Page 43 of Pure Recklessness

The first thing they’d want to know was why a junior employee was on the directors’ floor after hours.

At least that wasn’t on me.

Giving a security pass to another member of staff was a serious security breach. I should fire Calista for that alone.

Yet I didn’t want to. Calista had been with Sated since she’d graduated. She was an asset to the company. And I was certain she only did it because she believed Eleanor was trustworthy.

But that was beside the point.

I’d be having strong words with Calista to let her know that what she did was unacceptable and remind her that if she did it again, regardless of how loyal she’d been to the company, she’d be out.

There was no room for weakness or emotions in business.

As for Eleanor… fuck knows.

I should fire her. She’d barely been here a week. She was disposable.

But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, which made no sense.

I considered asking my brothers for their advice, but they’d just take the piss about me getting caught wanking in the office.

To them, it’d be another sign that I’d hit rock bottom.

My brothers were convinced that I still hadn’t recovered from my last relationship where I got totally fucked over, so I didn’t need to add any more ammunition to their misconceptions.

Knowing them, they’d stage an intervention that’d involve sending multiple women to my penthouse so I could fuck the sexual frustration out of my system.

Maybe that was what I needed.

I was rich, successful and powerful. I shouldn’t be jerking off in the shower like some horny teenager who couldn’t get a girlfriend.

It was fucking pathetic.

And I certainly shouldn’t be fantasising about an employee whilst I did it.

Especially not one like Eleanor.

I still had no idea how someone who wore such hideous skirts could make my dick hard.

My phone lit up.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Eleanor is here to see you, sir,’ Valerie replied.

I’d asked Valerie to call Eleanor to meet me first thing this morning because I needed to sort out this mess sooner rather than later.

‘Send her in,’ I barked, still unsure how I was going to handle things.

The door clicked and Eleanor appeared, her head hung low.

Jesus.

She was wearing another one of those long, granny skirts and stuffy blouses. I resisted the temptation to shake my head at how bad her clothes were.

Eleanor might be a terrible dresser, but there was no denying how strikingly beautiful she was.

Her hair was tied up in a sensible bun and she wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up but she didn’t need it. Eleanor was naturally stunning.