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Iwantto do this with him.
The fact that I have anything at all to wear is a stroke of incredible luck. I ducked into a department store on the way home from the office. They had a clearance sale section and a dress in my size. Floor-length. Black. An elegant slit.
It would get some looks on public transportation, I think. I’d have to be extra vigilant about who was around me if I didn’t want to get groped. I’m not in a good state of mind for that.
My mind is too crowded with Mr. Leblanc. Then again, I probably will end up groped tonight.
By Mr. Leblanc.
His whole body came alive when he took me. Granted, I was coming all over him at the time. I didn’t know how it would feel to have a man inside me. I didn’t understand how good it would be. There was pain, but I wanted it. Wantedhim.
And what he wanted…
To be clear, I’d like to make you cry.
They’re the words of a man who likes rough sex. Who likes intensity. And itwasintense, fucking him in his office chair with the rest of his staff outside. At the end, when he held me down against his body, it felt real. Like the real Will Leblanc had taken control. Like the man at the office is an illusion.
His eyes went dark—blank—when he reminded me of the two-week limit on this arrangement.You’ll be gone by then.
Gone by the time his merger goes through.
It’s going to go through. He said this was a celebration dinner, and it’s not going to go wrong because of me. Because my mind is elsewhere. I practice concentrating as we pull up to the curb.
Mr. Leblanc is waiting across the sidewalk, half-turned, when the driver opens my door for me.
I step out of the car, and Mr. Leblanc’s face lights up. For a fraction of a second he looks young. Delighted. It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him, but his expression darkens. Then he blinks, and he’s serious again. Calculating. The way he is in the office.
He strides across the sidewalk and offers me his arm. “You look beautiful.”
“I—” I’m about to make excuses for the dress, but I don’t. “Thank you. Who are we meeting?”
“Greg Winthrop and Mitchell Hope. They’re the top people at the company.”
“Didtheybring dates?”
“No. You’re the only one.”
We go into the restaurant. Fancy. Not so fancy that I feel like I wandered behind a velvet rope I shouldn’t have. Mr. Leblanc guides me to a table by a huge circular window looking out over the city. “Greg, Mitchell, this is Bristol. She helps me in the office. Bristol, this is Greg and Mitchell.”
Greg has sandy hair and an easy smile. Mitchell has dark hair and permanent frown lines.
“Pleased to meet you,” I say with a shy smile.
We all sit down. I’m between Mr. Leblanc and Greg, directly across from Mitchell. A waiter comes to pour wine. I get the impression they’ve already ordered, but as the men finish a conversation about zoning in Manhattan, a waiter bends down next to me.
Oh, jeez. What am I supposed to order at this dinner? Something small? Something expensive? We didn’t talk about that, and I was too busy thinking about the sex to Google the menu. I was too busy thinking about how the first man I ever fucked is my boss, and we did it at work, and there was nothing romantic about it. Nothing romantic except how much he wanted it.
Except for those flashes of longing in his eyes. Except for the way he wanted me tostay.
The waiter murmurs something in my ear about the steak.
That’s usually expensive, but I’m supposed to be Mr. Leblanc’s date. He’s rich. I can’t give them the impression that he’s not. Or that his girlfriend isn’t used to eating meals that cost more than five dollars.
I agree to the steak. Medium-well.
“—plans for after the merger is completed? Take some time off?”
Mr. Leblanc blinks, and an easy smile slides onto his face. It’s wild to see it. He’s never seemed like the easy-smile kind of guy. Now that I’ve seen it, I want to see it again. After that, I want to see a genuine smile. Hear a laugh that’s not controlled or calibrated. “I haven’t thought much about it.”
