As expected, I’m sore.
Riding dick should be considered the world’s best thigh exercise, because mine hurt like I ran a half-marathon. I probably should have stretched last night before going to sleep, but oh well. Live and learn.
I shower and investigate myself in the mirror. He was kind enough not to leave hickeys this time, but there are finger-shaped bruises all across my hips and ass. Even my tits have a few. I smile at the sight and turn to look over my shoulder to get a better view of the ones on my lower body.
Welcome back, missed you.
After dressing and putting on a little makeup to disguise that I didn’t get much sleep, I bundle up and grab my work bag, then head out into the freezing morning. I stop by the Jewish deli down the street for breakfast and scarf down a lox bagel and an iced coffee before continuing on my journey. Fifteen minutes later, I’m stepping out of the elevator on Naiad’s floor.
Most of the New York–based production team is here, which means I have to dole out about a dozen hugs before I settle a few chairs down from Ella. Just because we’re comfortable writing sex scenes in the office doesn’t mean we want to be shoulder to shoulder while doing it. Though we do stay close, just in case one of us needs a synonym for penis—or wants to play our game without disturbing the others in the office.
I have at least five chapters to write this morning, so I get right to it, hauling my laptop out of my bag and getting comfortable in my chair. I’m about to pop in my earbuds when footsteps echo off the floor, drawing my attention. Before I even turn to assess the newcomer, a hit of his cologne tickles my senses.
He didn’t leave my hotel room until well after midnight, so I’m a little surprised to see Daniel here. But I’m…pleased. It should make me nervous, this reminder that we’re coworkers doing something we absolutely shouldn’t be, but the forbidden aspect of it is thrilling.
I offer a slight incline of my head in greeting as I put in my earbuds, careful to keep my expression neutral. No smile. No indication that anything has changed between us. In this office, we’re ambivalent toward each other—except for when he pisses me off. We’ll have to see how long it takes him to get there today.
“Morning, Selene,” he says as he pulls out the chair directly across the table from me.
I raise a brow in question as he grabs his laptop from his bag. He’s not actually planning to work near me today, is he? Because never once have we set up less than ten feet from each other.
Down the long table, I can feel Ella squinting at us. She and I are close friends, and yet we’ve still left plenty of space between us. She’s also well aware of how deep my hatred for Daniel runs. Clearly, I’m not the only one shocked by his proximity.
A Slack notification dings in my ears, pulling my focus from the confounding man in front of me. The message is from Ella, a simple: WTF?????
It’s quickly followed by: Does this man not know what a dangerous choice he’s just made?
To which I reply: It’s like he WANTS to get his ass kicked.
Ella snorts, and I do my best to hide a smile. I don’t dare look at her. If I do, I’ll lose it, and then Daniel will know we’re talking about him. I’m not sure I actually care if he does, though. What’s the worst he could do? Report me to HR for being a gossipy bully? Yeah, right.
I make the mistake of looking up from my screen then and accidentally lock eyes with him. The cadence of my heartbeat immediately picks up, thumping hard as flashes of last night come back to me. Just from this look, I can practically feel his hands all over my body and the slickness of his overheated skin against mine.
With those images fresh in my mind, I blink, desperate to hold on to my composure and yank my focus away from him. I need to show him that his undivided attention doesn’t affect me. But I find myself holding his gaze instead, my stomach tightening.
A ghost of a smile tugs on the corner of his mouth as he breaks the contact first, sitting forward in his seat so he can shrug out of his leather jacket. When it’s off and draped across the back of his chair, he runs a hand up his right arm, lifting the sleeve of his black T-shirt. It’s just enough to give me a glimpse of the ink underneath before it drops—a reminder of what I said upon seeing it for the first time.
True, I don’t know you.
You’ll get to, he replied. Yet I don’t know him any better now than I did then.
I force myself to focus on my screen, determined to ignore him. I have shit to do.
But when he moves again, the motion draws my eyes back up, and I’m entranced as he runs his fingers through his loose curls. I’m struck with another memory, this one of him hovering over me and the way his hair tickled my cheek as he whispered filthy things in my ear.
And then it hits me. I know what he’s doing. The man is taunting me. Teasing me. Torturing me.
You evil bastard.
Two can play that game.
Without thinking twice, I grasp the hem of my chunky knit sweater and pull it over my head, revealing the white tank top underneath. In my defense, it truly is hot in this building. It’s either freezing or sweltering, no in between, and today is the latter. After tossing my sweater into the empty chair beside me, I run my fingers over my collarbone and then turn to Ella.
“What do they have the heat set to, a million degrees?” I complain.
As expected, Daniel’s perusal sears every inch of my newly revealed skin. I don’t even have to look his way; the intensity of his inspection is like a heated caress.
He hates how my oversized sweaters hide my tits? Problem solved. There’s only so much hiding my tank top can do, especially stretched over an emerald green lace bra. He can eat his heart out.
Ella groans and nods, pushing up the sleeves of her shirt. “It’s unbearable. I might go stick my head in the freezer for a bit.”
“I might strip down and stand on the roof,” I say, turning back to my computer—and Daniel.
She snorts at that and returns to typing, leaving me to raise a brow in challenge to the man across the table. He stares back, unblinking, then drops his gaze to his computer, and his fingers move quickly over the keyboard.
When a notification sounds in my ears, I know exactly who it’s from. I click open his message.
Green suits you.
Four hours later, I have my sweater back on, and I’m sitting across from my manager, going over dates and finalizing deadlines. My calendar is overflowing with them, but that’s the job.
And is it slowly killing me? Hell yeah. Will I do it all anyway? Of course, because I accept nothing but the best from myself, no matter the toll it takes.
“I think I’ll start coming into the office twice a month,” I tell Jim as we’re wrapping things up. The idea has been lingering in the back of my mind all morning. As much as I like working from home, I miss interacting with my coworkers in person—even Daniel and his dirty tricks. “Or maybe just staying longer than two days when I’m here.”
His face lights up. “Yeah, absolutely. We’d love to have you here more often.”
I leave his office with a smile, already planning my next trip as I walk back to my table. Daniel has vacated his spot across from where I left my laptop set up. He probably moved to one of the many conference rooms to take a call. Not that I care—I just hope he’s not charming anyone else into a shitty contract.
Honestly, the break from his scrutiny is a relief. Sitting across from him for the past few hours has been nerve-racking. It’s been years since I felt uncomfortable writing and editing romance in front of anyone, but having to brainstorm scenes while the man who made me come several times last night is right in front of me was uncomfortable, to say the least. And it’s only partially because I used our activities as inspiration for one of them.
Thankfully, I’ve wrapped up all the steamy stuff and have moved back to the drama this serial revolves around. Another hour flies by, resulting in two more chapters written, but Daniel hasn’t returned. If his leather jacket wasn’t still draped across the back of his chair, I would assume he left for the day.
When Ella suggests we finish out the rest of the workday in our favorite itty bitty conference room so we can chat shit, scroll through Pinterest for “inspiration,” and complain about the things we’ve written today, I jump at the opportunity. This is why I can’t wait to spend more time in the office. It has nothing to do with a set of deep brown eyes and a cocky half smile I can’t get off my mind.
By six, I’ve booked my return trip two weeks from now, and I’m already giddy about my next excursion to the city. For convenience alone, moving here would be wise, and it was something I had started to consider before lockdown, though I put it on hold when the whole company went remote. But New York is expensive as hell. Not to mention all of my family is in Baltimore and I’m not sure I’m ready to leave them. For now, I don’t mind the three-hour commute.
After packing up my stuff, saying goodbye to Ella, and waving to the rest of the production girls in the main office space, I swing by the kitchen to refill my water bottle in preparation for hitting the road.
When I round the corner, I come face to face with Daniel. He’s leaning against the counter, holding a steaming mug against his chest. I don’t acknowledge him. That’s how I’ve always behaved in the past. I just go about unscrewing the top of my bottle and grabbing the pitcher of filtered water from the fridge. We stand next to each other at the counter as I pour, facing different directions.
“You leaving soon?” he asks when my water bottle is half full.
I don’t look away from my task, determined not to spill. “In a few minutes.”
“You coming back next month?”
Startled by his question, my hand jolts and a drip of water runs down the outside of my bottle. Is he asking as a coworker? Just making casual conversation? Or is it the inquiry of a man who wants to know if we’ll be doing what we did last night again?
“Actually,” I say, keeping my voice even as I set the pitcher on the counter, “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. I told Jim I’m going to start coming up here twice a month. Since the company’s paying for it, I might as well.”
From my periphery, I catch the way one of his brows raises a fraction. But that’s his only reaction. The rest of his expression remains unreadable. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” I breeze by him with my chin lifted and take the pitcher to the sink to refill. “Sometimes it’s nice to work in the office.”
“So it’s for no other reason?”
I meet his gaze as I turn on the tap. “Nope.”
He tilts his head, unintimidated, and a hint of a smile plays on his lips. It’s a subtle change, but the meaning behind it is obvious. He’s practically laughing at me.
“I’ll see you soon, then.”
Slowly, he pushes away from the counter as I turn off the tap and shift toward the fridge. He’s blocking my path in the small galley kitchen, ensuring I’ll have no choice but to brush by to get past him. It’s a dare.
And he knows me well enough to know that I won’t back down.
I turn sideways and subtly push back my shoulders so that my breasts graze his arm as I shuffle past him. “You’ll see me in the office, yeah,” I clarify, taking pleasure in the way he turns in order to keep his eyes on me.
My words are simple, but I’m hoping he hears the underlying question. Will we only see each other in the office?
“Right,” he murmurs, scanning my face. “The office.”
I stick the pitcher in the fridge and straighten. Those three words don’t give much away, but his tone? That makes my stomach flip in anticipation. Because the unspoken message here?
This isn’t the end.
“See you in two weeks,” I tell him, and this time he steps aside to let me pass. “Bye, Daniel.”
His quiet laugh follows me, low and teasing.
“Safe travels, Selene.”
