Lucy spent the night and most of the next morning. I rode in the car with her when my driver took her home. And when we couldn’t stop kissing long enough for her to get out of the car, I walked her up to her apartment door for a proper goodbye against it. I don’t remember how I pried myself away.

I don’t know what’s gotten into me with this woman. My own assistant, no less. What would Mrs. Talbot would say?

“I told you to be nice to that girl, Dominic. Not that nice.” Or something.

Resting my head back in the headrest, I wonder what else this is going to cost me. It’s way too soon to think about where this will go with Lucy, but I have no illusions about how I’ve complicated things. I don’t have a great track record with relationships even without the extra entanglements.

Lucy guessed at a few things last night during dinner, but there was nothing a simple web search about me wouldn’t have told her. Before my father died, I was living the life. Not out of some rebellion—I had a great relationship with Dad, and I miss him every day. He had even encouraged some of my more reckless stunts, no matter how worried my mother was about the racing, or the backpacking tours or some other ski trip to Aspen. The way he told it, my grandfather had been much more of a hard case and very demanding of my father, roping him to the company and responsibility very young. Military school, and then right into the business the moment he graduated college. My father didn’t want to demand that of me. I don’t think he ever knew that as much as I loved having fun—and did—I did have a head for business, and even interest in Breson Company. But no one was prepared when he died.

Nicole was my girlfriend during those younger years. She loved the life of the young, rich and pseudo-famous, with all the cars, parties, and movie stars. When my father died, she came back with me for the funeral, and even stayed when I surprised her and told her I intended to jump in where my father left off. I knew she was disappointed she was missing out on all our fun with our euro crowd friends, so I tried to make it up to her by doing the party thing here in New York. That I did well was a surprise to everyone—including my old partner in partying and best friend, Jake Baxter. I think they were just like everyone else and expected the spoiled rich son to fail at the family business. The more I was determined to prove them wrong, and the better I did with Breson Company, the more obsessed I became. The parties and “lifestyle” were just not priorities. The reputation stuck because the press loves to build up the fantasy of the bad boy billionaire. The reality is much different. What happened later was all because of that shift.

Something occurs to me: If Lucy came to the job hoping to work for a playboy Bruce Wayne-type, then the disappointment must be killing her. The sex is fantastic, but I’m not giving up what I am just because some woman has fantasies of keeping her own personal playboy as a pet. In the end, Nicole couldn’t accept that, and I haven’t bothered to try with any other women since.

As the day goes on, the idea bothers me more and more. Lucy isn’t anything like Nicole. But then again, I don’t know enough about her to make that call. I know she’s beautiful and smart. Thoughtful. Sexy as hell. But that’s about it.

* * *

The next morning, even when I arrive at the office an hour early, Lucy beats me there.

She’s scrolling through messages, making short notes. Her hair is down and straight this morning, and I can’t help but notice the sweater she’s wearing is almost exactly the shade of the dress I bought her. I wonder if she did that on purpose, and my stomach tightens.

When she sees me, she rises from her chair as I walk through the doors, the smile on her face shy and expecting. I pause for the briefest moment when I walk in, but then keep moving past her to the inner office.

“Good morning,” I say, tossing the words behind me as I head in.

She follows me in as I take off my coat and settle in. I look up only briefly and ask, “Can you bring in some coffee? I’m going to get started here.”

“Certainly,” she says quietly, but not moving. I can sense her waiting, but I open email and start scrolling. I don’t want to see any hurt or confusion on her face. I’m not ready for it yet.

When she comes back with the coffee, I’m on the phone with our operations team lead, discussing a question I made up on the fly. Truthfully, I picked a name at random from the directory and started asking questions. The poor guy is stammering through some kind of reply, but I’m free to wave Lucy off without further interaction. She’s stone-faced as she sets everything down, but she heads for the door and closes it softly behind her.

After reassuring Jerry Portman that, no, he doesn’t have to worry about why the President of the whole damn company called him out of the blue to ask about one of his projects, I set the phone down.

Now that I’ve bought myself a few hours quiet, I throw myself into work for the next few hours. The diversion works beautifully for about three hours, but then one of the reports catches me as wrong. Without thinking, I call Lucy on speaker.

She’s at the door in less than a second, doe-eyed.

“This isn’t what I asked for.”

Lucy hurries forward to stand next to my chair, craning her neck to look at my screen.

After a moment, she murmurs, “Yes it is. I’m sure it is.”

I scan the document again and I’m annoyed to realize she’s right. It’s just not tabbed correctly.

I push the screen away. “You need to tab it or I can’t immediately tell what I’m looking at.”

She furrows her brow and steps close to me to check her work.

“Oh, you’re right. Here, give me one sec.” She leans in and when I catch the scent of her perfume, my hands twitch in reaction. Lucy flips her hair to the other side of her face and bends close, leaning over me as she types one-handed. I feel the fingers of her other hand rest on the back of my neck and dip under my collar.

I push out of my chair and away from her, frustrated by both the distraction and the fresh bulge at the front of my pants.

“No. Don’t do that. I need reports complete and formatted correctly before you send them to me. Go back to your desk and do it there.”

And just like that the air temp in the room feels like it dropped about thirty degrees.

That steely-eyes control she’s deployed so successfully since she started finds its way back into her body. All the softness and curves go coiled and tight. Seeing it happen isn’t fun anymore. Like a shot, I flash back to the weekend and all the happy, teasing, smiling moments between us. The hot, sweet Lucy who spent the night in my bed, pliant and open, panting under me. That part of her is closed away right in front of me, like a door slammed shut.

“You’re right,” she says, drawing up and heading for the door. “I’ll have it for you in just a moment.”

She doesn’t walk around me though. She walks straight up to me and nails me with a look worthy of an ice queen.

“Excuse me, sir,” she bites the words out, staring me down, daring me to move out of her way.

It’s a look that could send a lesser man to his knees. Who does she think I am?

I do move out of her way…but only to turn and slam the door. When I turn back, rather than alarmed, Lucy’s eyes glow like a live wire. The challenge is still all over her face. I advance on her.

“Let’s get a few things straight, Miss Warner.”

She tries to hold her ground, but when our chests touch she backs down a step, then another, until her ass bumps the edge of my desk and she can’t move any further.

“In this office–in this building–you do what I say. And you like it.”

Without touching her, I lightly kick her legs apart as wide as her narrow skirt will allow. Lucy’s breath is short and fast now, her tits straining at the buttons of her crisp white shirt. She left the top buttons open, and this close to her, all I have to do is look down to see the swell of her cleavage, almost to her nipples. Her arms drop back to catch her balance on the desk, her skirt rises high on her thighs over the top of her stockings. I see the smooth, creamy skin of her thighs over the top. She doesn’t push her skirt down, and she doesn’t push me away. Leaning back against the desk like that, her legs spread, her eyes bright with challenge, she’s daring me to take her. And I have no intention of doing any such thing.

I lean in close and whisper, “I spent the whole weekend between your thighs, Miss Warner. I know exactly what’s happening to your pussy right now. I know what you want.”

Her head drops back, exposing her neck. Still not touching her, I inhale, close enough she can feel the heat between us and nothing else.

“But I don’t reward insubordinate employees.”

Her eyes snap open. Before she can move, I grip her arm and yank her forward and off the desk. Dropping back into one of the deep wingback guest chairs in front of my desk, I haul her face down over my lap. She’s off balance in her heels, and the skirt rides up even higher, high enough I can see the bare skin of her thighs and the cheeks of her ass are exposed.

“Dominic, what are you—oh!”

Her cry is cut off with a sharp swat of my palm on her ass. Her body jolts and she moans. I swat again, loving the red bloom imprint on her left cheek, then her right. She’s draped right over my erection, and every time I spank her she jerks, creating friction over my cock.

I spank her three, four more times. Each stroke is firm, full contact palm to cheek. Her cries are distressed, but she grips my leg, her nails digging in the same, greedy way she digs into my back when I fuck her. The fifth time, she throws her hair back, and looks at me over her shoulder. Her beautiful mouth is a perfect “o,” and her cheeks are flushed.

I lift my hand for another swat, and she bites her lip. I fucking love it when she does that. Distracted, my aim veers off target. Instead of a direct swat, my fingers sink between her legs and I can feel her pussy, pulsing and dripping wet.

Our eyes meet and instinct takes over. I push my fingers inside her. Not gentle, but she’s so wet, my fingers slide right into her. Lucy’s back arches up, and she grinds back and into my hand.

“No,” I say, withdrawing my fingers halfway. “Be still.” And to make sure she listens, I work my thumb against her asshole, invading her just enough that she stills.

She stops and I push my fingers into her again, working the sensitive, sweet spot I found when she was in my bed. Lucy obeys and doesn’t move, not willingly, anyway. She takes every stroke of my fingers, moaning louder, until I feel the tell-tale tremors begin in her and her body starts to quake.

I bring the pad of my thumb back to her ass as she gets right to the edge, my fingers twisting deep.

“Come, Lucy. Come right now.”

Right on command, she comes on my hand just as my fingers sink all the way into her, the slick wetness almost gushing as she shakes in my lap. I feast my eyes on all of her, from the bright red cheeks of her ass, all the way up to the way she closes her eyes as her orgasm explodes. My cock twitches as though I’m coming too, just watching.

I guide her up and turn her, pulling her up to sit in my lap. Her ass is nestled almost painfully against my hard on, and she winces a little, too. I know she must be sore from the spanking I just gave her. She turns into my arms, seeking, and it’s become almost second nature when I kiss her. The last pulses are still firing inside her, and I push my tongue into her mouth, hungry for the taste I denied myself because… fuck, I don’t even know why.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, Lucy in my arms, until she sits up. I feel like I’m coming up for air, and it dawns on me where we still are. Anyone in the office might have heard.

Lucy recovers before I do. Probably because I still have a raging hard on and all I want is to take her. But she pulls herself up and out of my lap before I can think. She takes a few steps away, wobbling only a little in her heels, her back to me. I watch as she corrects her skirt, and then leans her hip against the desk, head bent.

I stand up from the chair, one eye still on Lucy. She’s still turned away, silent.

“Lucy?”

She turns her face to the side, and I see her profile, but she still won’t look at me.

Another long, silent moment, and then she speaks, her voice steadier than I feel.

“On second thought, I’ll get that report to you right after lunch, if you don’t mind.” Her tone is crisp, professional. So cold, in fact, I feel a twist in my gut.

She doesn’t wait for an answer. I say nothing as she heads for the door and closes it softly behind her without another word.