Never have I met such a beautiful woman in my entire life. She is poised and determined to do well at her job, which is more of a turn-on than I would have guessed. I want to get to know her, unearth all her darkest secrets, and unwrap whatever she is hiding underneath that skin-tight pencil skirt.
It is the first time in a long time that I can openly admit that I might have a crush.
I am crushing on my personal assistant.
It is so cliché and so unprofessional—not to mention, completely against company policy—but I can’t seem to help it. Every time she walks into a room, I feel like the world is just a little bit brighter; that everything has just a little bit more meaning to it.
Ever since I started last week, she has been all I can think about. There are obviously many more important things that I should be worried about in this transition phase, such as winning over the Board and accomplishing as much as I possibly can within these first ninety days. But all I can seem to focus on is Whitney Palmer.
And that, in and of itself, is alarming.
“I had some ideas on how we can get through all of these reports in the most efficient way possible,” she says, pulling me out of my thoughts once we make it to my office.She looks up at me expectantly as we walk, her attention solely on me.
I stick my hands in my pockets. “I’m listening.”
“Perhaps we can make a spreadsheet to—oh!” Whitney gasps as she stumbles over the threshold into my office, the toe of her shoe catching just right on the throw rug against the faux hardwood floor.
I step forward, reaching my arms out to catch her as the notepads and folders, which were in her arms, go everywhere. Her body sags against me, her own arms wrapping around my shoulders to catch her fall. When her momentum ceases, she’s draped across my chest, her hands clutching me for dear life.
Time slows until all I can see is her, staring up at me with wide, unconfident eyes.
My chest constricts as we both try to catch our breath from the unexpected proximity.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Before reality comes knocking, I take the chance to trace over every inch of her face, committing her to memory. If this is my only chance to hold her like this in my arms, I’m damn sure going to take advantage of it.
Whitney gradually gathers her wits about her and pushes off of my chest until she’s standing straight again. She brushes her hands over her black pencil skirt, looking down at the floor, unwilling to meet my eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammers as she bends down to gather her items.
I follow right after her, crouching at the knees to help her collect the papers and notes that she’s lost. “Don’t be.”
After getting everything together, we stand back up and Ipass over the papers I collected. She gives me a soft smile, and I try not to notice the flush staining her cheeks—but it’s useless.
She’s blushing.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one basking in the feel of her body in my arms.
I stick my hands in my pockets so I don’t try to reach for her again. “So, about that spreadsheet?” I ask.
And just like that, she’s back in business mode. Ever the example of pure professionalism. The mask snaps back into place, and she nods before taking off in a series of sentences about how she thinks a spreadsheet will help organize the process of preparing my presentation for the next board meeting.
I do my best to listen to her because I know it’s a good idea, but still when I look at her, all I can picture is the way her plump, red lips parted in a gasp as she fell into my arms.
For the rest of the day, that image haunts me, never giving me a reprieve.
When I get home and hit the weights at the gym in my building, I push myself a little harder than usual. Maybe it’s to help clear my mind, or maybe it's punishment for the fact that I can’t get Whitney out of my head.
I grunt and groan as I do set after set, relishing in the aching burn of my muscles. Finally, when I’m exhausted and sweaty, I call it a night.
With a wipe of my forehead, I go back upstairs to my apartment and head to the bathroom. When there is steam billowing out from behind the glass shower stall, I get in and do my best to rinse the day off.
But even in the protection and silence of my own home, my thoughts keep returning to Whitney. I can’t get over the way her outfit hugged all her curves so perfectly today. She is a vision through and through. And those lips.Fuck, what Iwouldn’t give to know what they’d look like around my cock, or pressed to my skin.
I’ve only known her for a week, but in that entire week, she’s consumed every waking thought. I’ve never crossed this line with an employee before, but when it comes to Whitney Palmer, I just can’t seem to help myself.
With an exasperated sigh, I lean my forehead against the cool tiles of the shower. My hand wanders to my hardened cock, and I grip my length, moaning in relief from the pressure. My thoughts remain on Whitney, and I let myself imagine what it would be like if she were mine.
