Perfectly Inappropriate

While Jared let himself out, Noah stared down at Olivia’s picture. Heat immediately filled his groin as the minutes dragged on. With his quiet penthouse all around him, he studied Olivia’s face. Pretty, without being overdone. Her brown hair spilled over her tanned shoulders, chocolate brown eyes gleamed. His cock swelled while he looked at her, telling him he’d made the right decision to reach out. Something about her drew him, fascinated him. He wanted to learn more about her, and that instinct had never failed him.

Though this was far more primal. Erotic thoughts flickered through his mind. He imagined her on her knees, glancing up at him with those big sweet eyes. His dick throbbed, reminding him how hard she had made him earlier. The tease was enough, and he used one hand to pull down his workout pants, exposing his thick erection.

He stared down at her red painted lips in the pho

tograph, suddenly craving to gaze upon that lipstick smearing across her face and on his shaft while she took him deep into her mouth. He leaned forward to drip some saliva on the tip of his cock before running his hand down his shaft, groaning against the pleasure. Veins protruded along the sides of his hardened length, straining against the arousal she’d created.

His gaze fell to her cleavage and then over to the smooth line of her shoulder. His lips tingled to explore all those areas and more. He stroked himself faster now and none too gently, determined to bring himself to orgasm and free himself of the tension.

When his eyes lifted to hers again, his breath hitched, and something in her gaze drew out his orgasm, extending his release.

Thinking only of her, and all that he planned on doing to her next week, he grunted and spilled his semen over his hand and onto her photograph, right onto her lips.

Chapter 3

Some men excelled at making women feel invisible.

Isaac Bridge, a.k.a. the General, a.k.a. the head honcho at Bridge Web Solutions, was one of those men.

In the third chair at the glass meeting room table, Olivia sat in a dark gray swivel chair a week after meeting with Noah. She had spent the day consumed with telephone meetings and designing a few logos, mere blocks away from Rockefeller Center. At the head of table, looking as imposing as ever in his designer slacks and navy-blue button-down, the Harvard-educated Isaac kept his back to his employees. Olivia had seen a hundred men who looked just like him in Manhattan. Same trimmed beard. Same brown eyes. Same focused stare. Same arrogant entitlement. She was sure Isaac thought he was a gift to the world and to women.

He wasn’t. He sucked.

Like a king standing at his throne, he tapped the end of the black marker against his lips. On the whiteboard attached to the wall were his ideas for their latest project for a high-powered tech company looking to redesign their website.

Around her were five other Bridge Web Solutions employees. Or rather, “Isaac’s servants” as they preferred to call themselves. Every new project went the same way. Step one of their process was to throw around ideas. Only Isaac never let anyone get a word in edgewise. Every single person sitting at this table was there to hear the great and powerful Isaac share his wise ideas and then implement them.

“Yeah. Yeah. We’ve got something great here,” Isaac finally reported. He replaced the cap on the marker then stepped back to admire his work.

Over the course of the twenty-minute meeting, a few employees sitting around the table tossed out some ideas. Isaac overlooked every single one of them. Olivia imagined all her coworkers suffered this hell for one reason, just like she did: to get the great Isaac Bridge’s name on their resume. Then they’d hightail it to a job where their opinions actually mattered. Not that Isaac didn’t deserve the praise. He was brilliant, but he seemed to want everyone to acknowledge that. All the time.

Olivia had only one chance to get an idea out there; for her own sanity and for her own self-esteem, she refused to miss her chance. “What if we added the New York City skyline behind their logo?” she offered. “The top of the site is looking a little bare to me.”

Murmurs of agreement by her coworkers fluttered around, making her smile, while Isaac paused, staring at the board.

Olivia held her breath. Had he actually heard her suggestion?

Not a chance in hell.

He faced the group. “I like this direction,” he told them, not even acknowledging that she’d spoken and barely even giving anyone a look. “Good work, team. Let’s make this happen.”

Olivia bit back the string of curses resting on her tongue. She had worked for arrogant men like Isaac before when she interned at another web design company in lower Manhattan during college at NYU. Usually she could stomach these chest-beating pricks. But lately, she found it harder to swallow her thoughts.

Her coworkers began to rise, and as Mateo—the cute thirty-something guy—stood, he rolled his eyes and mouthed, “I liked your idea.”

She smiled her thanks then scraped her dignity off her chair and followed Mateo out of the meeting room.

Bridge Web Solutions mixed the old with the new. The building was old New York City, but the inside space had been renovated when Isaac moved his multimillion-dollar company there. From the hexagon-shaped cubicles with glass dividers, and the triple monitors at every station, to the white leather chairs, Olivia adored this space even if she abhorred Isaac.

Like cattle being herded back to the pasture, Olivia followed behind Mateo. When he went toward his cubicle, she continued to hers, which sadly faced the hallway. Her daily view was of Isaac sitting behind his glass desk in the corner office, a brutal punishment she didn’t know what she had done to deserve.

She sighed and dropped down into the swivel chair. Next to her monitors, she had photos of the city. These pictures were her lifeline. One look at them and she was reminded of all the good in the world, even if sometimes she had to swim in the bad.

As she moved her mouse to begin the logo design for the new project, the phone on her desk began to ring. “Olivia Watts,” she said into the receiver.

“Hi, babe, it’s me,” Paige said. “How’s the General today?”

“As douchebaggery as ever,” Olivia grumbled, as Isaac returned to his big fancy desk and stared out the wall of windows to the city streets below.