I’d only managed to hold off pursuing Charlotte for a day. Her second day in the office, I asked her to have dinner with me, and she declined, citing professionalism in the workplace. Absolute bullshit.
I put a tail on her immediately. If I couldn’t be there to watch over her, then I had someone—female someones—doing it for me. They sent me regular updates with pictures to see for myself that she was safe and didn’t spend time with anyone I would have to murder.
All of the photos went into an encrypted file on an external hard drive, so they couldn’t be hacked. I made damn sure by having the best in cybersecurity, Jonah Carrington’s company, create it for me. The pictures were my only constant connection to her. They fueled my fantasies, even the ones of her simply reading in the bay window of her townhouse. Satisfying myself hadn’t been an issue in the past, but since Charlotte came into my life, the only thing I wanted wrapped around my cock were her hands, lips, or pussy. But after looking through the photos—hell, even when I hadn’t gone through them—it wasn’t unusual to find myself a sticky mess after dreaming about all the things I wanted to do to her.
Over the next two weeks, I subtly touched her as much as possible. It made me hard as a fucking rock when she would let out a tiny gasp or her breath would stop for a second. It made me want to fill her mouth with something else.
When I couldn’t stand the distance anymore, I called her into my office right before quitting time, and point-blank asked her what the problem was. She’d turned it back around and asked me if I’d only hired her so I could sleep with her.
In my desperate need to be near her, to make her mine forever, it hadn’t occurred to me she would make an assumption like that.
“I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t want you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” I admitted. Her face fell, and I held up a hand, silently telling her there was more. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest, wanting her to see me in my professional hat when I told her the truth.
“I looked at your resume and transcripts, Charlotte. I don’t know why you were in that group of interns because you are grossly overqualified. You’re intelligent, and you clearly have an excellent work ethic if your transcripts and recommendation from Diego Sanchez are anything to go by.”
Her face brightened a little, and I nodded. “Yes, I called your references.”
“Now, I will confess that you aren’t as experienced as my other assistants, but you exude enthusiasm and a desire to learn. The opportunity to teach you appealed to me because you have such amazing potential.”
I was pleased to see the relief in Charlotte’s eyes and noticeably less tense posture, but as she turned to leave, I called, “Wait a minute, Charlotte.”
She hesitantly did an about-face and watched me warily. “You never answered my question.”
“What question?” Her voice was all innocence, and her expression was serene. I didn't buy it for a second.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, baby. But I’ll repeat myself so there is no confusion. Why won’t you have dinner with me?”
“I—um—” she stammered as she tried to come up with an answer. “I’m not attracted to you.”
I was out of my chair and standing toe to toe with her before she realized what was happening. With one hand on her waist, I threaded the other into her copper hair and made a fist so I could slowly force her head back. Staring into her eyes, I let her see the hardness in mine, and my tone was practically steel when I seethed, “Do not ever lie to me again, Charlotte.” I attempted for some softness when I added, “I will always be honest with you”—not counting omission when it’s for your own good—“and I expect the same in return. Do you understand?”
I had too tight of a grip on her hair for her to motion with her head. “Yes,” she replied softly.
“Good.” I gave her a firm kiss on the mouth, then whispered, “You won’t like the consequences if I find out you’ve lied to me.” Then I released her completely and returned to my desk and sat in my chair. “Now, let’s try this again. Why?”
Charlotte puffed out a breath and put her hands on her hips, her eyes spitting fire. It was the first time I’d glimpsed that side of her, and holy fucking shit, it was hot as hell. “I love this job, Mr. Whitney.”
“Rhett,” I interjected.
“And dating in the workplace is just stupid. I don’t want a messy breakup blowing everything I’ve worked so fucking hard for!” She was yelling by the time she finished, and I would have cracked a smile about it if I hadn’t been pissed about something else.