This is . . . crazy.
And isn’t that why you like it? the devil on my shoulder asks.
He has Tiffany’s voice. Yes, he. And yes, Tiffany’s voice. It doesn’t make sense, but I’ve long since grown used to it.
How am I going to pull this off? Walking down the corridor of the fifth floor, I realize that I’ve got thirty minutes, tops, before Dad knows what’s happened.
At which point, I have no idea how to explain myself.
But I walk into Colton’s outer office, where he’s perched on the corner of an empty desk, chatting with Helen, who gives me a glance.
“Mr. Wolfe?”
“Hello, Miss Stryker. This way,” Colton says, standing up and walking into his office. As I follow him, I can’t help but admire the way his ass fills out his fresh suit pants, black today but not funereal. Instead, he looks powerful and magnetic, and when he looks back over his shoulder, he totally catches me checking him out. I can tell by the amused twitch of his lips. I can even smell him, his masculine cologne woodsy and smoky, a combination that makes me think of naked camping trips even though I’ve never been an outdoorsy girl. “I’m glad to see you this morning.”
His tone is all business, no teasing banter and zero flirtation. To anyone listening in, it’d seem strictly professional. But I’m already better at reading him, seeing behind the cold and stoic façade. There are flames licking along my skin, lit by the heat of his gaze. I make a mental note to thank Tiffany again for the wardrobe assist last night because apparently, she did right by me.
“It took me a lot of thought, to be honest.”
“Good,” Colton says, smiling a little. “Being thoughtful and intentional about your career is always an admirable trait.”
Scratch that, maybe I’m not so good at reading him because I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. He knows that my appearance here is a total give in to him, and it pisses me off that I’ve done it. It pisses me off even more that he’s likely enjoying it. But I decide to take it at face value for now as he continues.
“There’s going to be a lot demanded of you, and that means I want you all in, starting now. We’ll begin with the rules.”
“Rules?” I bristle automatically at the word, the cage it invokes.
Colton nods, taking a file folder off his desk and handing it to me. I’m pretty sure there’s a flash of something in his expression, though. Curiosity, perhaps? His brows did jump ever so slightly. Cocky arrogance for sure in the smirky purse of his lips. Why are they both so attractive?
“You’re no longer working a straight nine to five, where the most secretive thing you deal with is which floors like which flavor of doughnuts.” He grins and gestures to the file. “Read it over, and if you want to discuss any of my rules, now is the time.”
The list of rules inside the folder is pretty straightforward, I’m surprised to find. I guess I expected something a bit more salacious given our arrangement.
I’m moving to salary, with a nice bump in pay, and while it might be normal, one thing sticks out. “Don’t share information outside of this team, Mr. Wolfe?”
“Let’s be honest. Mr. Fox has built this company by often having teams compete against each other to fuel the creative juices, so to speak. If I have an advantage over another team, I don’t want to give up that advantage. As I said before, your placement on my HQ2 team will send a message and I’m doing that intentionally. But I need to guard against your loyalties being divided. I will not have you working for me and helping your father on the sly. Am I understood?”
I nod and Colton continues. ‘I believe myself to be a good judge of character, and while you are rather unconventional . . .” His lips do that twitchy thing that I’m beginning to think means he’s laughing on the inside. “You are morally just. I presume that has to come at least partially from good parenting and that Daniel will respect your loyalty to my team as well. If not, by signing this contract, you’ll have a ready argument against disclosing anything private. This is to make it easier for me to trust you and easier for you to stay trustworthy.”
He pauses, looking at me expectantly.
“Understood, sir.”
His eyes flare wide, and bright sparks light in the deep blue so fast that if I hadn’t been watching, I would’ve missed it. A dark, delicious knowledge twines around in my core. He likes my calling him sir. I’m not into anything too wild, shocking, considering my daredevil tendencies, but with Rule Two always in place, my sex life has been pretty . . . typical, I’d say.
But if he’d rather me call him sir than honey, I could be into that. I tuck the knowledge away for when it’ll be most useful because every card I can stack in my deck against this man is going to be important.
“Any other questions?”
“So many . . .” I drawl out. “But for another time, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Good. First things first. Arrange with Helen to have a desk brought in for you.” He points to the corner of the room, by the window, at least.
‘You intend to have your assistant work in your private office?” I say incredulously, hoping he hears just how outlandishly ridiculous that sounds. He might as well be telling everyone from the front door to Mr. Fox’s office that I’m at his every beck and call. It won’t take long for those water-cooler conversations to tack on that I’m doing so on my knees.
I mean, I would. Because Colton Wolfe is the kind of man you get down and worship appreciatively. God knew what he was doing when he molded this particular clay. But I don’t need every Tom, Dick, and Henrietta knowing that.
Do we even have a Henrietta? Probably, but so not the point here, Elle!
He’s going to ruin me, I realize.
I may be intelligent, adept, and willing to earn my way into the responsibilities I desire. But after this, I’ll always have a shadow on my record, the question not whether I deserve my accolades, but rather how I earned them.
“It’ll make it easier for us to work closely on the HQ2 project,” he answers as if it’s no big deal. But then he winks, and that’s the real truth. He knows and he’s doing it on purpose.
Before I can growl or argue or claw his eyes out for being so good looking and having me by my lady balls, he calls out, “Helen?”
Helen comes in, formally introducing herself. Of course, I’ve seen her around the company before, and she’s professionally friendly. Still, she’s kind of stiff, making me wonder if she’s pissed about the whole situation.
Colton nods as if he’s successfully set us up on a blind date from hell, though, and says he’ll ‘leave us to it’ before disappearing.
To her credit, Helen helps me. I call down to facilities management, but they want her authorization before delivering furniture to Colton’s office. I guess my new role hasn’t made news down there yet, at least.
Not that that luxury will hold because I’m sure I don’t imagine the knowing looks the two guys give me after they set me up by Colton’s window.
I’m literally sitting there twiddling my thumbs and staring at the pretty view when Colton returns an hour later. Helen hadn’t wanted my help without knowing what my role would be, and the desk was my only assignment from Colton.
Mission accomplished. Not nearly the buzz of a dare, but at least I got one thing done.
Colton returns with a grim smile. Actually, on second glance from my spot in his office, it’s more of a predatory, feral teeth baring.
“Helen, Tom Givens won’t be giving you any more trouble. But let me know if there’s anything else.”
Helen looks at Colton like he hung the moon and stars and every planetary mass in the universe. It’d be sickening, except I get the feeling he just did something major for her. And I’d be a bit jealous if she wasn’t old enough to be his grandmother. I mean, Tiffany talks about DILFs, and I know MILFs are a thing, but surely, nobody’s going for GMILFs. Least of all, Colton.
I shake my head, not wanting that image anywhere near my eyeballs. Real or imagined.
Colton enters his office, eyes flicking to the left immediately as if he’s looking for me. I can’t help but sit up straighter.
“Tom Givens is a douche canoe who wouldn’t know his ass from his elbow if his assistant didn’t do all his work. Whatever he did to Helen was shitty, and whatever you did to him was well-deserved.”
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the most professional start to my day with Colton, but it’s the truth and every clerical person in the building knows that Tom Givens can barely turn on his computer. He’s a dinosaur in a post-meteorite world.
Colton’s lips twitch, but his tone is ice cold with zero honey. “Tell me what you really think.” It’s barely an invitation, and strictly about Tom, unfortunately.
I shrug. “I did.”
I don’t bother fighting my smile when I see Helen lean back in her chair to gauge Colton’s response to my outburst. She offers me a thumbs-up that I value like the rare approval it likely is. At least she’s warming up.
But he closes the door to that one lifeline, shutting us in together. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”
So formal. I don’t know why it makes me want to pull out every ain’t, gonna, and slang vocabulary I can just to fuck with him, but I swallow down that urge. I’m already pushing it this morning, and I do want to succeed with this new role. Especially since I’ll likely be on my ass looking for a new job after the HQ2 project ends. Even Miranda’s not going to touch me with a ten-foot pole after this.
The morning gets into swing, and I see the gossip about Colton come to life before my eyes. He’s not the Big Bad Wolfe. He’s the Terminator. I watch in barely suppressed awe while he handles two video calls, always turning the conversation to some advantage for the company regardless of the situation.
He clicks away on his computer, seemingly multi-tasking, but on what, I have no idea. He hasn’t given me any assignments so I sit, prim and proper as a fucking lady, doing jack shit but watching him. It’s almost like he’s forgotten about me.
In everything, it’s fascinating to observe him work. No wasted motion, no wasted words. It’s a stark contrast to his opulent office, and I’m nearly startled out of my chair when my phone buzzes just before lunch.
Tiffany: How’s it going with Sir HotsALot?
Me: I don’t know yet. Boring, if I’m honest. How bad’s the gossip?
Tiffany: Bebop came sniffing around. Told him you were upstairs somewhere and he took off to hunt you down. Not sure he bought it, though. You need to tell Daddy before he finds out on his own.
She’s right. He doesn’t deserve to be blindsided with this news by someone else. I owe him some brutal honesty, even if it kills me.
Me: TY for covering me.
I add a heart emoji and prayer hands before hitting Send.
Tiffany: Of course. Oh, and boredom is not allowed. I dare you . . .
I see those three dots pop up and my breath comes faster, waiting to see what she types. I don’t even know what the dare is yet, but the anticipation and excitement are brewing.
Tiffany: I dare you . . . to tell him to put your skills to better use. I can’t wait to see if he takes the safe route and gives you some copies to make or if tells you get on your knees and suck him off. Proof’s in the pudding what kind of man he is, and don’t we all want to know? Wonder if he eats pineapples?
I gasp as I read it and then glance up at Colton’s throat clearing sharply.
“Miss Stryker, may I?”
He holds his hand out, and I get up, walking toward him. Uncertainly, I lay my hand on his, not sure at all that holding his hand is appropriate or why he wants to, but I do it anyway. His hand feels soft, strong against mine, an unexpected intimacy.
A smile blooms so slowly that I watch it grow . . . lips pressed firmly together, relaxing, tilting up, lips parting, and then the flash of white teeth. Oh, fuck, is that a dimple?
Colton squeezes my hand but reaches with his other. “I meant the phone, Miss Stryker.”
I grasp it my chest, out of his reach, but he uses the hand he’s still holding to pull me toward him.
“Company phone, company time, and I’m your boss. I believe I’m entitled to confirm that you’re upholding the rules and not divulging team secrets already.” There’s not a doubt in my mind that he doesn’t think that. He just wants to know what made me gasp, and instead of asking like a regular human being, he’s making a power play.
Pisses me off. But under the anger is embarrassment.
I push through the blush I can feel on my face and shove my phone his way. Fine, if this is how he wants it, he can damn well see.
His brows rise as he reads Tiffany’s last text. “First, explain pineapples to me. Is that an American idiom I’m unaware of?”
Oh, I thought I was blushing with embarrassment. But nope, this right here . . . this is embarrassment. I’m not shy about sex or anything, but this conversation is about to go seriously haywire.
I lick my lips, searching for the safest way to say this. “It’s an old wives’ tale. If you eat a lot of pineapple, it makes you sweeter.” I gesture vaguely to his crotch, hoping he catches the drift.
“Sweeter?” he says, but his lips are twitching again.
Motherfucker. He’s playing me again. Well, fine fucking dandy. Two can play this game. I lose the shyness and go straight for the jugular. I plaster a big, fake customer service smile on my face and explain crisply.
“If you eat pineapple, it’ll make your jizz sweeter so women don’t mind swallowing when you fuck their face and come down their throat. In return, if a woman eats it, her juices are tastier too. Encourages reciprocal oral sex. If there’s nothing else, sir, perhaps I could get back to work? If you’d like to actually give me any? I could order fresh cut pineapple to be delivered to your home, if you’d like?”
That’s it. He’s going to call HR in 3, 2, 1 . . .
His face goes blank and then his brows lift in surprise before they slam back down and heat takes over. He growls, his voice deep and rough. “Yes, order me a pineapple, Miss Stryker.”
Well hell, I didn’t expect that reaction to my outburst. I nibble my lip, knowing it’s a bad habit but feeling like I need to stop my mouth from running. I can feel the chaos churning through me. Or maybe that’s desire, hot and wild?
“And as for the dare?” He’s taunting me.
I stand straighter, smoothing my skirt with both hands now that he’s let them go. “I would like to stay busy and be of use—on the HQ2 project,” I add hastily and pointedly. “Put my skills and talents, as you so politely called them, to work.”
Dare done.
And we both know it. There’s a little extra fizz in the bubbles shooting through my veins right now, that familiar feeling of success and accomplishment, and he’s looking at me with what seems to be pride in his smile.
“Very well. I’ll send you a list of bullet points momentarily.” He lifts his chin, gesturing for me to return to my desk.
I’ll freely admit that I add an extra swoosh to my saunter across the room and that I take special delight in crossing my legs, knowing that though he’s looking at his computer screen, he’s all too aware of me.
Not just a dare done, but utter victory.
Ding.
My email chimes, and I look over his to-do list, but I feel his gaze and glance his way to find him eyeing my legs. Oh, yeah, Big Bad Wolfe, two can play this game and I’m a fucking winner. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on this,” I virtually purr.
I swear I hear the tiniest, quietest groan as he goes back to work, and I take that as a sign that he’s conceded this round. I get to work on the bulleted list.
The first item is actually to order a pineapple, and I jealously wonder who’s going to be swallowing him down, but then Colton has me running from one thing to another. Whether it’s going downstairs to retrieve a report, on my own computer doing research, sending emails, making copies, or more, it gives me time to think.
My computer clock ticks over to five o’clock, but Colton looks like he could go another eight hours fresh as a daisy except for his sexy, grizzled jawline.
Meanwhile, the only thing I want to do right now is get some Epsom salts and the big bucket under my sink and soak my feet. These heels are gorgeous and make my ass look fantastic, but they’re more ‘entrance’ shoes. As in, make your entrance and then sit your ass down.
They’d look sweet up in the air while you’re getting plowed, too, that devil on my shoulder says. Damn, Tiffany is such a horndog. Okay, maybe I am too, but I’ve been sniffing Colton’s pheromones all day.
In so many ways, he reminds me of Dad. Driven, hard-working, professional, all traits I admire. In a lot of ways, working with him today has made me ashamed of my antics with Tiffany downstairs. How could I think I was doing a good job when people like Colton are up here making me look like the class clown in the back of the room?
But then isn’t that one of the reasons he wanted me up here? To add a little bit of that crazy lightness to his day?
“Excuse me, Mr. Wolfe?” I ask as I set the latest report on his desk. “Will that be all?”
“Yes,” Colton says, not even looking up from the papers he’s reading. “Thank you.”
Deflated, I go to my desk and collect my things. Great . . . I didn’t do anything to note. Give me three weeks, and I’ll be back on the front desk—if I’m lucky to last that long.
“Miss Stryker . . . I spoke too soon,” Colton says, causing me to turn around. “What I meant was that your office work is done for the day.”
“Sir?”
Colton flashes that full-dimple grin, the one that says he knows he’s the shit and is also well aware that I know. “We’re having dinner tonight. Go home, relax, and change if you’d like. I’ll send a car around eight.”
“What?” The shout is not pretty or dainty in the least. It’d be enough to get Helen in here in she hadn’t already left for the day.
Colton’s left eyebrow, dark and inky, lifts. “I dare you . . . to have dinner with me. Let’s have some fun.”
The words rush through me, leaving heat in their wake. He’s got me and he damn well knows it.
“No car. If we’re going out for fun, I dare you . . . to give me a ride in that gorgeous Lotus, or no deal.” He knows I’m going with him regardless, but I can make some rules of my own.
“You like cars?” he asks, seeming surprised.
“I like speed and barely controlled horsepower under my foot, just waiting for me to let it run wild. You’re lucky I’m not daring you to let me drive that machine, which I’m barely holding myself back from because I do know my own limits, especially those of my insurance. They’d shit a brick if I dented that monster. So Lotus at eight or I’m going back inside, putting on my least sexy pajamas, drinking a glass or two of wine, and watching Friends reruns.”
“I’ll take that dare. Eight, my Lotus, no not-sexy pajamas.”
He holds out his hand for us to shake on it, but when I place mine in his, he turns our grip, placing a gentlemanly kiss on the back of my hand. It’s old-fashioned and not especially intimate at all, but I can feel the brand of his lips on my skin.
“See you at eight . . . Elle.”
I turn and leave, my mind in a daze. All day long, I’ve been Miss Stryker to him.
Now I’m Elle?
I float down the hall toward the elevator, only to run into interference in the form of Billy. He waves a finger in the air, telling me to turn around. I knew it was too good to be true. There’s no way I was getting out of here today without this conversation with Dad, even though I’d hoped and wished and begged fate.
I steel my back and let Billy march me down the hall. It doesn’t escape my notice that this is the opposite of yesterday when I’d come up to talk to Dad and then been dragged into Colton’s office. Let’s just hope there’s not another dare in this conversation. I’m all for them, but at this point, I need to make sure I can keep everything straight.
Dad doesn’t smile when I enter this time, nor does he offer me a gross green juice. Small favors, I guess.
Instead, I have that little girl sensation of shrinking as he looks at me with disappointment.
Billy closes the door, and though I’ve been locked up with the Big, Bad Wolfe all day, only now do I feel in danger. “What’s up, Dad?” I say brightly, employing my nothing-to-see-here tactics. Hell, they worked when I was a teenager. Maybe they’ll work now. I cross my fingers behind my back.
“What the hell, baby girl?” Dad thunders. Billy cringes, and I fall to the leather couch. Quieter, he bites out, “I asked you to let me know if you heard anything sketchy. I specifically said not to do anything shady or go above and beyond, and what do you do? Go and get yourself assigned as Wolfe’s right hand for his HQ2 project?”
Dad plops to the other end of the couch, eyeing me like he can’t imagine what fanciful shit is going through my brain.
“Did it occur to you that this assignment might have absolutely nothing to do with you?” I know I sound bitter and pissy, but seriously? How narcissistic can my dad be? “Or that maybe, just maybe, I might actually be of help to his project?”
“So you think it’s a coincidence that Wolfe pulled my daughter out of the available clerical pool? You think this isn’t all about me, about my HQ2 presentation, about his HQ2 proposal?” He shakes his head, incredulous.
I grit my teeth. “Of course it’s not coincidence. He told me matter-of-factly that my last name on his project would irritate you and paint his project in a positive light comparatively. Not that it needs it, based on the tiny bit I’ve seen and what you’ve already said.”
Dad scoffs, knowing I’m right. They’ve both got good proposals, and either one would be a good choice for Fox.
“I’m well aware that I’m a pawn in whatever dick-measuring pissing match you have going on with him. What I expected was for you to be able to handle that and win anyway. You don’t need me and have been doing this longer than Colton. Just do your best, Dad. Isn’t that what you’d tell me?”
I raise my brows, daring him to dispute me. “Remember when I tried out for volleyball in junior high? What’d you tell me then?”
He sighs, lost to the past for a moment. “That you couldn’t control what Madison Kirkland did on the court, but you could control what you did and do your best and let the chips fall where they may. But she sprained her ankle before tryouts even happened, so that’s not exactly the same thing.”
Oh, shit. I forgot that part.
I look at Billy, who’s damn near whistling Dixie as he scans the ceiling for God knows what. I had made the volleyball team as a starter that year, and Madison hadn’t even tried out until the next year. Because that sprained ankle? It was an honest mistake, a real and true oops, but that might’ve been because Billy and Ricky were up to no good and Madison was an accidental casualty of the unsanctioned slip ‘n slide we’d popped up on the football field. She’d had no hard feelings about the matter, especially when Billy carried her books and backpack to class every day for weeks afterward.
“Just do your best, Dad, and let me do mine. In the end, it certainly won’t be me who has any real effect on the outcome unless you let this get to you. Trust me to be able to handle Colton and whatever game he’s up to.”
It’s a plea for sanity. And that’s just for the professional piece of this big clusterfuck. I haven’t mentioned that we’re going to dinner, nor am I going to, because I don’t think that’s relative to the situation at all. I’m not so green as to not consider that Colton might be manipulating me from every angle, but my gut—and other areas of my body and his—tell me that part of our arrangement is different.
“Colton? You’re calling him Colton? I like that even less,” Dad fumes dangerously.
I glare back just as dangerously. I learned it from him, after all. “Dad. Enough. You . . . work. I’ll work.” I wave my hands around like we’re beleaguered elves trying to make the deadline on Christmas Eve. “And it’ll be fine.”
I stand. “If you’ll excuse me, Tiff’s waiting downstairs for a ride.” I move to the door, but Billy doesn’t budge from his path-blocking battle stance.
He glances over my head and must get silent permission from Dad because he opens the door. I stick my tongue out at him like we’re kids again. I just can’t help it with him and Ricky. We grew up together, but somehow, when we get together, it’s like we never grew up at all.
He doesn’t do it back, though he licks his lips like he wants to but is oh-too-mature for that shit now. He’s not, so Dad must still be watching us.
“Tell Tiffany I said hello,” Dad says offhandedly from behind me.
“Sure thing,” I toss back, having zero intention of doing so.
