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I cringe.
It’s so not okay. Wasn’t I just congratulating myself a few days ago on the Very Important Lessons I’ve learned from watching female bosses get derided and demoted over the years? Surely the cardinal sin for any woman in the workplace is to get involved with a colleague? And definitely not a senior, super-rich, super-yummy, fuck-around kind of colleague.
Ugh!
There are only a handful of us that work at The Mansion. Jack’s two assistants, his driver, a bodyguard and me. We are all bound by a strict notion of confidentiality, and I think most of his staff are too afraid of me to get on my bad side anyway. So it’s not gossip I fear.
It’s Jack. And it’s me. It’s the respect I suspect I have sacrificed by letting this happen.
Letting it happen? My brain is outraged. My brain, after all, did try to stop it.
Sorry, I wasn’t listening. I won’t make that mistake again.
I pour the wine into my mouth, wincing at the astringent taste I really don’t enjoy. I’m tired. It’s been a long day and a weird night.
The last thing on my mind as I fall into a tortured, sensual sleep is a question about what tomorrow will bring.
* * *
He’s at his desk when I arrive the next morning, coffee steaming in front of him, dark head bent. I move past, telling myself I would never do anything as cowardly as tiptoeing even as I hold my breath until I’m past his doorframe.
‘Gemma? Get in here.’
Shit.
I squeeze my eyes shut, suck in a deep breath. I can do this. We just kissed.
You didn’t ‘just kiss’. He stuck his finger deep inside you and made you come.
Shut up, brain.
He sucked on your breasts and you fell apart at the seams.
Seriously, I’m going to lobotomise myself.
‘Gemma?’
With a silent oath, I spin on my you-can-handle-anything Jimmy Choo heel and stride into his office with my very best appearance of calm.
‘Oh, hi, Jack.’
Crap. He’s wearing the pale blue shirt that makes his eyes look like bloody gemstones. It’s unbuttoned at the neck and I can see a hint of dark hair curling above the top button.
‘I didn’t realise you were here.’
His smirk shows my lie for what it is.
‘Sit.’
I arch my brow, staying exactly where I am, ignoring the wall to my left. The wall he pressed me against while he explored me intimately. My eyes stray to the bar instead. To the cocktail he was drinking last night.
‘Sit,’ he says again, and there is something in his voice that makes my nerves twitch.
There is promise in that command. Promise and heat.
‘How are you?’ The question, softly asked, makes everything inside me tremble.
‘I’m fine,’ I snap, to counteract that response. ‘And busy. What do you need?’
