Right now Mike was down to the skullbone while Jeremy’s nose was intact, always on the hunt for p**sy.
“So how are you going to...discipline Miss Lydia?”
Mike shot him a dark look. “Let’s not go there.”
“Oh, come on. ‘Matt Jones’ has to do something, right?”
“Well, no. Actually, Matt Jones doesn’t. Lydia did her job.” Mike frowned slightly, a musing look, as he thought the whole situation through for a minute.
“You told her to economize and she took you at your word, didn’t she?” Jeremy smiled a little too broadly and nodded a little too hard, the mocking evident and Mike just shook his head.
“The f**king Embassy Sweets, man.”
“Malicious obedience,” Jeremy said, chuckling.
Whoa. Mike hadn't thought of that. “Holy shit, that's exactly what she's doing, isn't it?”
Jeremy nodded, fiddling with his phone, playing Angry Birds on it. “Yep. You get pissed at your company, so you do exactly what you're told. Everything falls apart when you remove judgment and initiative from corporate life.”
“But I've nurtured her initiative!” Mike exploded.
“You've nurtured her libido.”
“What?” Mike nearly screamed.
Jeremy shushed him with hand signals that either meant be quiet or park the 747 at Gate 11. “That's not a pissed off employee, Mike. That's a woman who feels scorned.”
“Fuck!” He was right. Fighting these feelings for her meant shutting down. To her, it must look like he was an a**hole. Furtive encounters in the supply closet and elevator at work – not to mention the nightclub incident – must confuse her. Blowing hot and cold would make anyone upset. The fact that he was turning into a stone wall made him an even bigger asshat.
She was right.
“She saved Bournham Industries quite a bit of money,” Jeremy said, a supercilious tone permeating his words. “The CEO will be pleased.”
“The CEO is not pleased,” Mike said in a hard voice.
“No,” Jeremy wagged his finger in Mike’s face. “Matt Jones is not pleased. Mike Bournham should promote her.”
Mike chuckled. “I’m not sure promote is the verb that I want to apply to her.”
“How about fuck?” Jeremy said, all humor stripped from his banter. The shift made the room seem colder and Mike cocked his head.
“That goes without saying.”
“I thought so,” Jeremy said, nodding slowly. “So who's going to do it?”
The hair on the back of Mike’s neck stood up. “What are you talking about, Jeremy?” Was this some ploy for Jeremy to come into the office and try to snag Lydia? Had he gone too far in talking about her?
“Well, you know,” Jeremy said, scratching the back of his head, taking his time smacking his lips together, drawing this out until Mike started waving his hand come on, come on, come on. “Is it going to be Matt Jones or Mike Bournham? Which one wants her most?”
Mike sighed and closed his eyes. Oh, fuck. When he had signed on with the reality television show this was not a scenario that he had considered. He had thought that there might be some awful, violent episode with an employee or a nasty negative argument with someone, or maybe he’d discover that people were embezzling.
Perhaps he’d find out about some lurid love affair among his upper management, or learn that the mafia had infiltrated his procurement department. Of all the scenarios that he had envisioned where things went wrong, falling for one of his administrative assistants hadn’t even been anywhere near the short list. Or the long list.
Any list.
He wanted her, as time passed, more and more. Mke knew that if he let this go on much longer he’d end up needing her. Lydia knew him as Matt Jones, her a**hole interloping boss. She knew him in an alter ego, as the owner of the company. So, who was it going to be? Two identities were for superheroes and Mike was trying damn hard to become a billionaire.
But he was no batman.
Chapter Eleven
Reluctant to have any contact with him, Lydia avoided Matt all day. No choice now, though; an email from a big client needed Matt's immediate attention, and it was a simple meeting schedule issue she needed to take care of. One quick question and she could clear this out and go home. She and Matt had worked way too late wrapping up a huge deal for this client, and it was 9:40 p.m. The office was deserted. One last question and she could go home and eat ice cream while watching Portlandia.
Rapping on the door twice, she barged in without waiting for him to say anything.
And walked into her threesome dream.
Completely unhinged for a few seconds, she gaped openly at Matt and Jeremy, who was sitting on Matt's couch, relaxed and fluid, like a long, loose, highly-fuckable sex machine ready for this to become one of those porny scenes from a really bad online sex video.
Oh, my God, she was losing her mind.
Jeremy started humming in the silence. Matt glared at him after a few seconds, giving Lydia something to attach to. What was Jeremy humming?
His head bouncing to and fro, Jeremy continued his little song, smiling at Matt.
He was humming You Are My Sunshine.
“Did you interrupt us for fun, or is there some work purpose, Lydia?” Matt asked, irritated and slapping Jeremy on the shoulder, which caused him to stop mid-bar and grin madly at Lydia.
Her face flushed as she reconciled the humor and the anger, struggling for balance. How rude! And of all the days to feel so frumpy and off-kilter, the thirteen-hour day beating her senseless and wearing her down. Vulnerable and raw, being treated like his little administrative slave was about as appealing as fetching Dave's double soy latte.
Jeremy wore a simple red t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. Not exactly corporate wear, while Matt seemed ready to take on the executive suite with a fine suit about three levels – no, make it six – above his pay grade. Only the lack of a tie made it look “business casual.”
Ish.
Careful attention to their bodies, to detail, was her saving grace in keeping her temper in check. “The MacMillan account needs to know specifics for the next in-person meeting,” she answered, seething. Jeremy noticed the change and stood, eyes alarmed, and headed toward the door.
“I'll catch you later,” he said to Matt, then tipped his head at Lydia with a nod goodbye.
She didn't return it, eyes zeroed in on Matt. Tapping her toe, she splayed her palms up, a gesture of extreme impatience.
Squaring his shoulder, he planted his hands on his h*ps and said, “Yes?” as he shook his head, a jerk-like quality that made her whole body roil in fury.
“The MacMillan meeting? When do you want me to schedule it? They're asking and need to make travel arrangements.”
“Do you really need to consult me for every silly little detail like this? Isn't it your job?”
Rolling her tongue in her mouth, she imitated his stance, her hands on her h*ps now, defiant. “I'm just doing exactly what you say,” she replied, matching his tone. “Sir,” she spat out.
“This whole malicious obedience schtick isn't going to work, you know.” Confusion clouded her features. She didn't know what he was talking about.
“Malicious obedience?”
He washed his face with his hands, then ran them through his hair, keeping his arms stretched above his head, showing off those perfect arms. Rein it in, Lydia, she warned herself. Not now.
Not here.
“You plan only to follow orders, right?”
She smirked.
“Go tell MacMillan we'll meet on August 20.”
Spinning on her heel, she left the room. He followed, and then in a low, clear voice, “And kiss my ass.”
Time stood still. The universe imploded. Her entire body was a supernova.
Because he had just given a direct order.
And she needed to maliciously obey it.
Her breath poured out of her in heaving gasps, the room so small it was starting to feel claustrophobic, and all she could feel was the rush of blood through her ears, her heart pounding, and how much she wanted to kiss him, touch him, be with him right now.
Being hurt like this, having him put up a wall and keep her firmly behind it, was blindingly stupid. It made absolutely no sense, and she wished she'd stayed so late. Glowing light from the nak*d bulbs high in the ceiling made him seem more menacing than he was, hands on his hips, jaw tight and face a mask of granite.
Some part of him seemed to thaw as his mouth turned up a half-grin, not a smile, but a wry, angry look, cold and harsh.
Without thinking, she walked back, bent down and did it, reaching around him, touching his waist as if she had the right to access his body at will, kissing his butt with a big, loud “Mwah!” Standing, she glared at him, arms crossed, daring him to respond. Blinking steadily, he worked to avoid a reaction; she could see his struggle and wanted to laugh.
Ignore me now, she thought.
Their breathing filled the room. Anger dominated. Matt should have been the one in power, but instead her hurt, his restraint, and their – what? Misunderstanding? – hung out and stayed for a while, managing this internal state of affairs.
“Do as I say, “ she mocked, pretending to use his voice, co-opting his own words from the other day. “Fine. I kissed it.” Cocking one shoulder, she stared him down. A luxurious, sinful heat made its way slowly from her lips to her chest, spreading down her torso and lighting her cl*t on fire, the throbbing nearly audible in this tiny, dim space. His office wasn't her idea of romantic. This would have to do for a showdown, her skin nearly begging him to touch it, her eyes hooded and, she hoped, holding back her yearning.
Righteously pissed, she didn't enjoy being toyed with. Tender treatment in his hands at her apartment the other night couldn't possibly translate into the cold shell he'd put up recently. He needed to choose.
Now.
Those fine, manicured hands reached for his belt buckle, practiced and smooth movement beginning to unbuckle his belt. A sultry grin spread across his face, tempered by a slow, furious burn that scared her just enough to titillate.
“What are you doing?” she asked slowly, eyebrows arching up.
As he undid the buckle, he peeled the leather belt out of the loops, then folded it, snapping, the sound like a voice crying out in pleasure, her own throat strangling on a little mewl she suppressed.
“Enabling you to do as you were told,” he answered, his voice smooth like fine whisky as he snaked his pants down over his hips.
Commando.
Plunging into her was the only image his mind would hold, his brain racing ahead of himself, wanting her teeth to sink into his shoulder as he made her come, wracked with cli**x after cli**x until she went liquid and limp in his arms. Fine cotton clung to that ample ass, with curves riding the soft grey skirt until his mind could think of nothing but handfuls of her, of his palms caressing that creamy skin, of her thighs pressed against his ribcage, ankles crossed behind him, driving her face into a twisted ecstasy only he could – or ever would – see.
Because he made her like that.
This f**king office was the least romantic spot he could imagine, devoid of passion and luxury, and yet if this was it – this was it. Mike had woken up determined to hold himself back, to close himself off, to make sure she couldn't lead him astray from his singular purpose: billionaire status. Fucking her against the door with his hot breath whispering dirty encouragement, though, was how his night would end.