The next day, I go full out. The tight pencil skirt with a slit up my left thigh leaves little to the imagination, the cream stilettos elongate my legs, and the silk cami with tiny straps has a hard time containing my boobs. I add a blazer, so I look more professional, and put on bright red lipstick.
Walking into the office, I feel like a million bucks. Rina eyes me warily, so I avoid her desk and go straight to mine. Today, we have a morning meeting on décor, so I step into the conference room and lean my hands on the desk.
“OK, everyone! We got the venue, now let’s see how’re going to make it more beautiful.” The pose makes my cami slip lower, and I notice Matt’s gaze on me for just a second before he moves it.
We’re back in the game, baby.
“Rina, let’s see what you thought of.”
One by one, team members present their décor ideas so we could decide on a theme together.
Last in line is Matt. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t prepare anything, being that this is the first gala he ever had the chance to plan, and he probably isn’t all that interested in décor.
“It’s ok, Matt, if you haven’t prepared anything,” I begin saying before he gets up and clears his throat.
“That’s ok. I did prepare something. The theme I’m proposing is...green,” he says, and confused looks circle the room. The only green I think of as I look at him is the green of his eyes.
“Stay with me. We all know green living and sustainability is a trending topic right now, as it should be. Also, it’s inseparably interconnected with poverty. So, I’m proposing our theme becomes more than that. I’m proposing a green gala,” he shows us pictures of gorgeous spaces decorated with an abundance of planted greens, “both in décor and in its essence. We can decorate the room with plenty of flowers, all planted because cutting them of isn’t eco-friendly, we can have a living wall photo drop, our goodie bags can contain reusable water bottles with the BYC logo, we could have a vegan menu, and so on and so forth.”
I spot Anne, and she has literal heart eyes. Looking around the room, the others aren’t far behind. Nice Guy Matt has them all under his thumb.
“I didn’t go further, since I don’t have experience with these things.” He shrugs.
“Thank you, Matt.” I get back up. “So, what do you guys think? Can we decide on a style today?”
“Umm, I really loved Matt’s idea,” Adrianna, another coworker of ours, says. The room fills with ‘Me, too’ murmurs.
Of course. His idea was great, but the fact they’re eating out of his hand annoys me.
“Raise your hands for Matt’s idea!” All hands eagerly arise.
“I guess that’s settled,” I continue. “The theme for this year’s gala is green.” Excited squeals fill the room. “Next week, we’ll divvy up the smaller tasks, so deal with your regular work and prepare to be busy.” We all know to expect it. Working overtime will become a rule over the next few weeks, but having Matt here is more helpful than I expected.
After the meeting, I deal withmyregular work—posting on the BYC’s social media accounts and organizing Kiara’s PR schedule. This time of year, we try to maximize our media presence so the gala will be a hit event. A lot is riding on its success. The last year’s gala enabled us to hire another employee and implement some new programs for the kids.
Soon, lunch time is done, and it’s time for Matt and me to leave the office. I scarfed down a sandwich at my desk, wanting to deal with as many tasks as possible.
If I’m being honest, I love it. The organizing, the multitasking, crossing off items from my to-do lists. I somehow thrive in the fast-paced environment.
“I can drive today,” I say as we enter the elevator.
“It’s OK. I’ll drive.”
“Fine.” It’s not like I mind watching him grip the steering wheel.
I make a point of stepping out of the elevator first, leaving him an uninterrupted view of my ass.
Done with the Nice Guy routine, I’m hoping to get a glimpse of Matt who fucked me on the conference room desk...and the bar restroom...and the open deck of a yacht.
Damn, public places are a theme for us.
In the car, I slowly cross my left leg over the right, letting the slit of the skirt open up, showing a good piece of my leg. The only sign he noticed it is the twitch in his forearms, but that’s enough for me. The tension grows until we arrive at the venue.
I turn to him in front of the entrance.
“Do I have any lipstick on my teeth?” I show my teeth, running my tongue all over them. He gulps, audibly gulps, and victory blooms in my stomach.
“No, you’re good.”
