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The subway ride to the financial district was about as uneventful as New York could get—that is, stuffed to the brim with fascinating characters, random shouts, an unsurprising number of stinky armpits for late October with unseasonably warm weather. Halloween was right around the corner, which meant stray zombies roamed the subway, along with the occasional sexy kitten and grim reaper. Once I’d made my way to the Fairchild building, I took a moment to compose myself in front of the tall, black building.
You went to high school with these people. They’re old friends. Nothing scary here.
No, nothing scary about being the brokest bitch in Manhattan kneeling in supplication before one of the gods of Wall Street.
Inside, the lobby gleamed with polished floors and expensive framed art. The elevator ride was hushed, reverent. On the twentieth floor, the reception area for Fairchild Enterprises bustled with activity, small groups of people gathered in intense conversations. A receptionist took my name, checked something on her computer, and then had me follow her. She deposited me in front of a closed door that read D. FAIRCHILD then strode away, mumbling something I didn’t catch over her shoulder.
I drew a fortifying breath. Damian Fairchild was an actual billionaire now, one I’d gone to school with a lifetime and a half ago. This mortifying dynamic couldn’t get worse.
I turned the knob of his office door and pushed it open, preparing the bright smile and enthusiasm I needed. The heavy door swung back to reveal a large office decorated in matte gray and black. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the East River. Bookshelves lined the walls. A big wooden desk stood in the center of it all.
Damian Fairchild leaned back in his chair, his eyes pinched shut.
A brunette bobbed between his legs.
I gaped, my hand shooting to my mouth. I knew instantly what was happening, more from feelingit in the air than anything else. Damian’s eyes popped open, and his drugged gaze slid my way. The woman between his legs didn’t stop.
Every inch of my insides turned to cement. My eyeballs felt like they were seconds away from popping out of my skull.
Whatever mortifying dynamic I had been afraid of had just gotten infinitely worse.
CHAPTER TWO
DAMIAN
“Jesus, Damian. Why are you in such a hurry?” Harper’s disapproving blue eyes cut like diamonds as she adjusted the buttons on the front of her dress. She’d needed to undo half of them to arrange herself between my legs for the afternoon delight.
A delight I normally welcomed.
But Harper tried to delight me too often these days, tried to tie it to other things, like nights at my house and scheduled dinners. I didn’t do that shit. Every woman I’d ever been with knew that, Harper included.
“I have an appointment.” I dragged my hands down my face, my cock pulsing in my pants almost as hard as my heart hammered from the unexpected guest in my office. Harper hadn’t even realized we’d had a witness. But every inch of my body had realized who was standing in my office, and I’d come harder than a fucking porn star after eight hours of foreplay.
And what the hell did that mean? I needed a second to figure it out. Harper wasn’t hearing me, though.
“You’re the boss. Just push it back.” Harper’sduhtone was well-earned. As the CFO of a big flavored-water company, she knew how my world worked. My excuse was too flimsy.
“Besides,” she went on, “I want more of this.” A devilish grin sprouted, and she snaked a hand down my chest, her fingers seeking the crotch of my pants. “You haven’t been giving me enough.”
“I’ll call you.”
Her minx’s smile dissolved, and she grabbed for her purse on my desk. “You’d better.”
Her confident strut toward my office door was enough to snag my attention. Harper commanded the attention of alotof men, and she loved to remind me of it. But for some reason, like many single women out there, she only wanted the attention of the man who wouldn’t give it to her.
Me.
She slipped out without another word, simply sending me a pointed look before the door clicked shut behind her. An avalanche of a sigh tumbled out of me, leaving truths littered on the ground around me.
Jessa Walton was outside my office—or maybe she was halfway across Manhattan by now, after seeing what she’d walked in on.
I’d fucking scandalized my childhood best friend’s little sister, which only underscored the need for a confidential secretary. If I’d had one already, this wouldn’t have happened.
And the most unsettling truth of all? Seeing Jessa Walton materialize in my office had been the hottest tug on the balls I’d ever gotten. Which was not the dynamic I wanted with my soon-to-be confidential assistant.
I was supposedly on the top of the world; if only the outsiders knew how precarious my perch truly was.
I snapped up the phone and called the front desk of the office. Felicia picked up, cooing a sugary, “How can I help you, Damian?”
