Enjoy the sneak preview anyway.
My phone buzzes, and even though it’s in my purse, in a desk drawer, I can hear it. Declan and Soames has a very strict no phones policy for its secretaries, so I ignore it.
It buzzes again. And again. And again.
I glance behind myself at the door to Mr. Declan’s office. It’s only my second week working here, and I don’t want to break the rules already, but he’s had the door closed all morning. It’ll be fine if I check my phone for thirty seconds, just to make sure it’s not someone telling me that my apartment is on fire, and then I’ll turn it off.
Quickly, I reach down and pull my phone out of my bag. It buzzes again, the screen lighting up, and I realize I have one billion texts from my best friend, Hayden.
Hayden: Ugh, how’s your morning? You as bad as me?
Hayden: I feel like these fashion bitches are stomping on my brain with spike heels.
Hayden: You there? Are you at work already?
Hayden: With your hot boss? 😀
Hayden: Ooh, maybe you already got him to bend you over the desk like you said you wanted. You work fast, girl. Damn.
Hayden: You can tell me about it over drinks next week.
All the texts are like that — Hayden teasing me about having a crush on my boss. We met for happy hour last night to celebrate my new job, but she’s a bad influence, and we stayed out until one in the morning on a weeknight.
I might have gotten really drunk. I might have told her that I have a thing for my new boss, Mr. Declan, who’s fifteen years my senior, very stern, and sexy as hell. I might have told her that every time I’m in his office, all I can think about is him bending me over his desk, pushing my skirt up and—
“Sloane,” a voice says, and I freeze. I’m still bent over at my desk, drawer out, phone in hand.
He’s right behind me, his tall, powerful frame looming over me, still bent over, desk drawer out. I drop the phone like it’s on fire and sit up straight, turning bright red as I look him in the eye.
Please, God, don’t let him have seen those texts. Please.
“Yes, Mr. Declan?” I say, my stomach in knots.
“Could I see you for a moment?” he asks, his voice quietly powerful. In control.
“Of course,” I say, and follow him into his office.
I’m wearing a tight pencil skirt and sky-high heels, because when I woke up this morning, it seemed like a good idea. I was hungover, and I’d just woken up from a dream that Mr. Declan had pushed me against the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office, then slowly stripped me where practically all of Manhattan could see.
I have to stop picking out what I’m going to wear when I’m too horny to see straight, I think, my ass swishing side-to-side as I follow my boss into his office.
“Close the door,” he says, his low, commanding voice quietly filling the space. I do it, then turn toward him as he sits in the leather executive chair behind his wide mahogany desk, leaning back.
I fold my hands in front of me and force myself to focus, because I’m at work, and even if most of my fantasies start exactly this way, I need to be thinking about advertising copy right now, not my boss pulling me onto his lap, the thick, hard pole of his erection rubbing against me…
Shit, I’m dripping wet again, my tiny thong soaked, just from standing in front of him.
“We have a cell phone policy for assistants,” Mr. Declan says, his gray eyes looking dead into mine.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m almost certain he can hear it, and it’s not the only thing pounding.
“Yes, I know, I’m sorry, I just got a couple texts and realized I hadn’t turned it off this morning. It won’t happen again,” I say, all the words spilling out in one breath.
He nods, still holding my gaze.
“Good,” he says, and his eyes soften, just a bit. “I just wanted to remind you.”
I turn bright pink.
I’ve been a bad, bad girl, I think, the thought coming to me totally unbidden.
I blush harder.
“I called you in here because we’ve just won a very big project with a very tight deadline,” he says.
I blink in surprise.
“The Daily Grind is going to be launching a sit-down restaurant chain, and they’ve asked us to put in a bid for their first major advertising campaign,” he says. “They would be an enormous client, and we could stand to do very well, but they want a full mock-up by close of business Friday for their print ads.”
I nod, the throb in my pussy finally lessening. At least talking about advertising for coffee chains doesn’t turn me on.
“I’m going to need you to do quite a bit of overtime,” he says.
The throb starts again, and I don’t respond for a moment.
Just the two of us, here, in the office, late at night, I think. Make up some obligation that keeps you from staying. Tell him that your grandmother is dying, or your sister is having a baby, or something.
“I’d be happy to do it,” I say.
Mr. Declan just nods.
“Set up a meeting for me with the head of copywriting and the head of the art department for this afternoon. Whatever they have going on now, they can reschedule. Tell their assistants it’s urgent, and that this is coming directly from me, but don’t tell them why. I hate starting rumors,” he says, the commanding tone back in his voice.
“And please cancel all of my dinner engagements for this week. I believe there’s one tonight and one Wednesday.”
“Those can stay for now.”
“Anything else, Mr. Declan?” I ask.
He gives me a long, slow look, and even though his eyes don’t leave mine I feel like he’s raking his eyes over my body, heat bubbling through me as I imagine him saying come over here, Sloane.
I glance at his lap, just for half a moment. Maybe it’s the way his pants lay, but I swear I see the outline of his cock, stiff against the expensive material.
“Not right now,” he says, his voice soft, nearly a growl.
My juices slide down my inner thigh, and I clench my legs together, thankful that this skirt goes to my knees.
“I’ll get that done,” I say, my voice nearly trembling, and I open the door to the rest of the open-plan office.
“Sloane,” he says, my heart thumping in my chest.
Nothing is going to happen now, not with the door open, I think.
I turn. He’s still at his desk, leaning forward now, gray eyes deadly serious.
“Yes?” I ask.
“You’re off to an excellent start here,” he says, his voice so low I practically feel it vibrating through the floor. “Keep it up and you could go far.”
My toes clench in my uncomfortable shoes.
“Thank you,” I say, and walk out of his office, hips swaying in my tight skirt.