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I grin crookedly and put a hand on his head, giving the backs of his ears an affectionate scratching.
A tinny, glassy sound emits from my phone—a text message. Despite the jump of excitement in my chest, I play it cool as I take the phone into my palm and smoothly lift it to my face.
T
Thank you for the apology.
I understand and will cooperate by maintaining a professional manner in the office. See you tomorrow.
I read the message twenty times, my mind scrutinizing each and every word that Trevor took the time to choose, type, and then send my way.
Thank you for the apology.
So carefully, guardedly worded for a timid young man. So strict. So respectful.
I understand and will cooperate by maintaining a professional manner in the office.
In the office? Only in the office? Is that a hint at something, or am I simply desperate to read something secret between the lines of his text?
Maybe a part of me is disappointed in his compliance.
Maybe I wanted him to say something like, “Fuck you, boss man. I’m going to act however I want around you. I can’t resist you, and you can’t resist me.”
“Professional,” I state, quashing out all my dirty thoughts with that one word. “Professional.” I’ll say it again and again until I get that damned kid out of my head.
And Trevor’s last line: See you tomorrow.
Indeed, he will. My cock throbs in reply.
I’m so fucked.
15
Trevor is employed at Horny Hell.
Professional.
I take the stapled packets to Rebekah and smile curtly when she thanks me in her clipped, nasally voice. I keep my posture, walk with a purpose from one end of the office to the other, and staple twenty more packets with conviction.
Professional.
Elijah asks me how I’m doing, and I give him a polite nod and help him with his task of cross-checking names against contact emails, because two sets of eyes are better than one, and we need to strive for perfection here at Gage Communications.
That’s right. I’m a walking, talking infomercial for the ideal employee. I’ve become that bubbly morning person with too much caffeine who everyone probably can’t stand.
But this is who I have to be to maintain my professionalism. Because deep down beneath this pretty face of perfection, there is one seriously repressed individual.
A seriously repressed—horny—individual.
And he’s losing his mind.
When Mr. Gage arrives, everyone whispers, as they always do. The computer wizzes straighten their glasses. The buzzing birds with memos fly much more determinedly. The employees in the break room cut their break by fifteen minutes just to hop back to work and put on an ear-to-ear smile that reads: I love working here.
And I don’t even lift my face from the computer screen where I’m tallying comments from Facebook posts to gage how well the client’s fans react, since Mr. Gage’s team wrote them.
Nope. I don’t even flinch, in fact. I’m so proud of that.
When Mr. Gage passes so close that one of my elbows feels the breeze of his passing body, I simply recount the number of likes from the post I was just staring at without so much as a tiny glance in his direction.
Professional.
I can do fucking professional.
Ben keeps his promise too, if a text message on a phone can be called a promise. Other than his first entrance, I don’t see a bit of him for the rest of the day. Even when I pass by his door, I find it shut and the blinds of his floor-to-ceiling office windows drawn.
“Really keepin’ to himself,” notes Elijah with a smirk.
I jump, not having noticed Elijah sneak up to me. “Who?”
“Boss man. You’ve been staring at his door.”
“No, I haven’t.” I shrug him off and return my focus to the article I’m analyzing about one of Mr. Gage’s clients.
“Don’t worry,” Elijah assures me with a nudge. “You’ll get your chance to impress him. I’m pretty certain you’ll get picked to sit in on another meeting.”
I sigh. “What are you even busy doing, Elijah? Staring at me all day?”
“You’re just so dang pretty,” he shoots back, poking me in the cheek teasingly. I swat his hand away, annoyed. “So I was thinking we could grab some Thai tonight on the way home. There’s this place—it’s just a block out of our way—that Ashlee told me about. She goes there all the time.”
Now it’s my turn to play with him. “Ashlee and you seem to be sharing a lot of … secrets … lately.”
“Nah,” he grunts, shaking his head. “She’s not my type.”
I snort. “She’s 100% your type. She couldn’t be any more your type. She’s smart, pretty, and has green eyes.”
“Well, then, I’m not her type.”
“She doesn’t like her guys good-looking but kinda dumb?”
He shoves at me for that, then straightens his face right up after swallowing his chuckles. “Honestly, I think it’s a bad idea.”
