Fuck It (Yama Yama)

I’m pretty sure I could totally rock the world right now with these ten ideas, so I hope I don’t have another one come to me. My head hurts, and I need to start pulling these bad boys together in a much more presentable way before I do a quick pitch to Anderson.

My music plays, and I dance a little as I continue to type, still leaning over my desk.

I honestly feel like I could conquer the world right now.

A loud, obnoxious throat clearing startles me when it comes at the same time that my playlist comes to an end, and I turn to look over my shoulder, annoyed at the interruption.

Anderson Harper stares at me with wide eyes, loosening his navy blue tie.

“Not now. I still have until this afternoon before the quick pitch,” I tell him, then turn back around to my laptop and finish typing out a sentence as I hear the click of my door, letting me know he’s gone.

“This is a sexual harassment suit just waiting to happen,” he mumbles, causing me to groan when I realize he’s not gone after all.

“What do you want?” I ask. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

When he doesn’t answer, I turn to look at him again, narrowing my eyes at him when he jerks his gaze up. He was totally checking out my ass—

The color suddenly drains from my face, and my heart kicks my throat. Pretty sure the white shade I’ve turned is quickly splashed with a painful red color when I realize what an absolute idiot I am.

He bites down on his lip like he’s fighting back a laugh. He seems to have just realized I was unaware I was standing here in nothing but my underwear and high heels, bent over my desk like a role-playing call girl.

Calmly, I straighten and turn around to face him. Then quickly cover my breasts with my arms, since the stupid little bra I wore is showing them off a little more than I feel comfortable with. Anderson rubs his jaw with his hand, still battling a grin as he lets his gaze drop, registering the motion.

It’s like my words and reactions are on pause…because…I’m having a nightmare, right? I collapsed from sleep exhaustion, and this is all just a bad dream. Everyone has the naked-in-front-of-your-boss dream.

“HR might have skipped over the part of your orientation that includes wearing clothes to work,” Anderson tells me, a mocking lilt to his voice.

I pinch myself and then wince when the pain hits. This is real.

I hate my life.

It’s as though my mind finally registers how exposed I am, and I dive for my bag instead of yelling at him to get out. But…my skirt is still pooled around my heels, and I trip over it.

A bunch of things happen at once.

I see the ground coming, and Anderson lunges to catch me. Somehow his hands end up grabbing a lot of boob, which halts my fall, but causes me to squeal, and him to release me abruptly when he figures out what he’s holding. Which has me falling again, but my head smacks his crotch instead of the floor.

He grunts on impact. I land on my knees, and he doubles over as I grab his hips reflexively. That’s when my door opens, and a shriek comes out of the woman who stands in my doorway.

I’m on my knees.

In my bra and panties.

And high heels.

Holding Anderson’s hips while he leans over me.

The entire office behind her comes to a quiet standstill, and I watch in horror as everyone gapes at us.

“Fuck me,” Anderson groans.

“Terrible choice of words,” I hiss, darting to my feet and forgetting…he’s still leaning over me.

My head slams into his stomach, knocking me back down, and I whimper when my knees hit the floor again, proving how raw they are.

Great. On top of all else, I definitely have carpet burn.

On my knees!

It’s like a bad cartoon that won’t end.

The girl slams the door, ending the humiliating visual to the rest of the office, and Anderson…starts laughing.

“This is not funny!” I snap, scrambling away from him. I dart over to my bag and start putting on my clothes. He averts his gaze, although I’m past the point of saving any dignity by now.

“It kind of is.”

“The entire office now thinks you and I are screwing in my office. Who knows what complaints will be filed about that scene! What part of that is funny?” I snap, angrily pulling on my skirt and zipping it.

“The part where you tripped and it all went to hell from there,” he deadpans, then starts laughing again.

“Freaking hilarious,” I mutter under my breath.

With the same jerky movements, I tug on my shirt, hurriedly doing the buttons, and hope none of them are askew. Ironically, I was only naked because I wanted to change before people saw me in yesterday’s clothes and thought I was doing a walk of shame. Now…