“Excuse me if I’m being too forward, but what the hell is your problem with me?” Her eyes widen, shocked that I’m confronting her so abruptly. But I can only take so much before I lose it.
“I see the way you look at me and shoot me all those dirty looks. I did nothing to you. You don’t even know me,” I continue, and Sherry smirks, taking a step toward me after looking around the office to see if anyone was watching.
“Listen, Elizabeth,” she replies in a whispered tone. “You need to know your place. I’ve worked too damn hard to lose to some little office tart.” She pokes me in the chest, and I try my hardest to remain calm.
“Lose what?” I ask harshly. Personally, I’m stunned to hear her speaking to me in such a way. “We are all adults here; this isn’thigh school. Nothing is going on other than me doing my job. It’s not my fault they chose me for the role. Maybe they just didn’t see much talent in you.”
As far as Sherry or anyone else here knows, this is the truth. I got this job out of sheer talent. This fling with Jon happened after, and it wasn’t planned. I know that my comments are a hit below the belt, but I’ve watched her do this intentionally ever since I got the role as Jon’s assistant.
Sherry laughs in a low tone. “Say whatever you need to help you sleep better at night, honey, but I’m not blind. Just know that I will find out whatever the hell you are doing and then everyone will know your little secrets.”
She pushes past me, leaving me alone at the reception desk, questioning everything. Am I being that transparent? Maybe she’s bluffing because she’s jealous…
Whatever the case may be, I can feel the worry start to bubble in my stomach. I can’t lose this job or the respect I’ve earned fair and square. Especially not to some office hothead.
I can’t let her get to me because that is exactly what she wants.
Jon and I will just have to be even more careful around each other, even if it’ll be insanely difficult to behave given the alone time.
12
JONATHAN
The penthouse is too quiet. No deals buzzing my phone, no contracts spread across my desk. Just me, in pajama pants, the city spread out beneath my windows like a toy set.
Midtown glitters, Rockefeller Center thrumming with happy couples holding hands, kids wobbling across the rink, the famous tree standing proud.
Normally, Saturdays mean errands, gym, maybe a bourbon hangover from the night before. Today, I’m restless. Today, I’m starving for Lizzy.
I picture her in a wool hat and scarf, cheeks flushed from the cold, laughing as she grips my arm on the ice. The image is enough to make my cock twitch against the thin cotton of my pants.
“Fuck,” I mutter, palming myself without thought. I collapse back into the leather couch, eyes squeezed shut, letting the fantasy take over.
Her lips red from the cold—and then red from wrapping around me. Her thighs straddling me right there in public, skirt hiked up, daring me to take her under the shadow of the Christmas tree.
My hand works faster, sliding down the thick length, pre-come slicking my palm. I imagine her moaning into my neck as I thrust into her, the sound drowned out by holiday music and laughter from strangers who have no idea what’s happening just feet away.
“Lizzy,” I groan, heat boiling low in my gut. The orgasm rips through me hard, my hips jerking as I spill across my stomach. I ride it out, panting, gripping the couch until the sparks fade.
For a long moment, I lie there, chest heaving, the city lights flickering against the window. Then the guilt creeps in. She’s my employee. My assistant. And yet, I can’t fucking stop.
I grab my phone. Her name glows in my contacts. One thumb hover away from either calling or backing out like a coward. I hit dial.
“Hello, stranger,” she answers, cheerful, sweet. That voice makes me hard all over again.
I clear my throat, cut the small talk. “Would you like to do something with me today?”
“Oh, of course I would. What did you have in mind?” she teases.
“It’s a surprise. Be ready in an hour, and dress warm.” My tone leaves no room for argument.
When she hangs up, a grin spreads across my face. The guilt doesn’t matter. The risk doesn’t matter. All I know is I need to see her.
I text my driver to be outside in an hour, then head to my closet. I want her to see me as more than her boss. I want her to see the man beneath—the man who wants her everywhere, especially in public.
Rockefeller Center. First date. A stage big enough for the whole city to watch. Unfortunately, other than pajamas and an old sweater I inherited from my father, I’m stuck wearing work attire. That should be a sight on ice skates.
I run outside as the car pulls up, and we head toward her apartment complex. To my surprise, she’s already on the stoop waiting when we arrive.
