The conversation is polite, mostly small talk about ourselves. She seems guarded at first, which I understand. It must be weird to have someone work so closely with your boss all of the sudden.

  I agree. It’s a little weird.

  “So,” I try to steer the conversation in a direction that might make her open up as we dig into our food and wine alike. “How long have you been working for Mr. Grumpyson then?”

  “Is that your nickname for him?” she asks with a slight grin.

  “One among many.”

  “It’s not inaccurate,” she admits. “I have been with him from the very beginning. I was the first person he ever hired.”

  “Oh wow, that’s impressive.”

  “Yes, most people move on at some point. Not me, I guess,” she says and chases her wine with an entire glass of water. “I value loyalty. Putting the need of someone else before your own. Even if they can’t see it themselves sometimes, you know?”

  “I am not sure an employer is the best way to channel that loyalty, but, generally, I absolutely agree.” And I can see why Ryker would value it too.

  “Well, this job got me out of a rough situation. Bad family, drugs, debt, you know the drill. I wasn’t brought up under the best circumstances. That all changed when Mr. Grayson took a chance on me. Plus, when you’ve been working together for so long, it’s inevitable that you develop a closer bond. This job is more than just a job to me,” Barb explains with a smile and refills both our glasses. “Anyway, how about you? To whom does your loyalty belong? Any boyfriends? Girlfriend?” She tilts her head a little. “A group of boy-and girlfriends?”

  I almost spit out my water. “Jesus, no. No, I am quite content being single. On my own. All alone. No one I am beholden to.”

  I try really hard not to think of Ryker’s stupid face.

  And it works too. I don’t think about his face. Instead, I think about his hands, strong and elegant. I think about his laugh, captivating and mesmerizing. I think about his abs, toned and defined. How long has it been since I have actually seen them? And why do I still remember every single nook and cranny? I think about those V-shaped muscles that point to his extremely fuckab⁠—

  “Are you sure? Seems like you might be thinking of someone right now.” Barb drags me out of my head and I wish she would splash the glass of water she’s holding in my face.

  “No, just… thinking of work,” I lie and remember last evening and how he didn’t want to talk about his one-date-policy but opened up to me nonetheless. Then I remember that fateful day that led me here in the first place, the first time I ever laid eyes on him and thought, ‘Wow, what a good-looking, ill-mannered asshole’. “By the way, have you found a replacement yet? For the secretary that got fired at the airport?”

  “Ah,” Barb re-folds the napkin on her lap before answering. “No, not yet.” Then she shakes her head with disapproval.

  “What?” I ask, wondering if Barb didn’t get along with her colleague all that well.

  “Nothing, it’s just… maybe this is the… water talking,” she swirls the glass of wine in her hand, “but I am actually glad she is gone.”

  “How come?”

  “Well,” Barb leans in and whispers, “I probably shouldn’t say this, but considering what she did, she should be happy she isn’t in jail. I just don’t take kindly to people like that.”

  For a moment, I consider not asking because it really is none of my business, but curiosity wins out in the end anyway. “What did she do? I always kind of assumed Ryker just had a bad day.”

  “Oh, well, Mr. Grayson,” she stresses his name a little, “can indeed be a bit difficult at times, but he doesn’t fire people for nothing. Ms. Fate was misappropriating funds. As his personal assistants, we have access to his expense accounts, and I guess she assumed no one would notice a couple thousand dollars here and a couple thousand dollars there.” Barb pours the rest of the wine into our glasses. “She was right, until she wasn’t. I think Ryker… I mean Mr. Grayson,” Barbara chuckles to herself, “wasn’t even going to fire her, but that day she had messed up a bunch of things. She had forgotten to buy the wedding gift, she had forgotten to arrange for his usual flight crew to take him to the wedding, and what’s worse, she had forgotten to file for his VIP access at the airport. It’s a thing where, if you’re important enough, you can drive right onto the tarmac and— doesn’t matter. A lot of things came together that day, and that’s what got her fired, eventually.”

  So I was wrong… again. He did have a good reason to fire his assistant. Maybe not the airport stuff, but embezzling money probably reasonable cause for termination.

  “Plus,” Barb continues, “I have always suspected she had a thing for him and that’s just not appropriate when you work together. There are some boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed or everyone else might suffer which we cannot have. There are too many lives at stake here. We have had our fair share of bad press in the past and bad press around Mr. Grayson influences everyone at the company, not just him.”

  She takes a long breath. Her cheeks are the color of our wine, and it looks like the topic really pushes her buttons. Which I understand. She owes a lot to her boss, so she is protective, and on top of that, as his personal assistant, her livelihood is directly tied to his job. It makes sense she would feel strongly about all of this, and that she’d be worried.

  The rest of the lunch is a lot less passionate and more level-headed. Barbara is nice, we get along pretty well, and I look forward to having a lunch-buddy for the foreseeable future. I do feel bad that I probably won’t be able to stick around that long, but I also take comfort in knowing that there is someone who actually cares about Ryker.

  When Barb notices that almost three hours have passed, she panics a little and insists we hurry back to the office. I use our boss’s card to pay the bill and ten minutes later, I’m sitting across the desk from him once again.

  Ryker is still busy working on whatever busy CEOs work on. So I, too, go back to work. At least until I notice him staring my way.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he says, crosses his arms, and leans back in his chair.

  24

  RYKER

  “What do you need, Mr. President?” she asks in a teasing tone, and I am not entirely sure if she knows what that’s doing to me.

  You.

  Bend over my desk.

  And then over your desk.

  And then pressed against the window so everyone can see that you’re mine.

  I mean, not mine-mine. Because that’s not an option. Just mine in a platonic, wanna screw your brains out 7 days of the week, 365 days of the year, 3650 days of the decade sort of way. You know, just… casual.

  God damn it, I’m an idiot.

  I try to focus and bring the plan back into my mind: revenge and punishment. Revenge and punishment by making her like me, not by starting to like her and punishing myself.

  “Credit card,” I say and swallow. “How was food? I mean the food… at the restaurant.”

  Trying to make normal conversation is surprisingly hard when you’re attempting not to picture someone naked.

  “Good, good, interesting,” she mutters and obviously contemplates how to say what she actually wants to say while rummaging through her purse. “Barb is nice. You should feel lucky to have her. She didn’t have a single bad thing to say about you. Can you believe that?”

  For a moment, I think that Sienna can almost believe it too. She is struggling with what she thought she knew about me. I can tell, and it’s making me happy.

  Yes, you just start liking me.

  My inner villain is laughing giddily.

  She walks over and hands me the card. For some reason, I grab her hand instead. We feel the same sensation, the same tension, the same anticipation. It’s written all over her perfect little face.

  But this can’t happen. It just can’t. One time was more than enough.

  I let go of her and run my hand over the stubble on my face. I feel rough compared to her silky smoothness.

  Sienna, without ever breaking eye contact, carefully places the credit card on my desk. For a millisecond, my eyes dart to her cleavage and I think, maybe, she knows exactly what’s happening to me, at least if I am judging her expression correctly.

  I get up and close the distance between us. Her ass is now pressed against my desk. She lets herself slide onto it and places her hands on the surface behind her. I take one more step and watch as her legs part for me instinctually. She is panting audibly and she doesn’t look like someone who hates me anymore. On the contrary, she looks like she could want me as much as I want her.

  I close the distance entirely and place myself in between her legs. Our thighs touch and I don’t think I have ever been more turned on in my entire life. It almost hurts.

  I want to touch her, to let my thumb glide over her lips, to reach around her neck, to grab her hair, to pull her towards me, to make her mine. I want to do all of that and more.

  I’ve never wanted to do anything more.

  But I don’t.

  Instead, I swallow hard, grab my credit card, and walk away.

  When I make it to the bathroom, I lock the door behind me and look down. “No,” I say out loud, as if talking to a sentient being and not my brainless dick. I was never a fan of the joke that men are just guided by their cock, but it sure feels really fucking accurate these days. That’s all this is though. Physical attraction. Nothing more. It can’t be. I can’t set myself up to get betrayed again.

  Her presence is haunting me. It’s like it’s radiating through space, following me wherever I go.

  Touching her might be out of the question, but I sure as hell don’t need to torture myself like this. Desperate for relief, I unbutton my pants and pull them down. My cock jumps out of my boxers and it’s liberating in more ways than one to finally set it free. It’s pulsating already, without having even been touched. It’s still thinking of her. It’s imagining her warmth, her dripping pussy. It’s imagining what it would feel like to have her fingers reach around it once more, to have her tease it, provoke it, suck it.

  I need for her to want me, as much as I want her.

  I am clearly not thinking straight right now, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is release, to free my mind, to unburden myself from the haunting images of her.

  From my pocket, I pull the scrunchy that I stole from her desk earlier. It smells like her. I rub my nose against it for a moment, absorbing every molecule that is still clinging to it. She smells like peonies and what will be associated with desperate desire from now on. Because that’s all I am capable of feeling right now. A thick drop of cum drips from my dick when I finally wrap the hairband around it. I wish I still had the little vial of perfume I stole from her, but I used that up days ago under similar circumstances.

  For a moment, I imagine Sienna kneeling before me and I know I could explode right then and there. Then I remember that she is actually in the other room, and that thoughts of fucking her delicious mouth are probably not the best idea when trying to shut those cravings down in the first place. Instead, I need something different. A pallet cleanser. I need whatever the opposite of Sienna de la Vega’s perfection is.

  With annoyance in my chest, I dig for my phone, activate voice control and tell it to open Pornhub. I click the first video in which the actress in the thumbnail looks nothing like Sienna. With the sound almost turned off, I begin stroking my cock.

  My back falls against the door behind me. The woman in the video is doing the usual: blowjob, gagging, doe eyes. She is lifted up, thrown onto a couch and the anonymous stunt cock pounds into her like a jackhammer. I keep staring at it even though my erection said goodbye after the first thirty seconds. I try to will it back somehow because I really need to get rid of this pent-up frustration, this Sienna de la Vega infatuation.

  “Fuck,” I finally mutter under my breath and hurl the phone against the wall.

  It’s like I am being cucked by my very own cock. He decides for whom he shows up and for whom he doesn’t. And, apparently, fucking porn isn’t good enough for him anymore.

  Angry at myself, I punch the wall and pull up my pants. Then I pick up my phone, wash my hands, try to do some breathing exercises, and eventually go back to my desk, where Sienna is already waiting for me. Well, she’s not waiting, she’s working. At her own desk. As if we didn’t just almost fuck all over this office.

  Maybe I was misreading her. Maybe she doesn’t feel the same things I do.

  She doesn’t acknowledge me in the slightest, but I notice she buttoned up her shirt while I was gone.

  “I need you to tell Barb to get me a new phone,” I grunt more than anything, annoyance growing in my chest.

  “The hell I will,” Sienna responds with little emotion. “I am not your personal slave whom you can just push around.”

  God, I hate her rebellious side. It just makes me want her more.

  Another grumble forces its way through my throat before I pick up the landline and call upstairs. “I need a new phone,” I instruct when someone answers. “And send Bruce down here. Now.”

  Sienna ruffles her hair, and peonies appear before my eyes again. Maybe I should buy her some. Maybe I should buy her an entire farm of peonies. Maybe she doesn’t even like peonies. Then I should buy her two.

  “Your brother Bruce?” she inquires, still serene as a spa day, once I hang up.

  The only way for me to keep myself from going crazy at that moment is to ignore her question. I wait to speak until Bruce finally shows up a little later.

  “Bruce, this is Sienna. Sienna, Bruce, yes, my brother.” I put on my jacket, grab my briefcase, and leave the mess on my desk to itself. Then I reach around Bruce, lead him away from Sienna, and towards the elevator. “I need you to take care of her for a day or two. I am going to be too busy. She’s the⁠—”

  “PR girl,” he says. “Everyone knows.”

  “Right.” I push the button. “Can you do that for me?”

  “You’ll owe me.”

  “Fine, whatever. Just be nice, alright?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I ignore his question and step into the elevator. Sienna is standing right behind us and I assume she probably heard everything I just told him.

  It doesn’t matter.

  I have to get out of here.

  25

  SIENNA

  Ryker disappears as fast as my heart is beating.

  And it’s probably for the best.

  It’s been twenty minutes since our legs touched, since I could feel him against me, and I am still on fire. I almost lost control and I don’t even want to think about what would have happened then. I am so close to making it to my first paycheck.

  Now I’m standing here with Bruce, Ryker’s brother, who had to study business because Ryker insisted on studying the law to become a lawyer who helps people. I have seen him in pictures, but they barely do him justice. He might not be as handsome as Ryker (though to be fair, no one is), or as adorable as Roman, but he does have a certain authority to him. He carries himself like an elder statesman. There is something refined about him, something resolute, something that makes him seem almost unapproachable.

  At least until you get to spend a couple of days with him. Because that’s what we do. And it turns out that he is actually quite nice. Not like Ryker in an I-am-an-asshole-but-secretly-nice sort of way, but more like a regular, well-adjusted person.

  According to Barb, Ryker is busy taking care of some important business elsewhere while Bruce honors his brothers’ request and looks after me. Not that I need someone to look after me, but I do appreciate the company. Since he is part of upper management as much as Ryker, he has a lot of insights that help me with my job. We work separately but spend our lunches together, during which we mostly talk shop, although I do find out about his love for photography and his dislike for elevator music, which is something I can get on board with. All in all, spending time with his much more agreeable brother is a great way to stop thinking about Ryker. Or at least to decrease the brain capacity that is occupied with thinking about him at all times by about 50%.

  When Friday comes around, I can’t wait to pick up my paycheck. I am only slightly embarrassed when Barb tells me I need to send an invoice so they can pay me, something I hadn’t even thought about until now. I’ll have to ask Earnest to help me set up whatever I need.

  On Saturday, I take an hour or two to get ready for Roman’s birthday and just when I am done, my phone rings.

  It’s Paul, whispering, “Sienna, run, now. The feds are here, maybe ATF. I am going to stall them for as long as I can.”

  “It’s okay, Paul,” I say and check my makeup in the mirror once more. “That’s just my… my Mr. Grayson’s brother. You can send him up.”

  I hear Paul threaten Bruce, who laughs heartily in response, and, a minute later, knocks on my door.

  “Anyone order a lift?” he asks with a smile. He is wearing a suit, which fills me with relief because I wasn’t sure what to wear to the birthday of a billionaire heir. I went with a dress that hopefully isn’t too casual and not too formal either.

  I put on some high heels, grab the present I bought, and close the door behind us.

  Bruce spins me around once and then lets me hook into his arm. “You look dashing, Sienna. Ready to go?”

  I nod and together we take the stairs to the lobby, where Robyn is waiting next to Paul. She looks rather surprised when I discover another person standing by the reception.

  Ryker F. Grayson.

  His chin almost drops to the floor when he sees the two of us descending the stairs.

  Is he jealous?

  For a moment, I contemplate how that would make me feel and I decide I don’t like it. I don’t like it because it would mean that Ryker has some sort of feelings for me. Feelings other than the usual ‘What’s wrong with her?’-feelings.

  Of course, there is nothing to be jealous of. That would be ridiculous. So I resist my urge to put distance between me and the brawny arm that’s leading me toward the small group of people watching us.