Friday. Until then, I’ll keep monitoring the situation.”
He crosses Laura on his way to the door, snagging another scone from the plate in front of her.
“See you around,” he says with a wink.
On second thought, it might not be enough to simply fire Isaac. I might actually have to kill him.
I wonder how Jing from HR feels about workplace homicide.
“Well,” Laura says, approaching my desk and putting the plate on the corner. “I guess you can have the rest of these.”
“No, thank you,” I mutter.
“You had me make an extra trip to the kitchen for scones you were never going to eat?” she asks.
“I thought they were already warming in the oven?” I ask her, arching a brow.
I think I see her cheeks turn pink, a detail that doesn’t help at all with my unwanted lust. Against my will, I imagine her cheeks turning pink for a very different reason. I imagine her whole body flushed with heat and need, her hair tangled and wild on my pillow case, legs splayed open…
“They were,” she says quickly. “They were warming in the oven, yes. I just meant…you had me do all of that for no reason, didn’t you?”
“Does wasting company money seem like a thing I’d do, Miss Jenkins?” I level her with a gaze that I hope masks every ounce of unrelenting lust that comes to life inside of me every time I see her.
She takes a step back.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t mean to imply you were wasting scones. Of course, you wouldn’t do that.”
“I wasn't talking about the scones,” I say. “Your time is far more valuable to me than a pastry. Why would I waste your time making you fetch things that I don’t actually need?”
Her chocolate eyes are aimed at the floor in front of her feet now.
I feel guilty as hell right now. Because truthfully, I ask her to run useless errands all the time.
Whenever I need an excuse to make her leave the office while I cool down and get rid of the unwanted erection in my pants.
Whenever I need her to leave because I’m on the brink of doing something exceptionally stupid, like confessing that I’m obsessed with her and always have been.
Nearly every day, I’m sending her across town on some mundane, non-urgent errand just to get a break. Not because she bothers me. But because she draws me in like a magnet.
“Is there anything else you need?” Laura asks, still not looking at me.
I’ve really done it this time. Sometimes I wonder why she doesn’t just go find another job. Something else where her boss isn’t a frustrating prick.
I settle behind my desk and open a blank document on my laptop, pretending to be absorbed in something more important than her. Impossible, because when she’s around, nothing feels more important than her.
“Nothing else,” I say, hoping she doesn’t recognize the hoarseness in my voice for what it really is. “Go, please. And shut the door on your way out.”