9. Bathroom Break - Cash
For the second time in a month, I’m thoroughly…poleaxed. It’s the most appropriate word I’m able to come up with, since the object of my obsession just left after agreeing to work for MontBlake.
For me.
Of course, she had questions. Like how long would it take to train her, when would she start, and why hadn’t I told her I was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company? She seemed to have a very accurate memory of our time on that plane.
For every one of her questions, I had one of my own. Only I couldn’t ask them. Doing so would be intrusive and personal.
Like did she love her previous boss?
How long did the affair last?
Did his wife find out?
Is he the reason she left Oklahoma?
No, she was heartbroken over the boyfriend—I remember that much. So the boss must have been the mistake she was talking about. I let my thoughts drift back to the last half hour, to her wide, deep brown eyes and the way she nibbled her lip. How she stared at me as if I’m the next mistake she’s going to make.
I’d give anything to dig underneath her exterior, to unearth her secrets and desires. But I won’t, even if it kills me. We’ve catapulted too far over the line of professionalism as it is, and it’s going to be hell to fight our way back to the right side of the equation, to the sum of boss and employee, minus a whole shitload of trouble neither of us want. That’s the way it has to be, since I’m blatantly ignoring the professional and right thing to do.
Which would be to send her on her way.
Hell, I might as well stop breathing. Watching Jules walk away a second time will gut me. No matter the right or wrong of it, she’s lived under my skin ever since I laid eyes on her. And the way she looked at me today…
Too fucking tempting.
I shouldn’t have hired her.
How the hell did this happen?
I glance at my watch and realize I’ve been sitting in a daze for the last twenty minutes. I’ve got emails that need sorted and answered, phone calls that need to be returned, appointments that need to be made, not to mention putting travel plans into motion. All of this shit piled up because my last personal assistant up and left last week without notice.
What I need is Jules.
I’m also behind on finalizing the building plans for MontBlake’s newest hotel. Ironically, it’s scheduled to begin construction in Oklahoma City soon. I don’t have time for this raging hard-on, compliments of one Jules Harley.
But God, she’s sexy. Bold. Blunt. She speaks before thinking, which can be a bad thing, but on her it’s a damn aphrodisiac.
Shaking the rails loose on that train of thought, I attempt to get my mind in the right headspace before she returns. I sent her down to HR to get the paperwork rolling, deciding not to have her sign a nondisclosure agreement about her knowledge of my marriage troubles. Having that document in place is company policy on such matters, but there was no way I could ask that of her. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
She’s the only one who knows, other than the private investigator I hired and the unknown person who outed my wife’s affair. Regardless of how little I actually know Jules, my gut tells me I can trust her.
Cursing under my breath, I check my watch again, remembering that Monica wanted to talk to me. Jules should be back in an hour or so, but my wife could show up in five minutes or five hours.
And I’ve still got a hard-on to deal with. I push to my feet and make my way to the private bathroom off the office. Once inside, I lock the door and cross to the toilet. I’ve got my pants unbuttoned and unzipped in seconds, and I’m leaning over the porcelain bowl, one hand pumping my cock as images of Jules play through my head.
My perverted mind has her bent over my desk, legs spread, her palms flat on the surface as I wind her golden locks around my fist. With every desperate stroke of my hand, I imagine thrusting into the hot, wet glove of her body. And her voice? Jesus, her seductive voice is begging for more.
Harder, Cash.
In this fantasy that’s way too vivid, I bury myself to the hilt, my fingers gouging her hips, teeth scraping over the slope of her shoulder. The scene plays out in my head like a porno as I let the pressure bust me wide open. I groan, loud and unrestrained, as I spurt cum into the toilet water.
I’m so fucked, and I definitely shouldn’t have hired her. But not hiring her was about as possible as not thinking about her.
Every time the skies open and rain beats down on me.
Every time I grab a coffee and overhear someone order tea.
Every time a damn plane sounds overhead.
A quiet knock intrudes on this private and forbidden moment. I tilt my head toward the locked door, ragged breaths rushing from my mouth as I prop myself against the wall.
“Cash? Are you in there?” Monica never bangs on a door, or outright yells, or cries out when she comes. Not that she’s come for me in months.
“I’ll be right out.” I clean myself up then put my clothes back in order.
I bet Jules would cry my name. I have no doubt she’d writhe in my arms. Moan her pleasure into my mouth. Let me fuck her while holding her captive in my gaze. Forehead to forehead with the lights on. Eyes locked together in surrender, spilling all our secrets. Fingers grasping, clawing, then lacing together as we hold on for the ride. The feminine curve of her spine speaking the language of ecstasy.
I switch on the faucet, and the rushing sound of water brings me back to reality. Monica is tapping on the door again, her soft voice calling my name. After I finish washing my hands, I open the door. Those blue eyes used to seduce me with a single glance. Now they spit nothing but cold-hearted rejection.
“What is it?” I ask as I push past her. I take a seat behind my desk, sparing her an annoyed glance. “As you can see, I’ve got work to do.”
“Before you make your decision on a PA, I wanted to give my recommendation for Lydia Hirsch. She mentioned the interview went well. She’s highly qualified, Cash.”
Tilting my head, I narrow my eyes. “Is she a friend of yours?”
She works her jaw, hesitating. “Yes, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t put our personal issues before business decisions. She’s a solid choice and deserves a chance.”
“Ms. Hirsch is certainly qualified, but she’s not a good fit for me. Besides,” I say, waving my hand. “I already filled the position.”
“That was fast. Who did you hire?”
“Does it matter?”
“Per the terms of the merger, you’re required to consult me on anything business-related.”
“Hiring a personal assistant hardly falls under that condition.” I sit back and cross my arms. “You want a rundown of the financial statements for last quarter? Details about the Oklahoma City project? I’ll have my new assistant send you those particulars, along with anything else you require.”
Her brows knit together. “You might be CEO, but I’m chairperson. This is a partnership.”
“Like our marriage is?”
Her silence speaks volumes.
“We’re sleeping in separate bedrooms, Monica. How about we do the same here at work? You can see yourself out of my office now.”
“You can be a real asshole sometimes.”
“Do you really want me to respond to that?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Don’t bother.” She pivots on her heel and exits my office, letting the door shut with a bang. That’s the angriest I’ve seen her in a while.
I stare at the closed door for a few moments, the wheels in my head turning. During the past few months, I’ve slowly come to the realization that Monica never does anything without a reason, and if she wanted her friend working directly under me, there must be a reason why. I pull out my cell and dial my private investigator.
He answers on the fourth ring, and I get right to the point. “It’s Cash Montgomery. Have you found anything yet?” I ask, tapping my fingers on the desk.
“Not yet. The sender’s email address was a bust. Whoever sent the photo doubled up with a VPN and a proxy server. My tech guy’s still working on it, though.”
“And the photo?”
“Same. Got an expert analysis taking a closer look.”
“I don’t know if this is important, but Monica wanted me to hire someone she knows as my PA. She was very insistent, and furious when I told her I already filled the position.”
“You got a name for me?”
“Lydia Hirsch.” I spell it out for him. “Maybe there’s something there.”
“I’m on it.”
“Let me know when you’ve got something.”
I end the call and rise to stand in front of the windows. The sidewalks are busy, the streets busier. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, but I feel one hovering over my life. As I watch a ferry make its way across Elliot Bay, I think of how there’s someone out there who wanted me to know about Monica’s affair. Someone who captured her betrayal in a photo but left behind no evidence in our condo. My instincts tell me the digital footprint of that email will lead back to the asshole who’s fucking my wife.