Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1)

“Where did you get those?”

“I think you know.”

Again, her mouth opened and closed as she stuttered over her words, unable to form a single one. Her refusal to admit defeat had my irritation spiking.

“Did you plan on fucking your way to the top?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s too much of a coincidence that you fuck me this weekend and then come in today with a grand plan for one of our biggest projects, you know I’m in charge of. Did you think it would help you get picked for the team if you got my dick wet?”

Blood rushed into her cheeks, her jaw clamped shut, and her eyes alight with fire like she wanted to burn me alive. Playing dumb hadn’t worked, so now it looked like she’d use outrage.

She swallowed twice, and I only added fuel to the fire by smirking. Maybe if she got mad enough, she’d slip up and finally admit how she lied.

“I didn’t know it was you. If I had, believe me, I would have run as far and as fast as I could in the other direction.”

“Please,” I scoffed.

“You are rude and cold and—and an asshole.”

I leaned back in my chair, feeling victory over her floundering insults. “Big words for a little girl who rode my face and came all over my cock this weekend.”

If possible, her cheeks grew redder. She hopped up from her chair and stared down her pert nose at me. “I assure you; I didn’t fuck you to get anywhere. I can do it on my own, so don’t flatter yourself,” she almost growled. Just as quickly, she pulled her shoulders back and pursed her lips like an old, proper, prude. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to set up a time to meet Angie. I’ll be forgetting any of this happened. I suggest you do the same.”

She marched over to my desk and snatched up her panties, stuffing them between her and her notebook, and stormed out.

She didn’t slam the door like I’d expected, but nothing about her reaction was as expected. Now that she wasn’t right in front of me with the energy of a bomb between us, I thought back to her reactions that looked all too honest to be faked.

But if she hadn’t been lying about this weekend, then what was she hiding?

I looked down to where the panties had been.

Damn. I wanted to keep those.ElevenVeraI somehow managed to make it to my cubicle despite my legs shaking like Jell-O. I barely remembered the walk, solely focused on my panties, burning a hole against my chest. I’d bolted from his office as controlled as possible with my chin held high, the world a dull, blurry roar around me.

I fell into my seat and shoved the black lace to the bottom of my bag. Maybe if I shoved deep enough, they’d disappear along with the knowledge that Nicholas was the man who’d fucked me so thoroughly this weekend.

My boss.

My boss, who hated me, had buried his face between my legs and made me come harder than I ever have before.

Maybe I could dive to the bottom of my bag with the sordid panties and get lost in Narnia with them.

Dropping my head to my hands, I managed to bite back my groan. It was one thing to imagine the illicit encounter had been with Nicholas and another thing entirely to actually have been with him. One was a fantasy I didn’t have to admit to anyone playing out in my mind. The other was so wrapped up in complicated strings I couldn’t see beyond it.

The bruises on my hips from his hard grip throbbed, and I fought from banging my head against the desk to knock out any memories trying to rear their head.

He’d thought I planned the whole thing. He actually thought I planned having sex with him so he would give me a position on the upcoming project. How could one man make me burn with so much heated desire and raging anger all at the same time?

Oh, how I hated him.

I hated Nicholas Rush.

Part of me wanted to quit now. I didn’t need the job. I didn’t need the stress of facing him or walking around with a guillotine over my head, waiting for him to find a reason to fire me.

But there was no way I would give him the satisfaction.

It wasn’t that I had to face him; it was that he would have to face me and the realization that I would conquer this job on my own. I’d climb the ranks and keep delivering my ideas until he was forced to recognize I succeeded through his company all on my own.

At least until I got married.

My stomach bottomed out, and the bubbling pride simmered to a calm.

I had at least a year, I tried to reason. I’d have time before this marriage took off. We hadn’t even announced an engagement. I’d take every second to excel.