Ever since Mr. Lancaster left early the other day, he’s been broodier than usual. I don’t let it bother me, though. I continue to act like business as normal. It’s become a fairly easy routine. I hate Mr. Lancaster, and he hates me back. He barks orders, and I grin and bear it. Personally, I think it pisses him off when I smile at his rudeness. Maybe I shouldn’t tease the beast, but it’s too much fun. Eventually, he’ll give up or fire me.
Sitting in my office in front of my own computer, I look down at my ever-growing to-do list. Today’s email from Mr. Lancaster is even snippier than the last. Normally, he barks at me to come into his office to hear the list. When he’s like that, I keep to myself. I welcome the emails, though. It’s easier and makes the day go faster.
I wonder what is up his ass today.
I know I shouldn’t care, but I can’t help but wonder since it directly affects my day. What makes him so bitter to the world? Even after working together these past few weeks, there’s little I know of him. I tried to get more information, but everything before these last few months is a mystery. There are years after his estrangement from his dad and when he was ousted from Lancaster Holdings that are a complete mystery.
As I’m just about to pack up for the day, I hear a cough from my door. Looking up, I see him standing there.
“You need to work late tonight,” he snaps. It isn’t a question. “We have so much to do before the opening of the new hotel, and I need you to finish these papers.”
“For sure. I don’t mind at all.” I smile at him. Kill him with kindness. Kill him with kindness.
“Really?” He genuinely looks shocked.
Laying it on thick, I say, “Of course. Hey, that’s what I’m here for, remember? The more I learn, the better.”
“Thank you.” He softens. “You’re good at this. You have an eye for things that most people don’t. I need you.”
My mouth drops open at his bipolar personality. One minute he’s yelling, now this? My cheeks warm and I hope he doesn’t notice. “Um, thank you.”
“Besides, you’re very honest, and I need that right now.”
“To a fault, at times,” I agree.
“I prefer honesty. Trust me, it’s always better in the long run.”
I can’t help but see the ironies of that statement. If only he had been honest in the beginning, all of this hostility could have been avoided. I think he’s going to say more, say anything, but instead, he hands me a sheet of paper. He’s all business again. But I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from him. I look up, and he waves his hand.
“Carry on.”
Dickhead Lancaster is back.
I’m sitting on my couch, replaying every minute of my day. The strange encounter with my boss and his split personality.
With a lift of my hand, I bring the glass of wine to my mouth. With each sip I take, my body loosens. Why does he have to be so handsome? Maybe if he wasn’t it wouldn’t be so hard to be near him. Instead, I constantly have to remind myself I can’t think of him like that. But with my inhibitions lowered, I can’t help but remember the first night I met him and how it felt. What would it be like if I had another moment alone with him? Would he kiss me again? Would he taste me? Would I taste him?
My breasts feel heavy. As if they need to be touched. The thought of Grant’s caress has my core clenching with anticipation. But he’s not here. It’s just me, and I’m desperate for relief. How long has it been since I’ve come? Since I’ve had someone fuck me.
Too long.
Closing my eyes, I imagine what it’d be like if I weren’t alone right now. If my hands weren’t mine, but his instead.
“Take off your clothes,” he’d order, and I’d have no choice but to obey.
My nipples pebble and peak under my shirt. With a lift of my hand, I grasp and knead my breast through the thin material, pulling and pinching each nipple as if they were his hands.
His teeth.
Every nerve ending inside me is on full alert, my core tightening desperately in need of being filled. So I do, I give myself what I want.
With a slow, steady breath, my hand trails down to where I’m hot and ready.
I don’t allow myself to stop, thrusting two fingers deep within, plunging them inside me, thrusting in and out.
Gasps of air.
I’m so close.
It’s not enough. I need more.
My thumb begins to circle as I push deeper inside me, hooking my fingers up until they find the perfect spot, mimicking the ministration of a skilled lover. With my head thrown back, my vision blurs, and I crash over the edge.
It takes a minute for my breath to regulate, but when it does, I can’t believe what I just did. It’s not that I touched myself; it’s the fact I thought of him when I did it that has me mortified.
My face feels flush, much warmer than just a moment ago.
How will I be able to look at him tomorrow?
Shit.
Ever since my dirty fantasy of Mr. Lancaster last night, I’m embarrassed to see him. It’s not like he knows he’s the star of my own personal porno, but I still try to keep busy all morning, not to accidentally make an ass of myself by turning beet red in front of him. So instead, I bury myself in work. When I look up from my computer, it’s a little after eleven. I can’t believe how fast the day has flown by. The good thing, however, is things with Grant are not as tense as they were before. Progressively they’ve gotten better as if our silent war is now at a truce. We’ve established a fairly consistent routine, which helps ease the tension. He arrives before me, getting the day set up, and when I arrive, I can usually get through a handful of emails before he calls me into his office.
With the exception of today.
I thrive on routines, and with his habitual mood swings in the past, I’m wondering if I’ve done something to set him off on the warpath again. I stand up from my chair, a pile of folders in hand, and head toward his office. When I walk in, he’s on the phone. I don’t want to disturb him, so I walk to his desk and place the pile down. Just as I lift my hand his rises and we touch. It’s a whisper of a touch, but it lingers, sending my pulse to beat erratically. How can such a small touch be so inflaming? I pull my hand away quickly, my cheeks flushing.
“I’m sorry about that,” I mutter. My eyes rise and lock on his. I expect to see the typical indifference, but instead, I’m met with the same heated gaze I’ve seen before. He’s affected, just like me. He says something into the phone, but I don’t hear his words. I’m too fixated on him.
I turn to walk away, needing to get out of this situation. It isn’t good for either of us to want something we can’t have. I’m almost at the door when I hear my name called out.
“Bridget.”
I turn my head over my shoulder and meet his gaze. “Yes?” My heart pounds in my chest, crashing into my breastbone and making my breath accelerate.
“Have you had lunch yet?”
Disappointment washes over me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but that was not it. “No, not yet. Did you need me to get you something?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Sure.” I move back toward his desk. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Your choice, since you’re grabbing it,” he says, and I see his lip lift. Is he smiling? A small dimple forms on his right cheek. He is smiling. Wow, I’d forgotten how handsome he is when he smiles. But now he reminds me of the night at the bar.
My own lips start to spread. “I bet you think I’m going to say salad.”
He nods, and I laugh.
“I’m not.”
“You’re not?” His eyebrow lifts.
“Nope.”
“So what are you gonna have?”
“I could kill for a hamburger and fries.”
With that, his eyes open wide, and what was once a small smile now spreads across his face into a full grin. “A hamburger.” He laughs. He actually laughs. In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him laugh. Maybe he laughed the first night, but I was too drunk to appreciate the sound.
“Does that surprise you?”
“You have no idea.”
“Good. I like to surprise.” My tone is a little flirty. I’m talking to Mr. Lancaster as if we were at the bar not at the office. The revelation has my cheeks warming again.
His smile falters, but he keeps his cool.
My stomach tightens. Shit. Just when we were getting along, I had to go fuck it up. I stare at him for a beat, willing myself to speak. I need to say something to ease the embarrassment. As I open my mouth, he beats me to it.
“I’d love a hamburger.”
Forty-five minutes later, I enter Mr. Lancaster’s office with a very heavy bag of the best burgers in New York. I place the bag with his food on his desk.
“What do we have here?” he asks, not looking up from his desk. “It smells amazing.”
“Just a family favorite,” I respond.
“Is this family favorite a secret?” he muses, still typing on his computer.
“Yes, and if I tell you, I have to kill you.”
“That so?”
“Absolutely. We wouldn’t want the place to get too popular. I like not having to wait for my food. Nobody wants to meet up with a hangry Bridget Miller.”
With that, he looks up from his desk. A half smile appears on his face. “Hangry?” He chuckles.
“That’s right. I’m angry when I’m hungry.”
“Duly noted.”
He doesn’t look up from his paperwork when he says that. I take the moment to study him. The scruff on his face and the circles under his eyes tell me something is up. He appears tired as if he hasn’t slept.
“Are you okay?” I ask timidly, not wanting to overstep and piss Mr. Moody off.
“Honest answer?”
“Always,” I say.
“I’m exhausted. I have a lot riding on the opening going off without a hitch.”
I nod, not knowing what else to say. He doesn’t look up at me, and I take it as my cue to exit. I’m halfway out the door when I turn around. “It’s a little diner down the road from my apartment.”
Grant looks up, confused. “What?”
“The hamburgers.”
“You live nearby?”
“Define your definition of nearby?”
He angles his head as if he doesn’t understand, and I laugh.
“I live in the West Village.”
“You went to the West Village to get me lunch?”
“It’s really not that far, and besides, I didn’t just go to get you lunch. I went to get us the best lunch.” I put the emphasis on us. I need him to know I haven’t eaten yet either. I just hope he’s not mad that I went so far.
“I did it all in under forty-five minutes. I figure that still leaves me time to eat as well. Hope you don’t mind. Technically, I still have fifteen minutes. I promise to eat quickly.”
He opens the bag and inhales. I can tell by the way he licks his lips that he understands why I say these burgers are the best. The smell permeates through the space, making my mouth instantly water. “Sit,” he orders, and I stand like a deer in headlights.
“You want me . . . You want me to eat with you?”
“Yes.”
I don’t move. I can’t. It’s as if I’m cemented in place.
“Please.” His voice dips with sincerity.
The tone is my undoing. I walk back over to his desk and take the seat across from him as he removes the pile on top of the desk.
“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks.
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Maybe I want to.” His words hang in the air uncomfortably. What does he mean? I don’t want to think too much into it. “You did go to all this trouble to get the best burger . . . for me.”
I smile shyly.
“So what do you want?”
“I’ll have a Diet Coke,” I reply.
He stands and walks out of the office. About a minute later he returns with a Diet Coke for me and a water for him.
“Thanks.” I smile, earning a smile in return.
Neither of us talks as we devour our food. The only sound is the occasional moan we each make as we eat. It’s easy. Comfortable. It’s shocking how right it feels eating together in silence. It brings me back to our first meeting. To the Grant I met at the bar. As I take my last bite, I want to savor it. Make it last. I’m not ready for this reprieve to end. But eventually we’re done, and Mr. Lancaster looks up at me. He stares at me for a second, studying me.
Assessing me.
“You’ve been here for a few weeks now. How do you like it?”
I about choke on my burger at the directness of his question. How do I answer? If he had asked me only a few days ago, my answer would be quite different. “Well . . .” I stop, and he feigns distress.
“Don’t tell me your boss is a tyrant,” he says seriously, but his green eyes give him away as they sparkle brightly with humor.
“I wouldn’t say tyrant.”
“What would you say?”
“I’d say he’s tough but fair.”
“Tough but fair,” he repeats my words. “Sounds like a tyrant to me.” He grins.
“If I’m being honest, the verdict is still out. It’s different from what I was looking for.”
“What was that?”
“I love marketing. It’s what I really want to land a job doing. Assistant work is fine for now, but it’s not my long-term aspiration.”
“Perhaps we can incorporate some time with the marketing department while you’re here.”
“Really?” I say excitedly.
“Once we get through the opening, I’ll see what I can arrange.”
Our eyes meet, and I’m happy to find kindness in his. The animosity from before seems to be gone. I can only hope it stays that way. I could get used to working with this Grant Lancaster.