I sit in the café across the road from the Miles Media building. I told myself I came here to get some takeout for dinner. But the truth is, I want to see him leave. I want to see his face, to see if it’s as flushed as mine. I’m so close to orgasming in public; it’s not even funny. How can one finger through clothes arouse me so much? This man turns me into a puddle, a wet, soppy, pliable puddle. I have absolutely no resistance when he touches me.
For twelve months I’ve dreamed about Jim, the funny, carefree man I spent the night with. And now that I’ve met another version of him, I’m not sure that I like him. I mean, he’s hot, hotter than hot. Blazing fucking inferno.
Who is Jameson Miles?
I sit on the bench seat by the window and stare across the street, and then I see the limousine arrive and pull into the parking bay.
I sit up. My stomach flips, and I hold my breath as I watch the door open. In slow motion he walks out; he’s like a rock star, and everyone turns to watch him.
Mr. Orgasmic.
I watch as he gets into the back of the limousine and the driver closes the door behind him, and then it slowly pulls away.
I watch it all the way up the street as it disappears, and I feel a wave of disappointment roll over me.
I wonder what he’s doing tonight. It’s late, nearly six thirty, and the Miles Media building is emptied out for the day. I can’t believe I waited around to get a glimpse of him leaving . . . what a loser. I guess I may as well order something to eat here. I’m only going to go and eat alone at home anyway. I pick up the menu and scan the choices, and then the front doors of Miles Media open again, and Tristan walks out. I frown as I watch him. He’s with a woman; she’s blonde and beautiful and wearing a gray woolen fitted dress and high-heeled short black boots. She has a trendy vibe about her, and her hair is in a bouncy ponytail. She says something, and he laughs out loud. They walk around the corner but are still in my view, and he puts his hand on her behind and leans in and kisses her.
Who is she?
He then takes her hand in his, and they disappear up the street together.
Does she work in the building? I would have thought they had some no-dating-the-staff kind of rule. Maybe not?
Maybe it’s a free-for-all, and they’re fucking their way through the floors?
Am I the only girl he’s flirting with? Does he summon anyone else up to his office?
I close my eyes in disgust.
Stop it.
God, I need to get a grip.
I go through my wardrobe and take out my clothes for tomorrow. It’s late, and I’ve been working on that story that they want. I hope it’s all right. My preparation is different this time. What should I wear tomorrow? Do I do as I was told?
I lay out the clothes Jameson told me to wear, and I stare at them on my bed.
The gray skirt with the split, the white silk shirt. How does he know that I wear a white lace bra with this shirt? How does he even know about this outfit?
He watches me.
A sick thrill runs through me. Fuck, this guy is playing with my head.
I’m walking around, a raging mass of hormones, and he hardly touches me.
Imagine if he did.
I think back to this afternoon and the way his finger traced my body and then how he put it in my mouth and I sucked on it.
His words come back to me. I want you to fuck yourself. Long . . . deep and slow.
I close my eyes as arousal begins to heat my blood. He wants me to think of him while I come.
I go to my bedside and take out my vibrator, and I hold it in my hand and look at it.
“It’s a very cold substitute, Mr. Miles,” I whisper into the silence. I have a good mind to call him and tell him to come over and get the job done in person.
But of course I won’t. I turn off the light and crawl under the covers, and my hand brushes across my naked breast.
I close my eyes and open my legs and imagine Jameson Miles is here with me.
“Do you guys want to get some dinner after work?” I ask Molly and Aaron.
“Yeah, all right. Something healthy, though,” Molly replies as she types. “I’m never going to get laid if I don’t start working on this fat ass.” She types some more. “I have to be done by eight, though. I have to pick up the kids.”
“Yeah, okay.” Aaron sighs. “Sounds good.”
“I have training this afternoon,” I reply as I try to sound casual.
They both look up from their work. “Where?”
“In the management offices.”
“Oh my God.” Molly smirks. “Did he say anything?”
I drop my head. I glance up at the cameras. “I’ll tell you tonight.”
“God, I live for these stories,” Aaron whispers. “Please tell me you fucked him on his desk?”
I giggle as I finalize what I’m doing. “No, don’t be stupid.” I grab my manila folder with my fake news story. “I’ll see you guys later.”
They both look up at me and smirk. “Good luck.”
In five minutes, I find myself on the top floor with a ferociously beating heart. I decided not to wear what he told me to wear; that’s just way too eager.
What makes him think he can tell me what to wear, anyway?
Sammia smiles when she sees me. “Mr. Miles, you have Emily Foster here to see you.”
“Send her in,” his velvety voice replies.
I walk through the marble hall on my tiptoes as I make another mental note to buy rubber-soled shoes. How do I keep forgetting to do this? I knock on his door.
“Come in,” he calls.
I open the door and find him sitting at his desk on the phone; his eyes find mine.
“Hello, Emily,” he mouths.
“Hi.” I smile as I clutch my folder.
“Please take a seat.” He gestures to a chair and holds up his finger. “One minute,” he mouths.
I smile and nod as I sit down.
“I understand that, Richard. Yes, I know.” He listens. “I don’t care if she’s hardworking. She broke protocol, and there are consequences.”
I frown. What the hell? Who’s he talking to?
“Richard,” he snaps. “You will fire her this afternoon, or I will. And we both know who’s going to make it less painful.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Tristan is aware, yes,” he snaps. “But as the CEO I have the control. You have two hours to escort Lara Aspin from the building, or I’ll come down myself.” He hangs up angrily.
I stare at him, wide eyed. What did she do?
He bites his bottom lip angrily as his eyes hold mine.
“I’ve got the story you requested,” I murmur.
“Good.” He takes the folder from me and rolls his chair back as he opens it and begins reading.
He’s different today, angry. But maybe it’s just that call he came off from.
He inhales deeply and flicks the pages, clearly frustrated.
“Is it okay?”
He raises his eyebrows as if unimpressed.
I frown.
“A seismic weather event is hardly breaking news, is it?”
“Well, what do you want me to write about?” I stammer. “I can’t name a person or place or anything because it’s fake news. I don’t want to get us sued.”
“I am well aware of what it is, Ms. Foster,” he snaps.
“What’s wrong with you today?” I whisper.
He flicks the pages as he reads. “Nothing.” He reads on. “This won’t do. I’ll write it myself.”
I frown. “I spent four hours on that last night.”
He looks up from the papers, and I wither under his glare.
“Well, what do you want me to write about, then?” I ask.
“Anything but fucking weather.” He closes the folder as if disgusted and places it on the table.
He pushes the intercom. “Tristan, come in here, please.”
“Yep.”
I shrivel in my chair a little. God, he’s mean when he’s angry.
Tristan comes into the office, and Jameson exhales heavily. “Ms. Foster has written her story.” He gestures to the folder.
“Good.” Tristan smiles, and he picks it up and begins to read.
“A seismic weather event won’t do,” Jameson barks.
Tristan twists his lips as he reads on. “It’s very good, though,” he comments.
Hmm, I’m totally crushing on the wrong brother . . . my one is an asshole.
“Thank you.” I fake a smile. “With all due respect, Jameson,” I state, “if we name this weather event and hype it up as coming in the next four months and that it’s going to cause extensive damage, it will have legs. No names to trace, people, or places. I don’t see how I could have written a story about something else without jeopardizing our integrity.”
“We are not here to prove our integrity,” he growls. “We are trying to withhold it.”
I sit back in my chair, annoyed.
“I want a story on an FBI murder case.” He narrows his eyes as he thinks. “Make up a fake murder and name and a fake investigation and how close they are to closing it.”
My anger bubbles. “If you knew what you wanted me to write, why didn’t you say that yesterday?” I snap. “You told me to do what I wanted, and I spent four hours writing that for you.”
Tristan rolls his lips to hide his smirk. “I have things to do. Let me know what story we’re going with,” he says as he walks toward the door. “Thanks, Emily. Great work.” He closes the door behind him.
I glare at the asshole in front of me. “So what do you want me to do?”
His cold eyes rise to meet mine. “I told you what I wanted you to do yesterday, but you didn’t do that . . . did you?”
I frown. Wait, what’s he talking about now? I’m confused.
He doesn’t have to be so damn rude. I snatch the folder from the table. “All right,” I snap. “I’ll write a fake story about a fake murder of a fake CEO by a fake new employee.”
He glares at me.
“With a fake ax.”
“Well . . . ,” he says with a sneer, “just make sure she has a fucking gray skirt on.”
My mouth falls open; he’s pissed that I didn’t do what he asked.
The nerve of this jerk.
“No, she doesn’t wear gray skirts on demand. She’s naked because she’s just had wild sex with her hot boyfriend right before she chops off that spoiled-brat CEO’s dick.”
He narrows his eyes in contempt.
I stand. “You will have your story by five. I’ll email it over.”
“No, you’ll deliver it up here in person.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Miles,” I say as I smile sweetly, “I don’t feel like seeing you again today. I’ll deliver it to Tristan.”
“Deliver it to Tristan, and see what happens,” he barks.
I turn and storm out of the office with red steam shooting out of my ears.
The man’s a fucking pig.
It’s five thirty, and I sit at my desk as I type the last word of my fake story. I hate to admit it, but this one is better. My coworkers have gone to the bar, and I’m meeting them there. I’m supposed to be taking it up to his office, but I’m not.
Screw him.
I hit send to email it over, and I turn off my computer and pack up my desk.
My phone rings, and the letter J lights up the screen. I saved his initial so I’d know if he calls me. I pick up my phone and hit decline, and then I smile sweetly at the camera, knowing full well he’s watching me.
I did not just break up with one selfish asshole to go out with another.
He can kiss my ass. A text comes through.
Answer your fucking phone.
I glare at the text and write back.
I have nothing to say to you.
I’ve finished work for the day.
You have your story.
Good luck with it.
A reply bounces back.
This is a personal call.
I roll my eyes in disgust and reply.
Find someone else in a gray skirt to suck your dick on demand. I’m not interested in the position.
I put my phone on silent and then into my bag and continue to pack up my desk.
I take the elevator down to the foyer, and as I walk through, a security guard is on the phone. “Excuse me, miss,” he calls.
“Yes.”
“I’ve been instructed to tell you to wait here.”
Shit. He’s on his way down. “Um, no, I can’t. I’m sorry. Apologize for me,” I stammer as I brush past him and out through the front doors. I run around the corner, and then when I’m out of sight of the security guard, I run across the street and duck into the café I was in yesterday afternoon so I can see.
What does he want?
I take a seat in the café by the window, and then I see Jameson come out the front doors in a rush and then look up and down the street. He takes out his phone and calls someone. My phone starts to vibrate in my bag.
Shit. I’m going to totally screw up this opportunity and get myself fired.
Is that why that other girl got fired today? Was she sleeping with him, and things turned bad? I watch him look up and down the street and dial the number again. I let it ring.
He’s openly furious. The front doors of the building open, and Tristan comes out. Jameson says something to him, and Tristan laughs.
What did he say?
I watch with my heart beating hard as they both look up and down the street, and then the limousine pulls in. He calls me again, and I close my eyes. Stop calling me.
They finally get into the limo, and I watch as it pulls away. I drag my hand down my face in despair.
His temper and my temper are a bad combination.
We are officially a bad idea.
“What do you mean?” Molly frowns. “I’m confused.”
“It’s all just one big mess.” I sigh.
“I went home to California, and it turns out that Robbie didn’t actually give a crap, so I ended it. But I didn’t tell Jameson that because I don’t want him to think that it was because of him.”
“Yeah, I get that.” She frowns. “But why is Jameson being such an asshole now?”
“Because she didn’t wear the gray skirt,” Aaron interrupts. “Don’t you listen?”
“But why?” she gasps. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know,” I snap.
“It’s not about the skirt,” Aaron replies as he chews. “It’s a power thing. He wants her to do as he asks.”
I frown as I listen. “You think?”
“I still don’t get it.” Molly frowns.
“It’s symbolic to him. He wants her to submit.”
“Well, I’m not,” I huff. “Honestly, the man is fucking stupid if he thinks that I will.”
Molly rolls her eyes. “Oh God, if he asked me to wear a skirt made of kidneys, I would,” she huffs as she stares into space. “I would even kill fifty men to get the said kidneys.”
Aaron chuckles. “Right? Me too. There isn’t actually anything that he couldn’t ask me to do.” He holds his hands in the air. “I would do it all.”
I roll my eyes, and we all think for a moment.
“You know what I would do if I were you?” Molly says.
“What?”
“I would wear the gray skirt tomorrow, and I would ignore the fuck out of him.”
I stare at her.
“Yeah.” Aaron smiles broadly. “Flirt your ass off in that gray skirt.”
I smirk as the idea rolls around in my head. “You know, guys . . . that’s not actually a bad idea.”
I hold my glass up in the air as I smile at my two friends. “To Operation Flirty Office Slut.” Molly smiles as she clinks her glass with mine.
I smirk as I stare at her. “Game on.”
I march into the office like a rock star.
No stockings . . . check.
White lace bra . . . check.
White silk shirt . . . check.
High ponytail . . . check.
Gray skirt with split . . . check, check, double check.
“Good morning.” I smile at my friends as I arrive at my desk.
Their eyes come to me, and they smirk as they see I’m wearing the requested outfit. Aaron gives me a wink and turns back to his computer.
“Does anybody want coffee?” I ask.
“Yes, please,” they both reply.
I walk into the kitchen, and Ricardo follows me in. “Hey, chickie, I’ve been waiting for you.”
I smile an over-the-top fake smile. God . . . can’t I have someone better to fake flirt with than this guy? “Hi,” I reply excitedly. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” He smiles at my enthusiasm. “Listen, I’m so sorry I got you into trouble the other day.”
I smile and pull my hand through my ponytail. “That’s okay. Come and see me later, though, won’t you?”
His eyes light up. “Okay, it’s a deal.”
I walk back to my desk and take a seat with our three coffees, and I open my emails and get to work. Jameson called me six times last night, and I don’t know why.
I’m not sure if he wanted to apologize or fight . . . but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of answering his call so he can do either.
I’m going to have a good day, and I’m not going to think about Jameson Miles once.
It’s three o’clock, and Operation Flirty Office Slut is in full swing. I’ve smiled and laughed with every loser in the building today. I’m not sure if he’s even watching, but I’m about to up the ante. I’m on my way up to see Tristan about the story I wrote.
The elevator doors open, and I smile sweetly at the receptionist.
“Hello, I’m here to see Tristan.”
“Sure, just a moment.” She frowns as she tries to remember my name.
“It’s Emily Foster.”
“That’s right. I’m sorry.” She calls through. “Tristan, I have Emily Foster here to see you.”
“Okay, send her in,” he replies happily.
“Just go through to the main conference room, but instead of turning left to go to Jameson’s office, turn right, and go down the corridor on the other side of the building.”
“Thank you.” I follow her directions and head down to the other end of the building. I frown; there are four office doors. I hesitate. Which door did she say?
I walk down the corridor, and a door is open. I see Jameson is in there, talking to a man. “Sorry to bother you. Is Tristan’s office down here?” I ask.
Jameson’s face falls as he sees me.
“Next door,” the other man replies.
I smile sweetly. “Thank you.” I head over and knock on Tristan’s door.
“Come in,” he calls, and I walk in and close the door behind me.
“Hello.” I smile.
“Hi, Emily.” He smiles warmly as he gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Please take a seat.”
As I sit down, I come to the realization that Tristan doesn’t make me nervous at all; I wish his brother didn’t.
“I just was wondering if you had time to look at the story I wrote?”
“I did, yes, and I loved it. Were you happy with it?”
“Yeah, I think it was better. I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do with it next.”
He frowns. “We’ll need to submit it as if it has come to you. Did you talk to Jameson?”
“Umm.”
The office door opens, and Jameson marches in. “Hello.”
“Speak of the devil.” Tristan smiles.
“Hello,” I reply as I turn my attention back to Tristan. It’s hard not to stare at Jameson when he’s in a room; he dominates any space.
This playing hard to get is harder to do than it looks.
“Emily is here to talk about the story she wrote.”
“I see.” He stares at me, and I feel the magnetic pull to him as it begins to surround me.
“Was it okay?” I ask.
“It was.” His eyes hold mine. “It was very good.”
“Are we just going to submit it now as if it has come to her as news?” Tristan asks.
Jameson’s eyes stay fixed on mine. “Yes, I think so.”
My eyes flick between the two men. “Okay. I’ll submit it and let you know what happens.”
Jameson’s eyes hold mine. “I have something I need you to add with it. It’s on my computer. Come with me, and I’ll get it now.”
My nerves tingle. “Okay,” I reply as I stand.
Jameson holds his hand out. “Ladies first.”
I turn to Tristan. “Thank you. See you later.”
Tristan smiles broadly. “Goodbye. Have a nice afternoon.”
I walk to Jameson’s office, and I can feel the heat of his stare on my behind.
Just play it cool . . . no flirting . . . no touching. Just play it cool.
I am here to prick tease the bastard . . . nothing more and nothing less. We get to his office, and he opens the door. I walk past him, and then he closes it and flicks the lock.
I turn to him as he steps toward me in slow motion. His face comes to within an inch of mine.
Our eyes search each other’s, and without a word said, he grabs my ponytail and wraps it around his hand and pulls my head back to his face.
“Don’t fight with me,” he breathes, then leans down and licks my lips.
“Don’t be an asshole,” I whisper.
He bends and runs his hand up my bare leg as he holds my hair in his hand. His tongue licks up the length of my neck, which is stretched out for him, as his hand grabs my behind.
“Tell me he’s gone,” he whispers in my ear as he kisses it softly.
Ah . . . this is not how the plan went in my head. I’m supposed to be rejecting him right about now.
Abort mission . . .
His lips take mine, and his tongue slides effortlessly through my mouth as my senses awaken.
His hand grinds me onto his waiting erection as our kiss turns frantic. He pushes me up against the wall and tears my skirt up and slips his thick fingers underneath my panties. His dark eyes hold mine. “Tonight, we fuck.”
