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Macy
“Okay, Macy. Hit me with it. How crazy is this day going to be?”
I balance my tablet on my arm while holding my coffee cup in the same hand so I can swipe through Toby’s Monday morning schedule with the other. I’m telling you, It’s a vital skill for a production assistant. Especially when you just got hired by one of the biggest shows currently on TV.
Since I’ve started working under Toby on A Cunning Linguist, I’ve gotten really good at doing things one-handed. While imagining working under Toby.
And just like that, I’ve already ruined my panties and the day has just begun. Seriously, working with this guy is turning me into a dripping, horny mess.
Focus, Macy. For fuck’s sake, don’t lose this job. There’ll be plenty of time to fantasize about all things Toby later. At home. Alone. Ugh.
I clear my throat, hoping he can’t tell how crazy he makes me. I swear, the pheromones are probably coming off me in waves. “Eight-thirty meeting with Jake, ten o’clock with the next guest, and eleven with—” I pause and glance up at my boss as we walk at a steady clip down the long hall of the studio. I almost hate to tell him. “—the head of programming.”
He groans. “Way to start a Monday morning, Macy.”
A laugh bubbles up. In the week since I’ve started working for Toby and the show’s host, Jake, neither have had anything good to say about the guy. “He can’t be that bad, Toby.”
Toby levels me with a stare that tells me just how bad he thinks he is. And dammit, if that stare doesn’t get me all revved up again. This guy. Seriously, have you ever met a guy that just radiates raw sexuality without even trying? It’s crazy. Toby is, like, one of the only men I’ve ever known that can get me wet with nothing more than a look. And when he speaks? That voice vibrates straight down to my clit.
Yeah, keeping it together and not jumping on for a ride takes superhuman effort.
Toby sips his own coffee. Black and strong. “Well, at least he won’t be hitting on you. Jake and I have been through more than enough assistants lately because of that man. We’ve implemented a strict non-fraternization policy thanks to him.”
My eyebrows fly up, and I press a hand to my heart, going for pure melodrama. “No fraternization? I’m devastated. Oh, wait,” I say, narrowing my eyes as I pretend another thought hit me. “This doesn’t apply to you and Jake, does it? And here I was hoping I might get promoted to quality assurance.”
Toby busts out laughing and gives me a sexy little wink. “I’m sure we could work something out, Macy. You’re only the most efficient assistant ever. If you’re worried about the quality of our product, all you have to do is speak up. I’d be happy to provide a sample.”
I try to ignore the burst of butterflies currently exploding in my stomach. Because holy fucking orgasms, Batman. Let me just stop right here and tell you a little more about this show I now work for.
A Cunning Linguist.
It’s a late night talk show. Kind of like Dr. Phil. If Dr. Phil were a sexy as hell psychologist with a magic tongue. This doctor, Jake Kent, is a straight up love doctor. Who administers his prescriptions personally by going down on the guest of the day and giving them outrageously mind-blowing orgasms.
Crazy, right? Like, not even possible. Yeah, I didn’t believe it either until a week ago. I figured it was some marketing gimmick. Nope. Jake dives right in there and gets the job done.
And Toby here? He’s Jake’s right hand man. Like the Cunning Linguist in training. I have no doubt in my mind that if he offered up a sample, I’d find the product to be of the highest quality.
Thrown off balance by the boldness of my teasing, and Toby’s equally explicit reply, I stumble in my brand new Manolos and nearly get a face full of concrete.
But Toby’s fast. He reaches out to steady me, and we stand there for a minute, his hand around my waist for what might be considered a few seconds too long. By some people. Sure as hell not by me. When he removes it, I can still feel the heat radiating out from where he touched me.
“Yeah, keeping you in line is going to be far from easy. Wish I’d known it was part of the job description,” I joke. Every passing day makes keeping myself in line more difficult. But I need this job. It’s the next rung on the ladder. And if they just put a non-fraternization policy in place, then he has to just be messing with me.
“Ah, you know you love me.” That grin again. Full of mischief. He bumps his shoulder against mine, and I laugh, shaking my head. Yeah. He was totally joking. Now I just have to convince my horny as fuck body of it.
We head toward Jake’s office, but as we round the corner, some guy I’ve never seen comes barreling out the door, straight toward us, knocking me into Toby’s chest and splashing my coffee all down his Armani dress shirt.
“Motherfucker,” he grits out, turning to glare at the man. But he’s already gone.
“Here,” I say, shoving my tablet into his hands. “I’ve got this.”
I dig in my bag for a minute and proudly produce stain-removing wipes, holding the package up in front of him as if it’s a winning lottery ticket.
Toby chuckles and shakes his head. “What would I do without you? You’re like a Boy Scout or something.”
“You’d be stripping down and working shirtless all day. That’s what.” I smile and pull a wipe from the package, hurriedly dabbing at the stain. It’s really not that bad. With any luck, it won’t even be noticeable. It almost makes me wish I didn’t have the wipes, though, because the idea of working all day with a shirtless Toby sounds awesome.
I place my palm flat on his chest, pulling the shirt taut so I can scrub the fabric.
I’m suddenly acutely aware of how close we are. Inches apart, really. I take a deep breath, but that only makes it worse because now I have a lungful of his spicy, musky scent. Shit. My hand shakes as I continue to work on the stain. His gaze bores into me. I can feel it.
“What?” I say, not looking up, my voice nearly as shaky as my hand, and I want to curse whoever that asshole was. If he couldn’t tell already, there’s no way Toby won’t notice the effect he’s having on me now. Not with the way my fingers are twitching with the urge to dig into his shirt and pull him even closer so I can rub my body all over his.
“I think you’ve got it,” he says. He’s right. I’m still furiously scrubbing a stain that’s no longer there. He reaches up and wraps a huge hand around my wrist, causing me to freeze. “Thanks, Macy. You saved the day. One more mark in your favor for that quality assurance job.”
I swallow hard, schooling my face before I look up at him with a too-bright smile. “Anytime.”
His eyes flicker with something hot and magnetic, a sexy, teasing smile curving lips that I really want to lick, and I tell myself
it’s nothing. That he’s just joking around. Screwing with me. Nothing. It’s nothing. So, why does it feel like something? And more importantly, what am I going to do about it?
