AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Does he want me to grovel? A thousand bucks says this is because I basically told him and Preston to go fuck themselves by sending Preston that policy page about the disclosure of marketing plans between accounts. Randy’s butt hurt, and now he’s going to punish my staff because of it.
“Technically, I didn’t make the decision last year,” I point out. “I submitted it for approval through the proper channels, and it was approved…by you. You made the decision, and it was a sound one, given that my staff are already the top-performing of the year so far. They enjoyed the incentive. It clearly produced good results. Isn’t that something you could get behind again for what it will do for the company?”
His nostrils flare on an inhale as he sits forward. Watching him drum his fingers on his cluttered desk, I grit my teeth. I know a defensive pose when I see one. It’s the only pose he ever has. He’s his father’s lackey.
“I’m aware that I signed it last year. Thank you for reminding me in case you think I forgot what I do here. I absolutely can get behind people doing their jobs. That’s why I’m the Chairman of Operations. Except, they get paid a salary to do them. They don’t need extra leave that will take them away from work. Did you stop to consider what the other account managers’ staff will think when they don’t receive extra leave for doing their jobs?”
“The other account managers could put in a request just like I did,” I rationalize, although I can see it’s a losing argument.
“Don’t you think that’s a little selfish? You’re setting a precedent that would force other managers to feel like they have to give away their benefit time just to get their staff to get off their asses and do their damn jobs. Staff get their own leave. Incentivizing yours, as you call it, only discourages others from even trying. That’s not something I can get behind. If you’re so worried about the other account managers, there are plenty of ways you can be a team player, Pete, instead of a fucking Robin Hood. It might look good in theory, but you certainly didn’t think it through, did you?”
Prick. The fucking prick.
His ‘team player’ comment tells me everything I need to know. I can only imagine how it would go over if I ask him if this is because I didn’t disclose my marketing plans to Preston. Judging by his triumphant sneer, that’s exactly what he wants. Well, I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Understood. Maybe we can bring up different incentives at the next account manager meeting,” I say, nodding and turning away so he doesn’t have a chance to respond.
No wonder Cam wanted a gentleman. He’s never met one—especially in his family. I should be livid over Randy’s pathetic revenge as I storm down the hallway, but I honestly don’t even care. My staff will understand, and they’ll still do their jobs. They’re good people. What’s boiling under my surface right now, though, is self-disgust.
How have I devoted the last ten years of my life to this job? I know, in part, it’s because the pace of things at Fairway helped hold me together. It helped feed my need for organization and order. It kept me busy with the necessary routines that shoved all my idiosyncrasies into the background. But what good did that do me? If all I accomplished was masking things I can’t change? All I did was hide who I am and compartmentalize myself into this tiny universe that allowed me to function and fed my impulsive needs for organization.
I thought that was enough for me. The problem is that I don’t think it is anymore.
When Lauren broke off our engagement, I buried myself in work more than ever. Everything was fine. I’ve told myself for so long that meant I wasn’t built for relationships, so why do I feel like I’m missing out on some great opportunity now?
Damn Cam and his fog. Damn him and his expressive face that gobbles up my heart. And damn his family for making him so afraid to be himself that he sought out an ‘experienced’ gentleman.
He’s got me dreaming about holding hands and going to dinner. Dreaming about nights spent touching and tasting. Dreaming about how his contented sighs would sound in the morning on the empty pillow next to mine. Dreaming about not giving a damn about what anyone would think of New Pete, a Pete that looks immensely happy in my mind.
As I round the corner toward the elevators, a tall, slender figure steps out of an office at the far end of the hallway, stealing all of my air. I stand still, waiting, fulfilling my own stupid promise to not engage him at work. His lanky frame strides forward, his gaze focused on the file in his hands, carefully tucking a loose page back inside the manilla folder.
Look at me, Desperate Pete urges. Break my rule.
His chin lifts, and when our gazes lock, it’s a chemical reaction that no science can explain. He’s not thinking about dating profiles right now. He’s not thinking about muffins or graphic designs or even whatever the hell errand someone gave him that brought him up to the tenth floor. I may have even less experience with men than he does, but I know without a doubt that the look in his eyes means he’s thinking about me—about us. He’s thinking about dropping to his knees on my living room floor, falling back onto my bed before I covered him with my body, and the sensation of that purple toy he experimented with while he texted me a play-by-play.
Predictably, his lips part, cooling my agitation and heating my blood in a different way than it was when I rounded the corner. I fucking love the way he looks at me, like his brain has a special breathing setting reserved just for the sight of me.
Stalking forward, I watch his lack of movement. He just stands there, obediently, waiting. I’ve said nothing, but he doesn’t move. His eyes remain fixed on me like I’m the center of his world, exactly where I want to be. It’s got my pulse set to a gallop. I’m not the only one lost in a fog.
Gripping his arm, I turn him and wrench on the handle of a broom closet door, unceremoniously thrusting him inside. He goes willingly, without question, as I locate a light switch and flick it on. The second the metal barrier clicks shut, I walk him back the two steps it takes to press him against a shelving rack.
It’s meant to be his last chance to convince me otherwise of what I just saw in the hallway. He doesn’t disappoint me though, letting out a heady little gasp, dropping his file, and gripping onto my biceps. Peering into my eyes, he looks completely drugged, even as he whispers, “Hi.”
That simple greeting has never sounded so seductive on anyone’s lips. Gripping his waist with one hand, I reach up with the other and trace his lips with my thumb. His eyes slip closed, and his hot breath ghosts my skin. A soft moan gusts over my thumb. I can practically feel him melting against me, his body going pliant just from that delicate touch alone.
“Look at you,” I whisper in awe and gratitude.
Those crystalline eyes draw open, looking lost in the best way possible, lost in me. I never thought I was good at reading my partners. Why would I think so when all of my relationships ended? However, when he wets his lips and drops his gaze to my mouth, leaning forward, I know what he wants. He wants my mouth just as badly as I want his.
Reaching up again, I trace my fingertips down his face. “This is why we can’t be seen together at the office. This face. Right now. The way you look at me. We’re on the same floor as your brother, and you’d tell the whole world that you want my hands on you with just one look. Does that sound like the safety you want?”
Swallowing, his gaze satellites from my eyes to my mouth like he’s battling between processing the ugly truth and his arousal. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
His hand moves to my lapel and rubs the fabric as though it’s itching to do more. My head is spinning from being tucked away in this confined space full of his laundry detergent scent and his sweetness.
Tracing his chin, I sympathize. “I know.”
He must take that as the concession it sounds like, because his hand slides around the back of my neck and into my hair. It forces us closer, pressing the toy in my pocket into my hip as he moves to kiss me.
