One hour of mulling over the potential goodness and her alluring beauty and enticing kindness had caused me to want her more than anything I’d wanted for a long time. She’d managed to make mehopefor something. I can’t even remember the last time I hadhope. And the situation I found myself in dashed it instantly.
On top ofthat, she was now my employee. And I couldn’t fire her. And that meant I was going to be faced with a reminder of that dashed hope and what I wanted so badly every single day. I had no choice but to erect a steel-fortified wall by means of acting like a capital dick to her, despitenot actually being a dick.
And now, I have spent every single goddamn day of the past six months staring in the face what has become my greatest temptation, and that’s stress Ireallydon’t fucking need in my life. I don’t need the stress of avoiding the temptation ofheron top of the stress of dealing with Archer.
I can’t completely eliminate the stress of Archer from my life, but I can eliminate the stress of wanting what I can’t have.
I need her out of this placeorI need to nip this temptation in the bud because one of these days, I’m going to fucking snap. I can just feel it. Like the weight of someone’s eyes on you when you’re not looking. Like the bizarre sixth sense I have right before Archer starts blowing up my phone. Like that weighty drop of my gut when a police officer showed up on my apartment doorstep with his hat in his hands.
If I don’t get rid of herordeal with the temptation, I’m going to end up doing something that would ruin me at this company. I can’t imagine Dalton Sears or my other superiors or the fucking HR department overlooking me cornering Elle in the copy room and telling her every last deliciously filthy thing I want to do to her. And I’ve been enough of a dick to her that I can’t imagine she’d be too fond of that either.
Idefinitelydon’t need the added stress of getting slapped with a sexual harassment charge.
Before slipping into my office, I stop just behind Elle’s desk with feeble hope that she’s scrolling through her social media on company time so I can just fire her already because that would easily fix all of this. But she’s not. Of course she’s not. She’s actually a damn good employee because she’s got a chip on her shoulder and point to prove after I put her through the wringer on her first day.
“Kissinger,” I bark.
Elle utters a tiny, yet audible startled gasp, her whole body flinching. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I’ve spent way too many moments thinking about that tiny gasp and mini-body quake of hers. Every morning in the shower. Every night before drifting off.
I’m a glutton for punishment, and I wanther, and I need tostopwanting her.
Andthat’swhy I’ve got a plan.
A plan that will allow me to indulge all of those nagging fantasiesjust enoughto satiate me to the point that I can finally rid myself of them.
A plan she willhate, but won’t be able to turn down, andthenmight actually compel her see herself out.
This plan will give me just a taste of living in that hope I felt for an hour on the first day I met her, andthenit will equip her to quit if she wants to. And I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t after all the shit I’ve put her through.
Elle gives a half-spin in her chair to face me, her long, blonde waves falling over her shoulder as her big, green eyes flutter upward to meet mine for a second. “Sir?”
She always calls meSir, and I hate it because it’s only more fuel for fantasies I can’t control.
I clench my jaw and release it. “First of all, stop calling me that.”
She knows I hate when she calls me that, but she does it anyway because she’s totally passive aggressive and also knows I can’t shit-can her for using a term that denotes respect.
Her long, dark lashes do a subtle sideways blink toward Celia, who’s one desk over and has been her workbestiesince she first started six months ago. I know they talk about me on the regular when they go to lunch or happy hour, which irritates the hell out of me because I know whatever they say is the exact opposite of what Iwishit could be.
“Sorry, Colin,” Elle mumbles, and her use of my actual name isn’t a much better alternative toSir.
“Your review is in thirty minutes,” I remind her, even though I know she knows that because she’s a model employee and probably has fifteen separate reminders set up on her calendar. “Print two copies of the reports from all your accounts and have them ready.”
She crosses her long legs and half-spins back to her screen. “Will do.”
I resist the urge to bite my bottom lip as I drink in the sight of her shapely back and then cut a glance at Celia, who’s giving me a stink-eye. “Is there a problem, Celia?”
Celia picks up one of her long, black braids and gives it a flippant toss over her shoulder. “Just the usual, Colin.” She tilts her head to one side and offers a patronizing, tight-lipped smile. “You’re an asshole and nobody likes you.”
Celia pulls in so much business and gets so many private planes chartered that firingheris impossible, and she knows it.
I salute her with the too-hot-for-this-weather espresso. “And as usual, I don’t care.” I pivot on the balls of my feet to step away from them toward my office. “Two copies, Kissinger. And staple them.”
Celiatsksbehind me, and I ignore her.
In my office, I shrug off my jacket and toss it onto an extra chair in the corner of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a large portion of Manhattan. I roll up my sleeves to keep the too-hot espresso from making me sweat more than I did during the speed-walk to retrieve it. Archer is still blowing up my phone, and I drop into the chair to make a quick call to placate him for the next couple of days.
“What the fuck do you need today, Archer?” I growl into the receiver, eyes glued to my office door to ensure I can hang up immediately if someone enters.
