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  Watch for more at Jamila Jasper’s site.

  9 Inch Addiction

  Jamila Jasper

  Jamila Jasper Romance

  “I make the rules around here… And you’ll do well to listen to them."

  My father’s African American CFO thinks she’s my boss.

  I’ll have her bent over her desk, begging for more before she knows what hit her.

  If anyone finds out about my intentions with her, I’ll be out on street and shipped off back to London.

  But I can keep a secret…

  I bet she can too with these come-hither brown eyes that she can’t keep off me.

  Nobody says no to Chuck Banks.

  It’s only a matter of time before she’s MINE.

  This is a naughtier than ever grumpy office billionaire black woman white man romance.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chuck’s Chapter

  Epilogue

  Bonus Story

  About Jamila Jasper

  Patreon

  Thank You Kindly

  Chapter One

  “No can do.”

  I folded my arms as I listened to Monty’s three-word response to my thirty minute proposal. That was it? I’d spent weeks crafting the perfect list of reasons I needed a raise, and demonstrating how much I added to the Banks & Wiltshire Group.

  “That’s it?” I responded, aghast.

  Monty puffed his cigar and coughed, releasing a cloud of tobacco across his desk.

  “‘Fraid so.”

  I’d been with the company for over ten years after the merger. I knew Monty as more than just my boss, the CEO, but as a friend.

  “Monty… Are you serious right now? I know what the numbers are saying, where’s all that money going?”

  He shrugged, “Expenses.”

  Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, he leaned back and offered me a drink.

  “Whiskey?”

  “No thanks.”

  Not only were we at work but it was hours before noon. Monty Banks helped himself, taking his cool time to unscrew the bottle while he poured it into his glass — no ice, no chasers, straight whiskey.

  “Sit down, Ida.”

  I sat. He drank.

  “Listen, I don’t mean to give the impression that we don’t appreciate you here.”

  “Monty, you know that I’m loyal to you. I’ve always been that way. I just want to move up. I have goals… aspirations…”

  Monty nodded and waved as he drank more.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” he replied, “I understand completely.”

  “If you understand, why won’t you budge?”

  Monty cleared his throat and drank more.

  “Hm… Ida, why don’t we make a deal here?”

  “What kind of deal?” I raised my eyebrows.

  “One where you get some money.”

  “I’m listening,” I replied.

  Money was what I wanted. Why was I the only one at the company who seemed to be struggling? New York was killing me.

  “Early bonus.”

  I folded my arms.

  “That’s it?”

  Monty sighed, “I’ll increase by $6,000.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. The figure was nowhere near as close as I’d asked for. But it was $16,000 that I needed… bad.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about it?”

  Monty finished his drink.

  “Yes,” I held my voice steady, “I’ll think about it.”

  Satisfied, Monty poured himself a second round.

  “I have something else to discuss with you.”

  He spoke the way white people did when they were about to ask you to do something. He avoided eye contact. Then I knew he was going to ask me to do something I didn’t want to do.

  “What is it Monty,” I huffed.

  “Don’t get short with me Ida,” he glared, winking to let me know he wasn’t serious.

  “Spill. And don’t add more to my plate.”

  “Heh,” Monty coughed.

  I waited. He drank some more and then stalled.

  “Mind if I get another cigar?”

  “No problem.”

  I could wait. Playing to Monty’s good side couldn’t hurt my case for a raise. He took his time, clipping the tip of his cigar and then rolling it between his palms before lighting.

  “Want a puff?”

  Monty knew I didn’t smoke. So I didn’t respond. He sat across from me and then started tal
king.

  “We value your work in the marketing department here at Banks & Wiltshire. The billboard in Times Square project, the Jamaica, Queens community outreach, it’s all been fantastic. I’ve come to trust you Ida… The day you throw in the towel will be the worst day of my life.”

  He was buttering me up now, and I knew then whatever he planned to ask me was something big.

  He smoked, drank a little more and I waited, settling into the chair and staring at him. Monty was getting older. At 60, he was still a silver-foxed scamp. His cigar and whiskey before lunch were only the beginnings of his problems.

  Monty was cursed with being both too smart and too good-looking for his own well-being. I’d like to pretend his charm didn’t work on me, but he was a difficult man to resist.

  “I want to entrust you with a matter that’s more… personal.”

  “Personal?”

  While Monty and I were friends, there were some boundaries that had never been crossed between us. Most “personal” situations fell firmly within that territory. Monty hadn’t told me about the time his wife lived in their beach house for a year because he’d knocked up their maid. I hadn’t told him about my sister’s third DUI.

  We kept our dirty laundry out of each other’s view. In the corporate world, the personal is always just out of reach. No matter how personal you pretend to get with your coworkers, when you head home for the night, they usually just become your coworkers.

  70-hour work weeks were the only thing that stood between me and more distance between my coworkers.

  “This is a delicate issue Miss Bell, so I’d appreciate your discretion.”

  Now my interest piqued. I clasped my hands over my knees, hiding the impatient tapping of my legs and fidgeting with my class ring from Columbia.

  “You know I can keep a secret, Montgomery.”

  Monty nodded, “Excellent. You might want to have a drink.”

  “No thanks,” I urged again.

  “Hm,” he responded.

  Before he could go on, his phone rang. I could hear Pippa’s voice on the other end, loudly asking Monty if he was free to meet a woman who wanted an afternoon appointment. Monty declined, they had another conversation about Monty’s flights to the Maldives, then he hung up.

  “Where was I?”

  “Something personal.”

  “Yes, yes…” he mumbled, coughing gently and filling my face with tobacco smoke again.

  “This is a special assignment for you Ida. If you can manage this,” Monty paused to chuckle, “I’ll definitely consider a raise.”

  “What is it?”

  I was starting to get impatient and what’s worse, bad at hiding it. Monty tapped his cigar, the ash falling gently into his engraved Harvard ash tray.

  “My son is flying back from London today. He should be arriving at Grand Central before the stock exchange closes.”

  “Great,” I replied, unsure how this news applied to me.

  “He’s coming to work here, for Banks & Wiltshire.”

  “What?”

  I folded my arms, ignoring Monty’s smirk.

  “I need someone responsible to keep an eye on him.”

  “You are his parent,” I grumbled.

  Monty chuckled, “Darling, I’m half drunk before twelve o’clock, I can’t have anymore on my plate.”

  I hated when Monty called me darling, reminding me that no matter how many decades I’d busted my butt to get here, he’d always believe the company was an old boys club.

  “Which son are you talking about?” I narrowed my eyes.

  Monty smirked, “Not Santi.”

  I averted my gaze this time. Monty rarely acknowledged his illegitimate child and I had no interest in pursuing the subject further.

  “I’m not equipped for this Monty.”

  “I believe you are, Ida. No one here knows me better than you.”

  I frowned, and didn’t respond.

  “Back when you were new ‘round here, maybe we got in each other’s way a few times, but you know how I respect you.”

  I said nothing, staring him dead in the face, hoping he’d give me a reason not to walk out of his office.

  He stood up and walked around to me, touching my face.

  “Ida, darling, I’m asking you a favor.”

  It had been years since Monty touched my face like that. We’d shared one kiss — one — at my first office party here. Then I found out he was married. With kids. And for weeks, I hadn’t spoken to him. After putting our differences aside, we’d become friends. Close, true friends.

  But his hand on my face brought me back to all those years ago when I’d been young and foolish. He’d been a charming, older, executive and for a moment, a brief moment, I’d entertained the notion of what life could be like with a man like him. Even as his mistress, you’d be taken care of. A more careless woman would have plunged into an affair.

  But I believed in love back then, and I still did, and I knew I wouldn’t find it in the bed of a married man. His touch reminded me of what I gave up for a Prince Charming who’d never arrived.

  I turned my cheek away from him, considering for a moment that no matter how angry I was with him, bitterness wouldn’t serve me.

  “Monty,” I replied, “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  He dropped his hand and smiled, the gentle flirtatiousness he’d used to get his way was exposed as a ploy, but neither of us minded.

  He beamed from ear to ear, towering over my seat looking proud of himself before he walked over to his window and cast his gaze over Manhattan.

  “It’s Charles,” he muttered.

  “Charles?”

  Now that was a name I hadn’t heard in a while. I knew all about Monty’s sons. The eldest, Townsend Banks, worked as a freelance party animal and only left East Hampton once a month to come into the city and collect his check from his father.

  He was tall, roguish, with long brown hair and brilliant green eyes like his red-headed Scottish mother. Townsend, the lazy son, wouldn’t have been horrible to look after. He was too lazy to get into trouble and no job he’d had ever lasted anyways. I wondered what good his Cornell education had been.

  Monty’s youngest son, Santiago, had been born from his dalliance with a Guatemalan maid, a beautiful woman who had been lambasted in the media for her affair with the big-name CEO. Monty took the boy in, easily using his multi-million dollar net worth to sway the courts into garnering full-custody.

  Santiago, ever aware of his humble roots, wouldn’t have been a problem either. He was the only one of Monty’s sons who hadn’t been kicked out of Andover, and would have been a delight. Of course, Buffy would have never allowed him to work here.

  When you’re the one who’s been cheated on, you tend to have the final word in those matters.

  When I realized Montgomery was talking about Charles, I froze. Was he trying to send me to an early grave?

  He saw my silent worry and met it with a smile.

  “He’s mellowed since Yale.”

  “Oh that’s a relief,” I shot back, rolling my eyes.

  “His time in London has done him good,” Monty continued.

  Was he trying to convince me that his son was a good person, or was he trying to convince himself?

  “I want you to keep an eye on him, Ida.”

  I joined Monty at the window, my arms folded. The city buzzed beneath us as we stood tall and powerful over New York. At that moment, I didn’t feel powerful. Denied a raise, and then given an impossible task. Monty held all the cards and he knew it. There was no way I was going to quit, risk starting over the career I’d spent decades building.

  He knew me too well and he knew how to play the corporate game instinctively, like any big success did.

  “What do you mean keep an eye on him?”

  “I want you to keep him out of trouble.”

  “What do you think I can do that you can’t?”

  Monty looked over at me and smirked.

  “Get through to him.”

  I snorted.

  “You’re tough Ida. You’ve got balls. Charles will respect you.”

  “Wishful thinking,” I muttered.

  “What did you say?”