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I still want Maverick. So bad it almost amazes me. But he’s no good for me. He’s my boss, for crying out loud. My life can be pretty messed up by adding him into the equation.
I turn. “W-What, sir?”
“Tell Chris to make enough copies of his plans for the committee. I need to get everyone on board as soon as possible.” He takes a deep breath and adds, “Next time, Noelle.”
He lets go of me and strides back to his desk without looking back.
Stepping out of his office, I head for the elevator. A ding signals its arrival, and I step in once the doors open. Thankfully, I’m the only occupant.
I take several breaths to calm my hammering heart. I’ve never been so embarrassed at work before. Never been so aroused. I lean on the brass walls, trying to bring myself back to reality.
The doors open, and the sight of Chris pacing in the waiting area on our department’s floor greets me.
“Bloody hell, Noelle,” Chris says, coming to an abrupt halt. “What the hell was that? Why did he want to see you? What did he want?”
For a moment, I forgot about Chris.
“Nothing much, but a briefing of my roles as his assistant.” I exhale in a rush. “He likes your plans, and he asked us to make some copies for the department heads and committee members so they can review them. He didn’t want to hold you back any further.”
A grin chases away his frown. “Oh. Well, that’s nice. You can handle the extra copies, right?”
I nod, and he saunters to his office.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. One question appears in my mind as I close for the day.
How do I handle Chris and Maverick at the same time? And what the hell did he mean by “next time”?
Chapter Eight
Maverick
Goddamnit.
A walking temptation is right within reach, and I can’t touch her.
Drumming my fingers on my table, my mind drifts off.
There’s no denying the fact that the heat still exists, with her body still reacting so beautifully to my slightest touch. Eyelids shut, I take in Noelle’s flowery scent, still wafting in the air. Her presence a while ago, and her reactions to my touch make desire pool in my center that is noticeable in the tightening of my pants, and even now, her scent is tempting enough to make me do things I’ll rather not do in my office.
A scene plays in my mind: Noelle bent over my desk, her skirt hitched up to her hips. My lips buried in her neck and my hands cupping her breasts through the lace of her bra.
My erection presses painfully against my pants. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my hammering heart. This isn’t helping. I plop on my chair, thoughts of Noelle lingering in my head.
A knock on the door distracts me for a moment. Derrick breezes in, holding his notepad. There’s a middle-aged woman with him. Monica Hamilton, head of the accounting department. Just the person I wanted to see.
“You asked for Mrs. Hamilton, sir.”
“Thank you, Derrick.” I turn to Monica. “Please take a seat, Mrs. Hamilton.”
She settles down in one of the two leather chairs in front of my desk.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Thatcher?”
I nod. “I need to create an agenda for the weeks ahead. Chris approached me with a proposal for a PR event, and I think it’s a good idea. I’ll follow through, but I need to know the costs, and how much time and money I need.”
“A PR event, sir?” Monica asks, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the planned scale of the event?”
“It’ll be a big one. Big enough to put the company on the map.” I hand her a folder. “Those are the details of the project.”
