That wasn’t what I planned to say.I straighten and rub a hand over my face.
Emily swallows, then the little minx says, “I think that would be illegal.”
A laugh escapes me, and she surprises me further by lifting the corner of her lips.Before I can stop myself, I reach out and rub my thumb along her bottom lip.
She draws in a jagged breath.
“Get a dress.Something sexy.Charge it to the Remington account,” I say, ignoring my throbbing cock as Emily leans into my touch.Her eyes close, and it takes all my willpower not to wrap my arm around her, tugging her against my body then swiping my desk clear so I can fuck her until she screams.
If this was Sandy, she’d use it to blackmail a guy.Don’t be dumb.
I step away.
Long lashes flutter as Emily opens her eyes.“Yes, sir.”
Jesus, fuck.I’m not that strong.
“Go.”
Emily nods, spins, and runs out the door.
Good god, I nearly chase her.
AN HOUR LATER, I receivean email from Emily.
Dear Mr.Remington
Why isn’t your fiancée attending the event with you?
Regards,
Emily
I stare at the email for way too long, not having an answer for her.I don’t understand why I chose to invite her to dinner with the sheikh, and more importantly, as my fake fiancée, but it appears I have.
It could be a complete and utter disaster.
I’ll tell her when we get to the restaurant.It’s not like I’m asking her toactuallymarry me.Emily just needs to smile and appear to like me.Our chemistry is what I’m relying on.
She will need to be discreet.Fortunately, the NDA—non-disclosure agreement—she signed covers it.So, in some ways, she’s the perfect person.
We clearly want to fuck one another.
And she can’t say a word.
Dear Emily,
This email serves as a reminder that anything you see or hear in this job must remain confidential.
Regards,
Sebastian
Mr.Remington
A quick glance at the time reminds me I have a date.With the guys.It’s Friday night, and we regularly meet at Colt’s club, The Obsidian Club, in Soho Manhattan.I snap my laptop shut, push my chair back, and grab my jacket.Then head out the door.I pass Emily, who’s typing away vigorously.
“Good evening, Emily.”
