The Office Party

“Maybe I should go now,” I say, now realizing he never even complimented my dress. “You can call me whenever you come to your senses.”

“I’m never calling you again!” He glares at me. “And you know what? For your Secret Santa gift, why don’t you just put a bow on your pussy and sit on your boss’s face? I'm sure he'll love that—if you haven’t already done it with him before, that is.”

My jaw drops to the floor, and the entire restaurant falls silent.

A fork hits the floor several seconds later, shattering the silence with a reverberating clang.

I throw my napkin onto my plate and stand to my feet. "So much for not causing a scene, right?"

"You brought this on yourself," he says, signing the receipt. "Fuck you, you cheating bitch."

I'm not sure what comes over me, but the next thing I know, I'm grabbing a glass of juice (He can’t afford to buy the wine) and throwing it in his face.

I pick up my coat and leave the dining room without another word, ignoring the whispers that follow my every step.

I fight back tears of frustration as I take the elevator downstairs. I take my time buttoning my coat—shielding my heart from the cold, and then I step into Manhattan’s latest snowfall.

Moving close to the curb, I hold up my hand and hail a cab.

“Where to, Miss?” The driver’s eyes meet mine through the rearview mirror. “You’re looking at a minimum of thirty minutes, no matter what, in this traffic.”

Perfect. “2314 Seventh—” I stop myself. The last thing I need to do is head home. “West Media, please.”

“Sure thing.” He pulls onto the street, and I lose the war with my tears for the rest of the ride.

An hour later, I hand the driver a handful of twenties and rush inside headquarters. All of the employees are long gone, but Garrett’s office lights are still burning bright.

As usual…

Without thinking, I head up to his floor and walk into the boardroom. I take off my coat, and pull my laptop from my bag to begin working on my next project.

Then my next project, and the next.

Before I know it, I’m ahead in my work by an entire week.

At around two in the morning, Garrett sets a mug that’s topped with whipped cream in front of me.

“Miss Grey?” He clears his throat, waiting for me to look up at him. “I could’ve sworn that you had a date earlier.”

“I did.”

“Did he like your dress?”

“He didn’t get a chance to really see it.”

He looks me up and down. “How unfortunate. How long did the date last?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe.” I tap my fingers against the table; I have no idea why I feel the aching need to open up to him sometimes. “He dumped me because he thinks I’m cheating on him with someone else.”

Raising his eyebrow, he takes a long sip of his coffee. “I’ve never heard you talking to any other guys except him. Who does he think you’re cheating with?”

“He didn’t say.” I shrug. “He just got really upset after I thanked him for the roses he sent me today.”

“Maybe he’s stressed. I’m sure he’ll change his mind later.”

“Maybe.” I stand up from my chair. “Didn’t you have a date with Helen the hotel heiress?”

“It only lasted half an hour.”

“Is that how long it took her to finally realize that you’re the devil incarnate?”

His lips curve into a smile, but he doesn’t answer that. Instead he moves closer to me, lowering his voice. “If your boyfriend didn’t immediately take you home, after seeing you in this dress, something’s wrong with him.”

“Or maybe you picked the wrong one,” I say, feeling that familiar tension filling the room. “Maybe your taste isn’t as good as you think it is.”

He looks me up and down again, his gaze settling between my thighs. “In that case, you should let me taste it for myself…”

“What?” I’m certain that I didn’t hear that right.

“You heard me,” he says, leaning closer. “Let me taste you.”

My eyes widen, and I want to take a step back and draw the line, but he presses his mouth agains mine, every nerve in my body comes to life.

I wrap my arms around his neck as he kisses me deeper, as he grips my waist and pulls me into him.

“Fuck…” he whispers harshly against my mouth, sliding his hand against my exposed thigh. He slips a hand under my dress and sucks in a breath once he realizes I’m not wearing any panties.

His kiss hits my lips in a different flavor now; it’s ten times more passionate and raw, and before I can say, “Please just fuck me,” the ping of the elevator interrupts us.

“Mr. West, are you up here?” A deep voice calls out, and we tear away from one another. “Mr. West?”