Chapter 6
LILY
I smooth down my jean shorts and top and wish for the hundredth time that there had been a way to dress up as I pause before walking into the office block.
The shiny discreetly signed building is the sort of place that your eyes slide right past, but when you look back you can’t believe you missed it.
There’s an understated luxury at every turn.
Each pane of glass and stone is precision placed and heavy with wealth.
“Your interview is with Mr Anderson,” the older woman says. “His office is through the doors.”
“The boss is personally overseeing the brochure redesign?”
She nods, but her expression says, good luck with the Devil.
My knees shake as I approach the door. It’s suddenly impressed on me how much I want this job. I would have been happy to take any role, but this? It’s a dream come true.
I draw in a long breath through my nose, then exhale, trying to let out all the tension, and knock.
“Enter.”
Here goes nothing.
The door opens, heavy but smooth, revealing a clean grey-and-white room with a marble floor and an expanse of glass that looks over the city skyline and blue sky scattered with fluffy clouds. A man with dark brown wavy hair and wide shoulders sits at a desk, head bowed.
“Close the door. I prefer privacy.” He has a deep, rough voice that’s commanding.
I hurry to obey, then he looks up, and my heart skips a beat. Because although I’m not wearing any knickers, and my top says Just One More Chapter, I feel like a girl at a ball.
My potential boss is gorgeous.
A defined jawline and cheekbones, yes, and tanned skin.
His mouth is wide and generous, and he has a small scar over his right eyebrow, but his eyes.
Oh my. His eyes are violet, and his regard is a shot of something hot and intense.
It strengthens me. My nipples tighten, my cheeks heat and confidence fills me like he’s poured liquid steel into my spine.
“Miss Sullivan.” Do his violet eyes have x-ray vision? Can he see all my secrets and fantasies? It feels that way.
“Mr Anderson.” I try to keep my tone formal, despite the riot of emotions in my chest. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
He nods slowly and points to the seat opposite him with a long blunt finger. His hands momentarily entrance me. They’re so masculine. Solid and squared, a dusting of hair at his wrist and his nails short and neat.
He steals my breath. He has this presence that’s compelling, but he’s probably in his early forties? Too mature to be interested in a girl like me. I must be a stupid kid to him.
“Show me your ideas,” he says, tone serious.
I swallow, then I launch into the spiel I prepared, practising it late into the night in my bedroom. Pulling the papers I drew designs on out, I spread them across his desk, showing him options of different vibes for the logo, the layouts, and all the themed items.
Mr Anderson doesn’t look away dismissively. He doesn’t interrupt me, though a few times he asks for clarification. He nods and his eyes narrow as he rubs his mouth thoughtfully tapping first one design then another with his index finger.
Lucky bit of paper.
I’m losing it, being envious of a piece of pulped tree.
How would his hands feel on my skin rather than that white paper?
Good. Magic. Like the luckiest girl in the world. That answer pops into my mind, unbidden.
Eventually, I run out of steam, and sit back, fidgeting nervously. I’ve probably said too much. But Mr Anderson feels familiar in the best way. He’s so easy to talk to, as though I’ve known him forever.
“I’m very impressed, Miss Sullivan.”
Uhhhfff. I want to ask Mr Anderson to say that again, record it, then stuff my fist in my mouth and whimper as I listen to it over and over. I’d have it as my alarm clock and my lullaby.
Impressed. By me. No one is ever interested enough to notice my work, be it design or how well I cleaned my aunt’s floor.
“I would like to offer you a job.” His voice is low and hoarse, and I don’t know how it’s physically possible, but all the moisture disappears from my mouth and goes right to my pussy.
Which is not ideal for wanting to say words with my lips.
The lips on my face that is. Oh my god. My brain is just a meme of a thirsty girl in a desert watching Mr Anderson flex while stroking a puppy, holding a tiny baby, and wearing grey sweatpants.
“Ayk,” I croak, nodding rapidly, and it’s a massive relief that he understands and doesn’t require me to form an actual sentence.
Mr Anderson smiles, and that’s ten tons of flammable liquid on the fire in my brain. He’s smiling at me. He has straight white teeth, but not creepy man-doll style, just nice teeth that I would like to bite me. Consume me.
“Can you start today? Now.”
“Yua.” This noise emerges high-pitched, as though my voice is attempting to show off its range via a series of increasingly bizarre nonverbal agreements.
I must imagine the relaxation of his shoulders, but they seem to sink as he sits back.
“The job comes with an apartment in the hotel. The same one as you stayed in last night, as a matter of fact.”
“I can stay in the suite?” I repeat in disbelief. Ooof, finally some water has turned up in my mouth. Drooling at Mr Anderson’s smile, maybe? I really need to get a hold of my physical reactions to my boss. This is important.
“Well, the neighbours might not be what you want,” he replies with a twist of irony. “There’s a welcome pack for new employees, too.”
What about the neighbours? I almost ask, but Mr Anderson rises—oh god this man moves like a cat, so smooth and elegant for all he’s enormous, probably six-foot-four—and lifts a box onto the desk in front of me.
The shiny high-end laptop I can see peeking out of the box makes my eyes go wide.
I’ve always wanted one of these. They’re metal cased and stupidly expensive.
“This will be yours for work.” He plucks a phone that presumably costs more than most houses from the box. “Please ensure that you have it with you at all times.”
He looks down at me severely.
“Yes.” I nod, over-eager. Our fingers touch as I take the phone from him, and it’s electric. This isn’t like the nothing of when I’ve brushed on people before. Nope. It’s lightning. “Thank you. I’ll keep it with me. Promise.”
I want to please Mr Anderson. Not just because he’s my boss, but because he has this dangerous and charismatic aura that draws me in. His eyes, especially. I’ve never met anyone with eyes like his. Not blue, but tinged with purple. Violet eyes.
Purple is my favourite colour.
That’s all there is to it, surely? I tell myself that as I lift my chin to thank him, and I’m caught by the intensity of his expression as he looks down at me. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m sitting, and he’s standing, and the result is that his belt is right there.
His dick is under a couple of layers of fabric at the height of my own eyes. He could reach out, grab the back of my head, yank down his flies and shove himself into my face.
Between my thighs heats into molten awareness. I’m pretty sure my nipples have pebbled, but I can’t look away from Mr Anderson’s violet eyes.
“And use it,” he adds.
“Yes.” I sound a bit breathy, because I wouldn’t object to him using me.
True, my experience of this sort of thing is precisely zero.
But Mr Anderson?
Welp. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d made me suck him off to get this job.
I’d love it. I’d do it with sloppy and inexperienced enthusiasm.
I’d try to make it as good for him as I could, with every tip from a glossy magazine and smutty novel.
Those things I’ve read and wondered about the actual practicality of doing.
Covering my teeth. Being intimidated by a man’s size.
I’m not big, just five-foot-six. He’s so huge, I bet he’d barely fit.
I wonder if he’d make me take it.
My pussy clenches on nothing and before I can stop myself, my thighs press together, and a short pant has escaped my lips.
“Good girl,” he replies, and this smile is softer, sweeter and makes me melt like chocolate spread on warm toast. And the words. Good girl?
I will not cry with happiness that I’m his good girl in these precious seconds. I’ve never been anyone’s good girl.
Have I ever actually pleased anyone before?
What would it be like to have Mr Anderson smile and call me his good girl when I’d satisfied him in bed?
Good grief, I have lost it. And yet, I still press my thighs together and savour the pulse of pleasure that flares out from my core.
“Thank you.” The attempt to sound normal and not as though I’m fantasising about my boss—my new, older boss who is being so generous in giving me an opportunity—fails.
Dragging my gaze away, I peer into the box, blindly taking in the mug, employee handbook, a pack of red cherry and purple grape-flavoured lollipops, and forms to fill in.
My mind isn’t so easily distracted. He could bend me over the desk. That sort of thing happens in movies, doesn’t it?
Panic seizes at my heart. What if the subject of my desperate crush is married? How awful. Subtly, I look to the side, swivelling only my eyes until I can see his left hand.
My chest relaxes infinitesimally. No ring.
Some men don’t wear a ring though. And although Mr Anderson is so freaking hot, he could crook his forefinger and narrow those violet eyes and every woman’s knickers within a ten-mile radius would melt, I bet he doesn’t.
He has this strict control about him. If he were married, I bet he’d be faithful.
That’s a good thing. For his wife, present or future.
Bitch. I hate her.
I’ve lost it. One hour-long interview with Mr Anderson and a job offer, and every cell in my body thinks he’s mine.
“Do you have any questions?”
Are you married? Would you marry me and give me babies?
Could I be your precious toy? Your beloved whore?
Can I suck your dick, and would you make me choke on it and my eyes water?
Please, please, please could you never get married so I can watch you and kid myself that one day you could look my way and use me.
Just once. Would you take my virginity and tug my hair and call me your good girl?
“Can I start tomorrow?” I think of that luxurious apartment then my brain stutters. I have to go to the bank, I have to buy proper clothes. I can’t work here in this shiny office, in my One More Chapter T-shirt, and naked beneath my shorts.
“Why?” he snaps, brows lowering.
Yikes. He’s terrifying when he’s serious. But it’s the delicious, tingly type of fear darting down my back. Like a scary movie.
“I need to run some errands. Sort something out with the bank and…” I trail off. Buy some new clothes so I’m not a girl in a pair of cut-offs in his fancy glass and metal office.
“Tomorrow then. You’ll have a desk in here with me.”
How am I ever going to get any work done with my hot boss nearby? “Yes, Mr Anderson.”
His mouth twitches into a smile, and it lights his eyes, and all the scariness dissipates. A soft, generous smile. “Kane. Please.”
Well, now I know what name I’ll repeat in my dreams.
“Kane.” Saying it makes my clit pulse. My nipples point out like stubby little pencils.
Heat blooms all over. My cheeks, between my legs. Oh god. He’ll feel the inferno coming off me. I don’t know how to deal with this. I haven’t even kissed a boy.
And my boss is a man.
Just saying his first name and having his gaze on me in perfectly normal places like my face—which is a glowing orb brighter than the sun—is setting me aflame.
I have to get out of here before I humiliate myself. Perhaps by saying Kane over and over like a little psycho.
“’Kay-thanks-bye.” I nod, back out of the office, mortified as his smile fades and his eyes narrow, even as I burn for him.
Then I flee.