Breathless (56 page)

No.

No, I shouldn’t.

There’s a line that has to be drawn here, especially since the employee/boss situation has come to light.
However,
she does seem quite frustrated by my… performance last night. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to calm the waters and put the whole issue behind us. The last thing I need is a boisterous employee creating a shit storm out of nothing. Without a second thought, I launch myself out of my chair.

“Alix.” I call after her.

Her spine straightens and her head tilts back. Although she looks like a fully grown adult woman; twenty-eight I assume, her behavior is very much like a teenager, and the way she speaks… so forward and unfiltered. I’m surprised she even made it through the interview round. Then again, she didn’t have to be well mannered to make it. She’s very pretty. Her soft features and sweet, thin lips that quirk at the corners would have carried her straight through.

She turns around and I take note of her furrowed eyebrows as she places her hands on her hips. Her dark eyes narrow in on my face, and I know exactly what she’s doing. I’m not unfamiliar with the look. When you’re in a business like mine, everyone wants everybody to know they can’t be messed with… even the bar staff apparently.

“I’m not comfortable having this rift between us. As an employer, I’d like all my staff to be comfortable and relaxed in the workplace.” I can’t believe I’m about to do this. “Let me make it up to you. Lunch. Tomorrow. At
L’Oran
down the street.”

Alix stares at me, blankly, for a few seconds before her hands finally fall away from her hips.

“A lunch date?” she asks, and I see the confusion clearly on her face.

“A lunch meeting,” I clarify, not wanting to associate the word date with an employee. “Not a date.”

A mischievous smile pulls at her lips and she flicks her tongue along the bottom one. I feel my own brows pull in as her eyes scan me—from head to toe. Her obvious scheming ties my stomach in knots, but I can’t ignore the way my pulse climbs by the second. It’s the same way she looked at me last night, after I’d taken my clothes off. Suddenly, my throat is dry.

“I don’t think one lunch is going to cut it.” She tells me, matter-of-factly. “I take my orgasms—or lack thereof, in your case—quite seriously.”

Unable to help myself, I scowl at her. How one woman can be so blunt is beyond me. I don’t think I’ve met anyone so in control of what they want. Most people tend to step around others, worried about hurting their feelings or coming across the wrong way, but I don’t think Alix cares. My first impression so far, is that she’s a beautiful woman, content with what she has and what she does. She’s a woman who isn’t afraid of showing her true colors, regardless of how obnoxious they may seem, and she is definitely not afraid of her sexuality or sharing it with others.

“What do you want then? Money?”

Her mouth falls open and her honey colored irises flare. With straight shoulders she leans forward. “How dare you,” she utters, her voice low and threatening. “I don’t want your money.”

Jesus, can this woman be any more confusing? She’s practically an open book and yet I lack the experience to read her.

“Then what do you want?”

Her shoulders relax, her eyes soften, and her playful smile returns. “
Two
lunches.”

I nod. “Done.”

“Oh, I’m not finished.
Two
lunches,
two
dinners and
one
orgasm.”

Instantly, I feel my cheeks heat up and I hate it. Unashamedly, I snort and shake my head. “No.”

“What’s wrong? Not feeling up to the task? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

I glance around a practically empty bar. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now. Of course she’d want to make this as complicated as she can, but I’m not about to jump back into the water with her. No way. My inability to keep it in my pants last night is the thing that started this whole predicament, and I’m a man who learns from his mistakes.

“Two lunches and two dinners. That’s all I’m offering.”

Alix inches closer and the hints of her perfume begin to wash over me—vanilla and fig—if I’m not mistaken. “You got yours, now I want mine. Two lunches, two dinners and one orgasm; or nothing at all.”

She can’t be serious? I eye her closely. This is her ultimatum. If I walk away, who knows what can of worms it’ll open up? And if I accept, I’ll have the same problem.

“I think it’s unwise for us to have sex again.”

“Who said we have to have sex?” She arches an eyebrow at me. “Believe it or not, Mr. Sophisticated Caveman, missionary isn’t the be all and end all of intimacy.”

“Fine,” I hiss, completely offended by her remarks. Despite my reservations, I reach into my jacket and pull out one of my business cards. Underneath the logo and title, it has my name and private line. I hold it out to her. “There’s my number. Don’t text me, but call tomorrow,
only
to confirm a time for lunch.”

She opens her mouth and I assume it’s to say something snarky and completely out of line. Before she gets the chance, I step around her and march right out of the bar area. Unable to stop my legs, I storm through the lounge and into the elevator. Once inside, I hit the button and slump against the wall.
God!
What did I just do? That woman is the most obnoxious person I have ever met. Some people say they’re born without a filter, but I think she ripped her own out for fun and games. I can’t stand her, and I’m sure as hell she can’t stand me either. I have no idea how we’re going to pull this off without one of us losing something… or everything.

I can only hope it goes quickly and it all goes back to normal once it’s over.

Chapter Four

Alix

My sneakers scuff over the concrete as I juggle bags in my hands. I shouldn’t have gone shopping, but it was the only thing I could think of to ease the tension in my tummy. When I woke up this morning and trudged to the kitchen to feed Four, it hit me. I’m forcing my boss into a situation that I’m certain he’s not comfortable with. Is that illegal? Probably. I just want an adventure,
dammit
, like the women in my books—with the exception of Juliette Portland. She can keep her adventure, and Dornan Ross, to her damn self.

I extended Jesse’s lunch offer to two (plus two dinners), so I can take my time and understand him more. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who needs an existing connection in order to perform better. If I’m only getting one last go at this, I want it to be worth the effort, and if I want him to be on the same par as me, I want him to understand me, too. I want him to know what I like and don’t like; and I guess I want him to see that I’m not crazy or obsessed with sex… or maybe I am crazy, but I’m just trying to find a decent reason to hide it behind.

On a different note, it wouldn’t hurt Jesse to open his mind a little. Who knows, I might be able to teach him a few things about women I’m sure his future wife will appreciate.

“Oh my gosh! The pink ones are really cute.” A girl exclaims to her friend as she pushes in front of me, pulling me from my thoughts.

I clench my jaw and slow my steps so that I don’t stand on the back of their freakishly tall heels. Almost in unison, they flick their platinum blonde locks over their shoulder and lower their sunglasses to their face. Immediately, they fall into conversation about sushi and frozen yogurt and I lose interest. My stare falls onto the pink bags in their hands…
Victoria’s Secret.
I halt in my steps. I’ve never shopped at VS before. I’ve thought about it, but have never gone through with it. If I’m going to be seeing Jesse, albeit briefly, I should have nice underwear… or panties that match my bra at least.

With my already overburdened haul of heavy bags, I turn and enter the shop. Inside, I’m bombarded with scraps of lace, satin and cotton—all beautiful and each one expensive. I lower my bags to the floor and step towards the closest table. My attention zeros in on a small pile of pink lace V-string panties. Ninety-five percent of my underwear is pink. I love the color and as much as it kills me to even think it; I’m going to have to go with sexier colors today—like black or red. Jesse looks like the kind of guy that enjoys black or red.

I ignore the way the shop assistants stare and eye me suspiciously. Clearly, I’m out of my zone. I glance around and take in all of the other customers— young women in fancy dresses accompanied by old men in business suits… Gold Digger by Kanye West and Jamie Foxx springs to mind, and I even hum a snippet of the tune. In all seriousness, I contemplate leaving the store, until a girl in yoga pants and a tank top jogs through the door. With her pink headphones in her ears, she ignores everyone else and searches through racks of underwear with a smile on her face. Well, now I don’t feel so out of place in my jean shorts and loose tee that proudly states ‘I’m a Kellan Kyle groupie’. I try not to wear my book themed shirts out, but I’m particularly fond of this one; so fond, in fact, it’s fading terribly.

On a rack in the far corner, I see a sexy pair of strappy black panties with matching bra. Without a thought, I saunter over to them, and the first thing I touch is the price tag. Surprisingly, they’re not
that
expensive—easily affordable with a pay check like mine. The bigger problem lies with the red pair on the rack next to it. I look between them, trying to decide on a color. Red or black? Black or red? Despite Jesse’s warning: “
There’s my number. Don’t text me but call tomorrow only to confirm a time for lunch.”
I open up messages and start a new conversation with him.

To: Jesse. Time: 9:00 a.m.

Red or black?

He texts back almost immediately.

From: Jesse. Time 9:01 a.m.

I thought I told you not to text me.

I blow air out of my cheeks and take a slight step back to rest against a table.

“Can I help you with anything?” a friendly staff member asks.

Her high pitched voice pulls my attention from my phone and I look up at her.
Holy hell
. She looks more like she should be on the label, modeling the clothes, rather than working inside the store. She’s gorgeous—tall and sexy—with bright blue eyes. If the owner of Victoria’s Secret knew they had such a beauty working for them, Candice Swanepoel would be out of a job.

“Just trying to choose a color,” I tell her, feeling rather deflated.

She smiles, and god dammit, it’s one of those smiles that make you smile too. I hate those. “What’s the occasion?”

I frown. “You need an occasion to wear underwear?”

The woman giggles and flicks her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. “Not necessarily. But most of our customers buy the strappy cheekinis when they’re trying to win someone over. Who is he?”

“My bos—” I jolt from the table. “—sy.
Bossy
. My bossy boyfriend.”

I really,
really
want to punch myself in the face.

“Well, the cheekinis are a very good choice. It’ll turn any bossy boyfriend into a compliant lover.”

I stare at her. That’s totally a weird thing to say, right? “Okay…”

“And I prefer the black. It’s slimming.” With a smirk, she strolls away, leaving me staring after her.

I don’t get it. How can something that barely covers your ass, is cut into pieces and is so obviously transparent make you look slimmer? Where’s the logic in that? Wait. Scratch that. I suppose the people who work in this industry aren’t paid for their smarts. As the thought finishes, my phone beeps.

From: Jesse. Time 9:05 a.m.

I don’t know why you’re asking

but I don’t like red OR black.

I prefer blue.

I cringe. Blue underwear? Really? I scan down the racks until I find a blue version of the black and red ‘cheekinis’. Sure enough, the blue comes in two shades; a dark royal blue they refer to as ‘amour sapphire’ and a lighter, more baby blue they call ‘carnival’. I don’t like either of them, but I’m not the one I’m trying to impress, so I grab the lighter blue. It’ll match the pinks in my drawer better. Feeling absolutely exhausted, I grab the panties in my size and head to the counter. Once I’ve paid and retrieved my bags, I head back outside. The sun is warm on my face and I welcome it. Good weather means I can wear a nice dress, and since he prefers blue, I have the perfect dress to wear.

***

I flatten my palms against my royal blue cocktail dress. It’s nothing fancy. It’s slim fitting, has no ruffles or tacky straps, and even covers a good portion of my cleavage—not all of it, but enough to blend into a regal restaurant such as this. I sit on a tiny mauve bench-seat with a cushion that is surprisingly more comfortable than the mattress on my own bed, waiting for him by the tall indoor plant just as he wanted me to. When we spoke on the phone and picked a time for lunch, it seemed he knew everything about the restaurant, from the menu right down to the décor. As I glance around the restaurant and then over to the front door, I see him… looking as good as ever in a striking pair of black slacks and a white formal shirt buttoned up at the elbows. That’s twice now I have to remind myself the grass is, in fact,
not
greener on the other side, and that a perfect face, perfect body, and perfect attitude doesn’t equal perfection where it counts. I’m not talking about cocks, either. I’m talking about intimacy. Intimacy is where it counts. Every single human on this planet needs intimacy—regardless of the length of the relationship…. and maybe those who partake in one night stands need intimacy the most.

Jesse spots me sitting on the bench-seat and I push myself to my feet. His long legs carry him effortlessly as his leather shoes tap rhythmically against the tiles. There’s a certain air about him when he walks. He exudes confidence and class. His head remains high, his shoulders square and his posture perfect. You’d think he was the kind of man who embraces dirty sex, not run from it.

“Alix,” he greets me, his voice surprisingly happy. “Good to see you.”

Jesse extends his large hand to me and I look at it. Handshaking? Ookay. I place my clutch under my arm and put my empty hand in his. Instead of shaking my hand, like I expect, he tugs me in and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. Heat rises in my face as he releases me, and I take a wobbly step back.