“Let’s skip these forced pleasantries, they don’t suit you, anyway.” She sneers. “I want to know what your endgame is here.”
Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t an endgame, it’s just the beginning of the games we will play.
“Endgame? I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you are referring to?” I play dumb, although, I know such a response only feeds into the anger brewing inside of that perfect frame of hers.
“Please, sit.” I motion to her.
“No, thank you.” She shrugs. “I’m trying to understand what you want from me?”
Everything.
“You knew I was a writer when you strangely sought me out for employment, yet, here I am, playing dress up, with no talk of how I will be utilized in this company.”
“Dress up?”
“Yes, dress up. Natasha made sure to introduce me to Elaine in the dressing room so I could be fitted for dresses for company events. Ring any bells?”
“I don’t know what you are insinuating, Ms. Ricci. I hired you to work in the writing department. I thought I made that clear?” I am being a bit cruel, yes, but there is something about her fiery Latin blood getting boiled that turns me on. I push her a little more, indulging myself a bit.
She moves herself one step closer to me, the scent of cinnamon-vanilla mixed with floral accents in her perfume working their way down to my length as I feel it beginning to harden.
“I can spin whatever you need me to, I can convey through words what most can’t even drum up in their closed-off minds. I just ask that you see me as an asset here and not see me for my assets.”
“Are you implying that I don’t know how to run my own company? That I would hire you just to keep you around as my personal toy?” This back-and-forth bickering is nice, it reminds me of something I once had many moons ago and ignites something in me that has been long forgotten.
“I said what I said. If you are trying to extract something from me, you are going to have to work a lot harder than throwing fancy drivers and even fancier dresses my way. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“Never,” I say, diverting my attention to the glass bar cart conveniently located near my desk. “Vodka tonic, right?”
She shakes her head, thrown off by my question. “Yes. Wait what, a drink, now?”
“Why not?” I shrug off her judgment as I begin to pour our drinks. Is it too early for a drink? Yes. Is it highly inappropriate to offer my new employee, who is already pissed off with me, a drink during work hours? Also, yes. Will that stop me? No, not a fucking chance.
I hand her the freshly poured vodka tonic, admiring her beautifully stunned face.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, still agitated. Her fingers brush up against mine for a fleeting moment as she grabs the glass from my hand, and it is enough to get the blood flowing to where I wish her hand was instead.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Ms. Ricci. I just assumed that a beautiful woman like yourself, with such talent and all, deserved those finer luxuries in life.”
“What I deserve and what I want are two very different things. I know what I deserve, but what I want is to work. Don’t underestimate me.” She lifts the glass to her lips, and in a swift motion, chugs the cocktail down.
“Of course, and work, you will. You just so happen to be starting on gala night. Every Halloween, we host a charity gala, and I just like our staff to look their best, that’s all.”
“Is that why everyone here seems to be made of plastic?” she mumbles into her empty glass, as she shakes an ice cube in her mouth.
I sip my whiskey, moving right past her snide remark … for now. It won’t take long before her comments will turn into suspicions that demand answers. It’s just a matter of time.
She places her now empty glass on the bar cart and directs her sultry gaze at me once more, trying her best to be professional, but I know she feels it.She has to. Her tone is all business, but her body language is craving pleasure. She can try to hide behind the walls her parents tried so hard to force upon her, but those are walls I am more than willing to break down.
As if she can hear my inner monologue, she clears her throat, appearing increasingly flustered. Not that I am surprised, that’s what happens when your soul is predetermined to capture the attention of one as wicked as myself.
“I do thank you for your generosity, however, I will determine who can provide me with such luxuries. I’m your employee, not your girlfriend, or whatever else you think I am,” she says, tilting her head in the direction of the door, where Lizzie’s desk sits.
I can’t help but let out a chuckle. If she only knew that the role that she is insinuating Lizzie previously held was a placeholder until I could get my hands on her.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what is so funny.”
“You.”
