The Boss (15 page)

It being Friday
night, Holli had a party to go to. She invited me, but I
declined.

"Abstaining in favor of staying home with
your new toys?" she correctly observed as she put on her earrings
in the mirror by the front door.

Sometimes, I'm utterly blown away by Holli's
beauty. It's a very bizarre thing, to live with a model. She looks
like a normal person ninety percent of the time, but when she gets
dressed up to go out, it's like the pages of a magazine come to
life in the living room. She was rocking a short, sequined, navy
tube dress with a low scooping back and long sleeves. Pointed black
pumps with tons of toe cleavage and a five-inch heel added to her
already willowy height.

"You look amazing," I said, with the same
earnest appreciation I'd had for Cinderella's looks when I was
four.

"Thanks!" Holli smiled at her reflection and
turned, making finger guns at me. "You sure I can't tempt you?"

I shook my head. "I have new sex toys and
dirty books. There's nowhere else I want to be tonight."

That was a lie, I reflected as she locked the
door behind her. I'd rather be underneath Neil in his big bed at
the W.

I retrieved the package of sex toys and took
it with me to my bedroom. I took out each of the items one by one,
smiling with slight embarrassment. I'd never had a man buy me
something so intimate before, and it made me all giggly and naughty
feeling. And oddly touched. Vibrators disguised as makeup were
really the perfect gift for when you're casually fucking an
assistant beauty editor. He’d put thought into this.

I took a battery from my nightstand and slid
it into the lipstick. I turned it on and it buzzed to surprisingly
strong life in my palm. There were two other vibes, a mascara wand
with an obscenely bulbous tip, and the powder brush, as well as
several "compacts" holding cooling, warming, and sensitizing
gels.

Lunch with Neil had keyed me up enough that
the vibrations from the subway had almost set me off during my
evening commute. The books and his scandalous messages typed in
them? Hadn't helped. I stripped out of my clothes and dimmed my
bedside lamp. In the low, golden glow, I lay propped against my
pillows and pressed the vibe against my clit, sighing in relief at
the direct stimulation.

The note typed in the e-reader came back to
my mind. Neil had jerked off thinking about spanking me? The idea
that we'd both been fantasizing about each other for six years was
a heady one. Was he as addicted to me as I was to him? There hadn't
been a single time in six years that I'd masturbated without
thinking about him. Even when I'd been fucking someone else, and
yes, shamefully, even when it was someone I cared about, he would
frequently slip into my mind at the crucial moment. More often than
not, it had been his voice in my memories that tipped me over the
precipice, and my deepest fear had been that I would shout his name
as I climaxed.

I rubbed the vibe in slow circles around my
clit, my fingers closing over one hard nipple and tugging. I
imagined Neil lying in his bed at the W, his massive cock in his
fist, wanting me, thinking of me, remembering the way I'd screamed
and writhed in his lap as he'd spanked my ass. I thought of the way
he'd looked when he'd walked through the door to find me fingering
myself for him. I wished he could see me now, getting myself off
with his present.

My eyes flew open. He
could
see me. If
I took a picture.

I set the vibe aside, my clit aching as I
sprinted from the room, through the empty living room, to where my
digital camera hung in its bag on the coat rack. I was so not doing
this with my phone, at the risk of sending it to Facebook or
something by accident.

I raced back to my bed and lay back. Before I
picked up the lipstick vibe, though, I reached for the sensitizing
cream in the compact. It didn't feel unlike lipgloss as I tested
its slip between my thumb, index, and middle fingers. I slicked it
over my clit, rubbing it in, savoring the sound of the cream - and
my own cream - moving beneath my fingers.

My hands shook as I turned on the vibrator
and nestled the length of red plastic between my labia. I drew my
knees up so that my feet rested flat against the bed, and moved my
pelvis in small, careful circles. I wanted more contact, wanted to
come, but I wanted to wait.

I wanted him to see.

I leaned my forearm against my knee, so the
camera wouldn't shake. Then, slowly, I drew my hand down my body,
my breath speeding until I was panting, my fingers spreading my
labia on either side of the vibrator. I gasped and twisted my hips,
too aware of the tingling, hot sensation as my most sensitive area
absorbed the salve. My pulse pounded in my pleasantly swollen
flesh, as if every molecule in my body were rushing directly to the
source of my pleasure. The stimulation of the powerful vibration
was nearly too much. I pushed the tip harder against me and curled
my toes, my entire body going still in the gripping shocks that
radiated from my clit as my release shot through me. My legs shook,
I shouted, "Oh, fuck!" and snapped the photo.

I laid there for a long time, the camera in
one hand, the vibrator in the other, still running. It was its
cheerful buzz that forced me to sit up and finally turn it off.
Pushing sweat-damp hair back from my face, I slid the button on the
back of my camera to display the last picture taken.

When I saw the photo of my labia spread
obscenely around the shaft of the sex toy, I almost lost my nerve.
My clit was nearly as red as the bright plastic pressed against it,
and my skin and pubic hair glistened with the greasy sheen of the
cream. Two fingers in a v pulled back my folds, and they were wet
and shiny, as well.

I couldn't give that photo to him, surely. I
would die of shame if anyone ever saw it. I was close to deleting
it when I imagined his reaction. That stilled my thumb over the
button.

Neil wanted me. I didn't need any further
proof than what he'd already given me. We'd been lovers for six
years - although all but two nights of those years had been spent
apart, and without me knowing his real name. We'd been given the
most serendipitous chance to indulge ourselves in each other all
over again. I had to take the full experience.

The only problem was getting the photo to
him. He was spending time with his daughter; I didn't want to
spring this on him via cell phone during
that
. I considered
email, but that seemed a bit risky, and I didn't know if he'd open
it on the company server, which could lead to some embarrassing
complications.

I looked to the iPad sitting on my dresser,
and a truly evil thought occurred to me.

I had never looked so forward to the end of
the weekend in my life.

Chapter Nine

After a weekend of
restless nights, I was more than ready to see Neil again. I was on
high alert from the moment my eyes opened on Monday morning. I
showered, dressed, and commuted on total autopilot, the words of
the manuals I had poured over flickering through my mind. Neil’s
trick with the sushi on Friday seemed to have flipped the switch on
my libido to full power, and he was the only person capable of
returning me to factory settings. Believe me, I’d tried, over and
over, with the toys he’d sent me. But no matter how many times I’d
come, I was still miserably turned on.

I spotted him as I came up the steps from the
subway station across the street from the office. He stood beside
his Maybach in the early morning light, smiling in a way I'd never
seen before. He opened the rear passenger door, and I saw the
reason for his kind expression.

A woman my age stepped out of the car. It was
Emma; I had no doubt. My heart stuck in my chest. She was an earthy
sort of pretty, her blonde hair falling in a messy bob below her
newsboy cap, and she wore a distressed denim jacket that was just a
little too big for her. She looked so cool and kind of like a rock
star, and at the same time very much like someone's daughter as she
reached up for an easy hug from her father.

I felt like a voyeur. This was a part of
Neil's life he hadn't invited me into. Even though I'd innocently
witnessed the tender scene, I felt like I was intentionally
snooping. I kept my head down and hoped he wouldn't notice me as I
crossed the street and charged up the wide steps.

I couldn't help but overhear him ask, "You'll
call me when you land?"

I heard her reply, in an accent that almost
matched her father's, "Yes, of course. But I'm not flying the
plane. You needn't worry about me, I'll be on Valium in the
back."

The rest of the conversation was left behind
me when I slipped through the revolving glass door and into the
building’s lobby. I gave my pass to the security guard at the desk
and kept moving. It was while I stood, waiting for the elevator,
that I became acutely aware of Neil's scent, and his presence
behind me. I had memorized his cologne without realizing it, had
learned the pitch of his breathing.

My head reeled. Were these things I'd just
picked up on in the last five days? If so, what the hell was wrong
with me? Or were they something I'd clung to since that night six
years ago, fine tuning in my subconscious this entire time? And if
that were the case, what the hell was even more wrong with me?

"Good morning, Ms. Scaife," he said evenly,
and I turned my head. He was closer than I had expected him to be,
and about to be closer when the doors opened and we stepped in to
the elevator together.

"Morning," I managed to return as we stood
shoulder to shoulder with staff from
Porteras
and a few
people from other businesses in the building. "Did you have a nice
weekend?" he asked benignly, his gaze fixed on the numbers over the
doors. We stopped once and three people got off, leaving four of
us. Unfortunately, the other two were both from
Porteras
,
and they were listening to every word of our conversation. Not
because I was so fascinating. I wasn't so egotistical to think
their eavesdropping had anything to do with me. They were listening
because Neil was their new boss, and they were trying to get a
handle on his character.

Neil had to keep up his part, too, pretending
not to notice them. Which is why I felt a sliver of pity for him
when I responded with a chipper, "I did. I just lay in bed and
read, all weekend long."

I saw a faint flush creep just above his
collar. I suppressed a smirk.

When we got to the office, Deja was waiting
outside, holding a studded leather satchel in lieu of a briefcase.
She beamed at us. "Reporting for duty."

"Good morning, Ms. Williams," Neil greeted
her.

"You can call me Deja, I'm not too formal."
She shook his hand, and then mine, making a finger gun at me as she
searched for my name. "Sophia, right?"

"Sophie. Very close."

Inside, I took Neil's coat before I hung up
my own, and showed Deja which hanger to use. "I'm running late.
Again." I whispered to her. "I usually never am, but it's been a
hell of a week, with the takeover."

"Big change from
Auto Watch
?” she
asked.

I paused. I wasn't sure what she was asking.
"Excuse me?"

"You know, where you guys worked before the
Porteras
sale?" She seemed to get that I wasn't getting it,
and we both stood locked in a moment of confusion before a
realization visibly hit her. "Didn't you come here with Mr. Elwood?
From his car magazine?"

"Oh!" I shook my head, relieved that our
miscommunication was over. "No. No, I used to be Gabriella
Winters's assistant here. I've only been working for Neil for like
five days." I quickly amended, "Mr. Elwood. I mean."

The morning got tied up showing Deja around
the office, introducing her to people, running over how the phones
and interoffice messenger system worked. As I went through my tasks
for the day, I painstakingly explained the
Porteras
procedures to her. Not once did she stop me or tell me she knew
what she was doing and didn't need my help, which was a nice change
from some of the people who'd served - briefly - as second
assistant to Gabriella. Deja was serious about doing a good job,
and she wasn't interested in proving that she was better than me. I
liked her more every minute.

At eleven-thirty, Rudy breezed into the
office and announced that it was extremely urgent that he see Neil.
While Rudy introduced himself to Deja and gave her the third degree
on her background, I went to Neil's door and knocked. I could have
called him; it would have been easier, but all day long I'd been
desperate to get a moment alone with him. I'd left the iPad on his
desk, but people had been in and out of meetings with him all
morning. I had no idea if he'd had a chance to look at the surprise
new wallpaper image.

"Come in," he called, and I got my answer
almost immediately when I stepped inside.

"Close the door," he said gruffly, rising
from his chair and coming toward me. I did as I was told and popped
the lock. When I turned, he was already at my side.

"If things are too intense, or you're
uncomfortable, you can say 'red' to stop completely, 'yellow' to
dial things back a bit." He whispered beside my ear, so Deja and
Rudy wouldn't hear beyond the door. "Like a traffic light," he
clarified. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” I said breathless, leaning into
him.

He dragged me from the door - with a firm
grip on both my wrists – to the desk. With a hand clamped on the
back of my neck, he bent me over and jerked up my black leather
pencil skirt. I wore textured black tights beneath it, and he
gripped the crotch of them as he leaned low over my back.

I raised my head just bit and blew a strand
of hair out of my mouth. "What does green mean, then?"