Lucah came into the bedroom while I was having my dilemma. He knew exactly what I was doing because I’d done it every other morning.
“Do you want me to do the little twists on the sides into the bun roll?” I was sure there was a more specific name for this style, but I didn’t know what it was, and neither did he.
Lucah twisted the sides of my hair back, almost like a braid, but with two sections instead of three. Then he gathered those in the back, flipped the end under and pinned it. Apparently, having nieces gave him skills in the hairstyle department. Not that I hadn’t done fine on my own, but he could do it more fancily than I could. It also felt really nice when he did it.
“Take a look.” He handed me a mirror so I could check out the back.
“Now I want to have your ginger babies even more. Thank you.” I kissed him and he dropped the towel, giving me a lovely view. He had a great ass. I smacked it as I walked by him to go get my second cup of coffee.
“Sexual harassment!” he yelled after me.
“We’re still at home, Mr. Blythe. And you asked for it by dropping your towel.” I sipped my coffee and waited. I sucked in a breath when he walked out in a dark navy suit, white shirt and a yellow tie. He had the little diamond stud in his ear and he’d tried to tame his hair, but it refused to be tamed. My man in a suit with the wild streak. Perfection.
“Shall we go to work, Miss Clarke?”
“You just earned yourself some knee time, Mr. Blythe.” Even though we weren’t just sharing nights anymore, I still joked sometimes about our arrangement.
“I will do that penance most happily this evening, Miss Clarke.” We kissed in front of my door, and again on the cab ride to work. Outside of the office, we got out and he squeezed my hand.
“See you tonight.” We would ride the elevator together, but it wasn’t the same. We weren’t just Rory and Lucah anymore, we were Miss Clarke and Mr. Blythe, work associates.
“See you tonight.” Our grip broke and the three feet of space stretched between us. He gazed at me and I gazed back as we rode the elevator with several other people. We didn’t work on the same floor anymore, so he got off one below me. I watched him walk away and smiled to myself, because I knew exactly what was under that fantastic suit, and it was even more fantastic than anyone could imagine. And it was all mine.
“Good morning, Miss Clarke,” Lilia said breathlessly, the same as every other morning. We still had a lot of work to do. I would break her barriers yet. When I was done with her, she’d be able to stare anyone down with her ice-cold glare and make grown men quiver in their expensive leather shoes. She would be my protégée.
“Good morning, Lilia, anything on fire yet?” I tried to joke with her every morning, and every time, she laughed, and then her eyes went wide like she’d done something terrible. Was my humor that bad? I’d never really had a problem with it before. Sarcasm, yes. I’d gotten myself into some sticky situations with that. And probably would again.
“Oh, um, there are a few messages, and your father called and asked to see you when you have a moment.” If Lilia was terrified of me, it was nothing compared to the fear she had of my father. I’d taken her to meet him and thought she was going to pass out in his presence, like a girl in some movie. Dad could be intimidating; I could give her that. I’d had to hurry her quickly away and give her a moment to collect herself in the break room.
“Thanks very much,” I said, taking the sticky notes with my messages written on them. I was going to listen to them as well, but it was nice to know what I was dealing with ahead of time.
The fallout from the fiasco of a couple weeks ago was still making my life a living hell. We’d been planning a new product launch, and Dad (and the Board of Directors) was all for going ahead with it, even against the wishes of the PR department. It was both a good thing and a bad thing. It gave all of us something positive to focus on, instead of trying to constantly reassure our current clients and the rest of the world that the incident was isolated and had been dealt with and wouldn’t happen again, and we were putting in safeguards to make SURE that it didn’t happen again, etc., etc., etc. I wanted to record my voice saying my little spiel and just play it when people called. Luckily, if they emailed, I had a form answer that I could copy and paste.
Dad was working more and more hours, trying to show that he had control, and it was taking its toll on him. The bags under his eyes, which had only been there every now and then, were now permanent fixtures on his face. But he wouldn’t let anyone tell him that he was working too hard, or too much. Not me, not Mom, not the Board. The best thing to do was try to take as much pressure off him as possible by doing my job as best I could and trying to handle things so they didn’t escalate and get to him.
I sighed and sat down at my desk. My WORLD’S GREATEST BOSS mug made me think of Lucah. EVERYTHING made me think of Lucah. This entire office had been steeped in memories and moments with him. I would never think about this place again without thinking of him.
Before I sat down and filled my head with work, I went to get coffee. Someone was waiting in the break room, leaning right next to the Keurig.
“Good morning, Miss Clarke,” he said, a wicked smile on his lips. Oh, he knew exactly how to undo me with one look.
I inhaled slowly and walked into the room, heading straight for the Keurig and popping in one of the little cups while not looking at him. Too much eye contact led to eye f**king, which could lead to real f**king, and I wasn’t going to let that happen in the office. Again.
Lucah didn’t seem to have as many qualms as I did about intra-office sexy relations. I stared at the Keurig as if my life depended on it. For me, with Lucah, it was all or nothing. In order to not rip his suit off him and ask him to bend me over my desk and f**k my brains out, I had to maintain a perimeter. A bubble, if you will. Now if I could get this bubble actually constructed, that would make my life a lot easier.
He was much better at being near me and keeping his composure. Must be all that corporate spy training. Or he just had abnormally good control over his lust. And by lust, I meant penis.
I told myself that over time, the feelings would cool. I would be able to see him and not think about him thrusting into me, his face concentrated on what he was doing, and then the look of ecstasy that passed over it when he came . . .
I had to stop thinking that way.
“Why are you being so rude, Miss Clarke?” He always inserted hidden meaning into my name. I couldn’t hear him say it without it conjuring up not-work-appropriate thoughts.