Annoyed at the lack of answers, I flip through the rest of the pages and snap the folder closed.
What the papers can’t tell me, I’ll learn from Brook.I’ll pull the answers from her one by one, if I must.For now, I console myself with the knowledge that she’s under my control.As long as she remains in my sphere, I can ensure she ends up writhing in pleasure underneath me.
I shove the folder in my desk drawer and settle in my chair.For a few hours, I focus on the most pressing matters, priding myself in checking her whereabouts only between tasks.Every time I glance toward the screen, she’s in a different part of the office.All morning long, my assistant and secretary keep her on her feet, ensuring she knows her way around the entire executive floor as they task her with fetching paperwork, sorting files, and making copies.When I finish signing the stack of documents on the corner of my desk, I toss my pen onto the gleaming surface and rise from my chair.I take a water bottle from my personal mini fridge and down half on my way back to my desk.
Worms wriggle in my gut when I check on my little rabbit.With her chair crowding his and their bodies an inch apart, Mr.Brunswick and Ms.Simons lean over his desk to study his computer.He points to his screen as he speaks.When he reaches for his mouse, his arm brushes against hers.She leans back, but not before his elbow nudges her breast.
Red hazes my vision.
I guzzle the rest of my water, but the icy liquid does nothing to cool my rage.When I turn back to the monitor, they stare at each other as though at a crossroads.My fury turns white-hot when she gives him her entire attention, leans forward again, and points to the screen.
My little rabbit is openly flirting with my right-hand man a few feet outside my office doors.She has no shame.
Murderous rage clouds my vision.I crush the empty water bottle in my fist and toss it in the trash bin as I stalk to the doors.
I swing them wide and crash into a soft, feminine body.I instinctually grab her to stop her rebound, but I recoil at the thick perfume and cloying blonde hair.Ms.Lynn’s exaggerated gasp and shriek as she grabs for my shoulders cools my ardor.I grit my teeth and lower my hands at my sides while she presses her front against mine.
“I’m so sorry, Mr.Ricco!”
Her breathy apology ghosts over my chin and curdles my stomach.She doesn’t step back.I clench my hands into fists and fight the urge to shove her away.
When she finally shuffles backward, I ignore her interested glance at my chest and adjust my suit front.
“Why were you at my door?”I ask.
“Oh, right.Excuse me, I’m a little flustered,” she giggles.
When she sends a furtive glance over her shoulder at the duo in the glass office, discomfort arrows down my back, but with the interruption resolved, Mr.Brunswick resumes his lesson.
“The marketing department sent their reports early, so I printed a copy for you,” Ms.Lynn says.
I have never required printed marketing reports.In fact, I prefer digital reports wherever possible, and I never review them until the afternoon, so her gesture is useless.
When she thrusts a stack of papers and her breasts at me, I slip my hands into my pockets.
“Ensure those are properly shredded before your lunch break.Don’t waste paper in the future.”
My patience wanes as she bats her fake lashes at me.When I don’t respond, she drops her arms and pouts as she says, “Yes, sir,” and walks away.
I check my watch.
“Mr.Brunswick,” I manage in a cool tone.
He looks up from his computer.
“Yes, Mr.Ricco?”he responds.
“Have lunch delivered to my office.You’ll join me,” I instruct.
“Of course, sir.”
I shift my gaze to my little rabbit.
“Ms.Simons, this is an office.Please maintain a professional distance from your male colleagues,” I warn.
She has the audacity to raise an eyebrow in challenge and glance toward the reception area before responding in a dry tone, “Of course, Mr.Ricco.”
Afraid I’ll cross too many lines if I stay in the same room with her, I retreat into my office and chug another bottle of water before closing myself into my private bathroom.
