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“Questions?”
His words snap me from my fantasy of being spanked, and my cheeks flush pink. I’m desperate to find out why he’s masking the gratuitous service behind an external brick wall.
“Are you Santa Claus, Sir?”
4
Bentley
Damnit, but I can’t hide a smile as bright emerald eyes gaze at me with appreciation. Penelope’s rekindling my hope that I’ll be gifted a second chance at love. With her.
“Finish the task.”
I avoid a direct answer, feeling a year of damned emotional pressure loosening my cold persona. My CFO, Bishop, is finalizing our annual business statements. He’s paid six figures to minimize the company tax load and maximize profit. Money’s irrelevant compared to the sense of obligation I feel to honor Syd’s memory.
Helping those who couldn't afford legal representation was Syd's calling. We met in court; the case involving sexual harassment. My male client committed the crime, admitting he touched Syd's female accuser without consent. But thanks to my persuasion powers, the judge dismissed the accuser’s claims due to lack of evidence.
The next morning, Syd stormed into my office, determined to tell me off for defending a guilty man. Her finger waved in my face, and I wrapped her free arm behind her back. We exploded into a fiery kiss, agreeing to keep our personal and business lives separate.
During our three-year love affair, I learned humility from the stories of struggling families she shared. Each legal case I defend lessens the painful wound of loss and eases my self-inflicted guilt.
An incoming police report diverts my thoughts, and an hour passes. A notification pings on my desktop, and my eyes soften as I glimpse Penelope double-checking data. Seeing her wearing my jacket surges a primal need for protection.
“Nice work. You added the missing retribution clause and caught Helen’s terminology mistake.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Her pupils darken and I stand, maintaining eye contact as I reach the glass table. My arms enclose hers and I hit the print button, inhaling her holiday fragrance of cranberry and mint.
“You smell like Christmas.”
My hands glide up her smooth biceps, unable to maintain a professional distance.
“Will that be all, Sir?”
I squeeze her shoulders and help myself to another inhale, resting my chin against the silky hair. She’s tensing every muscle, as though she’s fighting the desire we both feel. My left hand moves to adjust my growing erection, and she pushes back the chair.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Barton.”
Her energy shifts to animosity, leaving me confused.
“Did I say something wrong?”
When she doesn’t answer, I wrap my arm around her waist and receive a hard slap on the cheek. She teeters on her heels and clicks towards the elevator. What the hell?
“Talk to me!”
“Good luck with the case.”
My composure disintegrates, and I press her against the cold marble wall.
“What did I say? At least explain why we went from attraction to loathing in a heartbeat.”
Her eyelids close and her shoulders slump. She’s hiding pain, and I’m determined to ease the sudden flair of agony.
“You’re all the same. You lured me into your office with the promise of a huge payday. But all you really want is sex. You know why I haven’t held down a steady job? Because assholes like you think you’re above the law. My vagina’s not for sale, Mr. Barton. At any price.”
My hands clench in anger at the thought past employers have abused her. The only chance to regain her trust is with blunt honesty.
