“Shit,” Wyatt says and he doesn’t hold back on the misery. “I know if you’re doing it, it must be done.” His large brown eyes look sympathetic.
“Tell that to them.”
Suzette
Adrian is most of the reason I couldn’t sleep. Those dreams were too hot to forget and they made me twist and turn in the sheets until morning. There was plenty to keep my mind occupied between replaying what happened on his office desk and the way he treated me after. The man himself is a whirlwind and I can barely hold on. There’s an ache between my thighs still, even though it’s been hours and hours.
The tall macchiato does nothing to help the bags under my eyes, but with a deep breath in, I prepare to make my way to my office like nothing happened.
Stepping foot inside feels illicit in a way it never did before. I’ve always come in with my chin up, ready to do battle for another day. Today that kick-ass persona is nowhere to be found. It’s somewhere between a childish puppy dog love and the feelings that accompany the walk of shame.
In all those hours of tossing and turning, I came to one conclusion: I have, what feels like, a crush. Back in high school I used to get this fluttering-heart feeling for some of the guys in my class … that ended less than well. Pining after men in college led to my ex-husband. So all of these feelings can fuck off. It’s against everything I stand for to have that kind of feeling for Adrian. It’s forbidden to have sex with your boss on his desk. It’s wrong to daydream about it so much you lose focus on your work.
It’s a no go. A hard pass. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t text him the second he messaged me. Those giddy little feelings are my kryptonite. I suppose there’s always an exception to every rule and Adrian Bradford is just that: exempt from every boundary I’ve spent years defining. Even as I sit at my desk, the tapping of keys and hushed chatter around me, I can barely keep from looking toward the elevator. All I want to know is if he’s up there. I want to know if he can’t stop thinking about what happened on his desk either.
Hours pass slowly through the day until I get a text message from him at four. His name on my phone makes the temperature of my body kick up a notch. I swallow hard, trying to subdue it all.
Adrian: Meet me at the elevator at six.
The hours went by slowly before but now they drag on and on, each tick of the clock taking forever. I stare at my computer screen, rereading every email twice. Triple-checking my responses to clients and sending back nearly every design I’m given from the graphics department. Not because they need changing or that they don’t fit the branding for said clients. But simply because I can’t focus and there’s no way in hell I’m approving anything when all I keep imagining is my boss’s expression when he calls me good girl.
At four fifteen there’s a meeting in one of the smaller conference rooms downstairs. It’s all I can do not to stare at Adrian through the large paned windows. In the glances I do steal, he appears less than thrilled. Every expression is dour as they leave one by one, Adrian leaving last and not looking back.
At ten to five, half a dozen executive assistants and senior executive assistants, some of whom I know but most I don’t, move through the office in a clump. It’s a relief that something has happened to break up the routine of the day.
“Fired,” Gail whispers to me. I nearly spill my coffee when she does. I didn’t realize she was standing so close, also spying.
“What?” I question. I’ve known Gail for years now. She’s a damn good resource for client retention, but also the lead watercooler gossip. “Did you say fired? Are you sure?”
Nodding, she sweeps her curly dark brown hair back over one shoulder and then holds her coffee cup with both hands. In heels and leaning against the wall, the modelesque Latina in her late twenties towers over me. “I bet there will be an email going out soon.”
All of them? Fired? She leaves me with a sick feeling stirring in the pit of my stomach as she bids her farewell. “It’s what he does. No one should be surprised.”
I know he has a reputation, but how the hell can a company run if every executive is severed?
Not long after that, an assistant director, Daniel Prath, who I spotted in the conference room earlier, has a screaming fit at the elevators with another man I don’t know. Including the phrases, “this company would have gone under without me” and “good luck staying in business.”