“About damn time you showed up. Get in here and close the door.”
I did as he asked. “Have I done something wrong?”
He scoffed. “Wrong? That’s an understatement. What the fuck have you put on my desk?”
I looked down at the files. “The work you instructed me to do. That’s what I got done last night.”
He picked up a folder and slapped it on top of his keyboard. “This? This is garbage, Rebecca. Even for you, it’s garbage.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You better watch how you speak to me. I’m your boss, Miss Loren, and you’re in deep water right now. Come look at this. Come. Get over here.”
I scurried to his side. “I don’t understand what the problem--.”
He pointed to the first page, about midway down. “There. You see it?”
Shit.“That four should be a--.”
His voice growled in my ear. “A three, I know. Which means that all of your calculations after this point are off.”
I picked up the paperwork and sighed. “I am so sorry, Mr. Ryker. Truly, I am. I must’ve been so distracted and panicked last night that my finger slipped.”
His hot breath pulsed against the shell of my ear. “So, what are you going to do to fix your mistake, Miss Loren?”
I swallowed hard. “I’ll take this file back downstairs with me and get right on it after lunch.”
His voice lowered to a whisper. “You mean, fix it right now.”
His chest pressed into my shoulder, and I wanted to melt into the floor. The heat of his words ricocheted down my neck, sending goosebumps fleeing across my skin. My thighs quivered as they squeezed together. I felt my clit pulsing, aching for a need that couldn’t be fulfilled. And as I looked over, catching JoJo’s commanding gaze, my lips feathered over his.
“I’ll fix it before I take my lunch,” I said breathlessly.
His nostrils flared. “Good girl.”
My knees gave way and I plummeted toward the floor, only my knees never hit his carpet. Instead, he swung his arm around my waist, catching me before I hit the floor. My hands planted into his desk with a thud. My jaw trembled as I struggled to stand back on my feet. He helped me up, his arms holding me and squeezing me as if he wanted me close to him.
He made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. And yet, there I was, melting into a literal puddle at his feet.
“I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t get much sleep, and--.”
He released me the second my legs remembered their job. “Take the folder and go fix your mistake.”
I nodded quickly. “Yes, Mr. Ryker. Of course.”
He moved away from me as if he hadn’t just wrecked my world. “Now, get out. I have work to tend to.”
I slowly backed away with wide eyes, watching as he turned his attention back to his laptop. It was as if he hadn’t just invaded every part of me. It was as if he hadn’t just mesmerized me to a point where my body could no longer function. My mind raced back to the burlesque show. I imagined him strapped up in leather with one of those whips in his hand. My hands, chained above my head. My legs, spread open with a metal bar that held cuffs around my ankles.
His hand, exploring my every peak and valley while his hot breath slid along my skin.
I scurried out of his office as quickly as possible, but the distance didn’t matter. My nipples were already puckered against my padded bra, and I’d have to take lunch in my office today. I slammed my office door closed behind me and tossed the folder onto my desk. I raked my hands through my hair, feeling as if I were going stark-raving mad trying to figure out how the hell I’d navigate myself through this salacious, hellacious journey I found myself on.
“Damn it, Becca, come on. Don’t lose your grit,” I murmured.
I walked over to the windows behind my desk and gazed out across the city. I gave myself the best pep talk I could while I felt my back straightening and strengthening. I had to stop allowing people to knock me off my feet. I was no one’s punching bag. And even if JoJo dropped so much work into my lap that all I did was rake in overtime, I could invest it wisely. With the quick calculations I did in my head, I’d be able to sock away the excess money into investment accounts I helped my parents set up, and I’d be able to quit this job in, say, five or six years?
The thought pulled a smile across my face.
