Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“I wanted to set some ground rules between us.” He runs his finger over his bottom lip. “Because you’re the best goddamn PA I’ve had since Margaret retired and I don’t want our sexual relationship to interfere with our work relationship.”
“Okay.”
He seems almost relieved that I didn’t make a joke or blush or flinch. “First rule,” he says, and steps fully into the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click, “neither of us brings it into meetings, into email, or anywhere the rest of the company could see it.”
“Fine.” I nod. It’s easier than I thought it would be.
“Second,” he says, searching my face for any sign of rebellion, “if you ever get tired of this, or even think you want to stop, you say so. I’ll listen. No drama, no reprisal.”
That one lands differently. I can’t see ever getting tired of this, but I keep that little tidbit to myself. Instead, I just say, “I agree.”
He nods, silent for a breath or two longer than I expect. There’s a knot in his jaw like he wants to say more, but the words don’t come. I wonder, for a heartbeat, what would happen if I reached out and ran my thumb over the angry curve of his mouth. Instead, I button my jacket and reach for the stack of folders beside the monitor.
He opens the door to see me out, but before I step past him, he catches my wrist gently. “Third rule,” he says, voice pitched so low it’s more vibration than sound, “you can always tell me if I’m being an asshole.”
I grin broadly, unable to suppress the amusement bubbling up inside me. "That will be an ongoing theme, I’m sure," I tease, my voice light and playful.
He’s trying hard not to smile, a subtle twitch at the corners of his mouth betraying his effort. It’s as if he’s forgotten how, like this simple act of smiling is foreign to him. "Maybe," he concedes, his voice low and smooth. His eyes, deep and mysterious, are so dark they nearly swallow all light, rendering them almost black in the dim room.
"Since we've got that all cleared up," I relax a little, "I think we should also agree to keep our hands to ourselves during working hours." I propose the rule, my gaze steady and challenging, like a chess player daring their opponent to make the next move.
"Agreed," he responds promptly, without a flicker of doubt, his tone firm and resolute, like a knight accepting a noble quest.
Over the next week, we slip into a well-worn routine, spending our days side by side, diligently focused on our tasks. It's as if an invisible line separates us, a silent agreement holding us in check. The air around us hums with unspoken tension, yet we move through our work seamlessly, as if nothing is simmering beneath the surface.
Then we spend the evenings upstairs in his penthouse exploring this insane connection between us. Several times, I have to bite my tongue to keep from blurting out my growing feelings for him.
CHAPTER 6
DECLAN
It’s been one hell of a day, and I’m dying for her. Fuck. It’s been a crazy week, and I’m ready for two whole days off with Natalie. In Natalie. Surrounded by everything Natalie. Goddamn. She’s managed to wiggle her way under my armor and into my heart.
The elevator doors slide shut with a soft hiss, and I’m alone with the hum of machinery and the faint scent of Natalie’s perfume lingering in the air. My thumb hovers over the keypad, scanning for the thirty-eighth floor. The penthouse is my fucking sanctuary, my lair, and now, my goddamn playground. The city sprawls below, a glittering mess of neon and shadows, but up here, it’s just me and the anticipation of what’s coming.
Natalie’s heels click against the marble floor exactly one minute after my “come up” text. She’s a fucking vision in that navy suit, her skirt hugging her hips like it was tailor-made to drive me insane. Her hair’s pulled back tight, her face all business, but I know better. I know the way her breath hitches when I’m inside her, the way her nails dig into my skin like she’s trying to carve her name into my flesh.
She stops three feet from me, drops her bag with surgical precision, and meets my gaze. There’s a pulse in her neck, a tiny SOS I want to lick, bite, and claim. “Good evening, sir,” she says, and fuck, that word does scary things to me. It’s a fucking trigger, a switch that flips something primal in my brain.
“Good evening,” I reply, my voice low and rough. I open the bedroom door and wait as she walks in first. “Strip.” I can’t wait another second to have her soothe the spot deep in my soul only she can reach.