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“No,” I tell her, turning my attention back to my desk. There’s a proposal to look over. Accounts to check. Bastard gits to placate on the board. There is no time to pull my mobile from my breast pocket and hunt the text messages for a certain reply.
Nothing. My thumbs fly, drafting a new message in seconds.Answer me. Now.I hit send and drop the device onto my desk. Not even a minute later, it buzzes with an incoming message.
This isn’t necessary. I have my own clothes.
Like the navy blouse with pearl buttons Riley’s goddamn eyes practically bore a hole through.
“Bloody hell…” I have to suck in a breath and release it slowly just to prevent my thumb from striking the call button. Evelyn would anticipate a ring, during which she could easily browbeat me into letting her have her way. Instead, I type—If you leave that store without a dress, I will deduct the cost of the most expensive item from your paycheck, are we understood, Evelyn?
Seconds later, the mobile vibrates, and I flick open a picture of what seems to be red velvet curtains. I assume it’s the inside of a dressing room. Cheeky. Another line of text appears before I can respond.I must pick one of your options.
Wisely, the statement isn’t framed as a question. More like a taunt. For all her enthusiasm when it comes to managing my life, Evelyn King doesn’t appreciate being micromanaged in turn. Something I’d anticipated.
I gave you plenty of options,I retort, but her reply comes so swiftly that she must have expected it.
Why not just choose one for me?
I don’t tell her the truth—Because I know you would quit.I take my time, staring out the window while thinking up a reply. Why supply Evelyn King with a limited selection of clothing to choose from, down to the most intimate of details? If I wanted to be honest with myself, I’d admit that having Evelyn accompany me is part of a subtler plan of sabotage. Adrian Riley thought that by parading me into his office and flaunting the idea of a merger, I’d fold and let him take the lion’s share of my brother’s mistake. He thought wrong.
Tonight, Evelyn King will serve as a weapon. I need her honed. I need her sharp. I need her in bloody tailored satin whether she likes it or not. Riley won’t be able to ogle her body without seeing my goddamn brand draped all over it.
Humor me,I tell her, and then I toss the phone aside, prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon managing accounts. I open the laptop, usually shoved to the farthest corner of my desk, and shuffle the documents, only to be distracted by my vibrating mobile. I reach for it with one hand and open the incoming message. I expect another whining missive from Evelyn. Instead, I find a picture—three pairs of women’s undergarments, all of them black, elegantly displayed on a strip of red silk.Which one?She’s captioned.
Cheeky woman. Evelyn King, queen of propriety and order, doesn’t like to be on the receiving end of her own brand of management. Her annoyance is all the more amusing when paired with the fact that I know the prudish, uptight façade is all an act. I once saw her tell a man who groped her to go fuck himself in French, all while keeping her face in a mask of bland politeness. Apparently, she wants to play a battle of wills.
With an hour to kill before my next meeting, I’ll oblige her.
Pushing back from the desk, I observe each garment in grainy detail. One pair is a simple brief and a matching bra—part of a French-inspired collection with imported lace Stella insisted we release last season. Beside it is a bit more feminine design with a fringe of lace lining both the knickers and the bustier. While the last…
I suppose the saleswoman I’d tasked to compile my selection had assumed that picking clothes for a “female associate” meant something much more intimate than the title implied. One set is purely lingerie, formed of a bra that doesn’t have a chance in hell of supporting much, and a matching strip of lace that only distantly resembles knickers.
Gloria’s words choose to haunt me—It doesn’t hurt that she’s attractive, I suppose. Maybe one day you might look up from your stuffy meetings and realize that.
I have bloody eyes. I know that she turns heads every time I bring her into a blasted meeting with some horny associate. Yet…
Given her value as an employee, I had enough sense of mind to keep our interactions strictly professional. Until now. My jaw goes slack at the thought of her in the spring collection, and I can’t stop my mind from conjuring images of what lurks beneath those thin strips of material. My cock stiffens, and I suspect it, rather than my brain, is in control as I type out a reply.The one on the left. The thong,I add by way of clarification.Hurry up.Out of pure curiosity, I add,Unless, of course, you aren’t as dedicated to your performance as I thought.
Five minutes pass without a reply, and I regain control of my senses enough to attempt to return to my work. Four briefings later, and still, nothing. Have I rendered the great Evelyn King speechless? I’ve only begun to entertain the thought when an incoming message illuminates the screen—So, do you want to see what they look like on?
A sound tears from my throat so suddenly that Ann runs into my office, her expression concerned. “Are you alright, Sir?”
“Fine,” I bite out, trying to discern what the hell that sound could have been. A cough? It damn well wasn’t a laugh. Evelyn King isn’t one for humor. The moment Ann leaves, I scan the message again. Taken out of context, the words could be interpreted as a come-on. Coming from anyone else, they damn well would be.
Evelyn King, on the other hand, doesn’t flirt the same way she doesn’t laugh, smile, or show any ounce of human emotion other than annoyance when defied and satisfaction once she’s gotten her way. No, this is a challenge, one that a good employer would ignore. Knowing her, she’s counting on that show of restraint.
But Gloria hadn’t been entirely coy by suggesting the woman was attractive.
She is, which makes her a target ripe for exploitation by Adrian Riley. He’ll home in on her like a heat-seeking missile, and I plan to circumvent him, no matter the cost. The good news is that if the clothing alone makes her feel out of her element, I’m on the right bloody path.
If you must, then by all means, try them on,I tell her, watching the words appear on the screen. The corner of my mouth quirks at the thought of her reaction. She’ll bite her lip and scowl. Then she’ll ignore me, grudgingly accept the simplest items offered and show up twenty minutes later to nag about the importance of lunch before shoving that damned planner in my face to remind me of my next appointment.Your hypoglycemia, Mr. Bellamy. You know how you are when you skip meals…
The screen lights up. I glance down. I… stare.
Evelyn King scowls back at me, wearing nothing but a lacey bra and matching knickers. She must have gotten a sales worker to take the photo. I can see the velvet interior of a dressing room behind her, along with a row of three hooks, each displaying a closed garment bag. She does her best to cover what the bra doesn’t with her hands, but the undergarments can’t hide…
That I’ve overestimated her size, for one. The brazier straps hang loose on her shoulders. The knickers ride too low over delicate hip bones. Enhancing the overall effect is the way she’s glaring at me, her eyes narrowed, her lips… she’s bloody pouting. Who would have known that the flawless Evelyn King was even capable of looking remotely sullen?
I don’t know why the thought of it makes the corner of my mouth lift higher. I scan her body, trying to ignore the urge to tally up the things I had never really noticed beneath all those damn blouses she wore. She has breasts. Decent ones. Add to that slender hips and thighs. Only on the third pass of her do I finally notice the line she’s captioned the photo with—You might want to reconsider your option.
