Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) (34 page)

Slowly, I stand up. My right leg is asleep and there’s a massive sore spot in my neck from bending to inspect the tiny type on the papers. Still, I’d rather sit in the corner and sort boring-ass documents for another twelve hours than go into that room, because to do the latter is to walk straight into the lion’s den.

The door creaks ominously as I slowly push it open. He’s standing, facing the window, his back to me, and a tingle — from fear? anticipation? — goes down my back. He knows I’m in the room. He’s got to. He doesn’t turn around though. He keeps facing the window, his hands in his pockets, the same as when I walked in his office for the first time the day before. The view through the glass isn’t any better than the one in the outer office, so I don’t know exactly what he’s looking at. There’s nothing but a wall and a golf cart puttering by.

The whole thing is rather dramatic, but perhaps that’s the point.

I hover by the door, one palm on the handle.

“Come in,” he finally says in a voice that’s smoother and deeper than I remember.

I shut the door but don’t enter the room more than a step. Finally, he turns around. I have to force myself to maintain my balance as he takes me in, his eyes traveling up and down my body much as they did the day before. I shouldn’t allow a man to look at me that way, I know it, especially when that man is my boss. But God, I can’t help but like it. I swear I can literally feel his gaze on my body, his eyes gently grazing my skin as they travel up my waist and across my face.

“What do you think of what you saw yesterday?” he asks, staring straight into my eyes.

I force myself to not glance away. What is he looking for here? Weakness? If that’s the case, he’s not going to find it.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice coming out surprisingly strong. I’ll have to remember to give myself a pat on the back later for maintaining such good composure.

I’ve decided to drop Eryk’s advice to get the most out of having something juicy on my boss, and just play dumb, acting like I saw and heard nothing. Perhaps that tactic will not only preserve my job but a bit of both mine and Mr. Mulroney’s pride.

He lightly smirks. “Did you like it?”

I blink heavily. The room seems to be slightly spinning, and I’m not really sure if I’ve heard him correctly or not.

“Did you like it?” he repeats when I don’t answer.

Good God, he’s flat out hitting on me.

I have to admit; it feels kind of good. I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular in high school, and I had the same boyfriend not only for most of those years but for half of college as well. My style is pretty minimal. I hardly ever wear makeup or do anything to my hair other than run a brush through it. In other words, I’m plain. As the bitch at the front desk made perfectly clear yesterday.

Having the attention of someone as attractive as the man in front of me makes me feel almost…
giddy.

The bubble pops a second later when I remember that the man is my boss.

Even though I did like it, no way in hell will I ever admit it. For all I know, he could be baiting me; trying to get me back for almost hitting him with my car. If I fall for his advances, he could accuse
me
of being inappropriate and have every right to show me the door.

I may be easily distracted by dimples and nice teeth, but I’m not stupid.

“No,” I respond simply.

“You’re lying.”

I want to laugh out loud. Not because this man is reading me fairly well, but because this whole conversation is unbelievably pompous.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I respond. “It’s none of my business.”

“I think you’re missing my point.”

His words cause my heart to quicken, and when he takes a slow step towards me, my pulse doubles. He continues to move slowly forward, never taking his eyes off me. He stops a foot away, so close I can feel the heat coming off of him. Cedar and the faintest whiff of leather float towards me, and I have to look up slightly to meet his eyes.

“What happens in your personal life is none of my business,” I press.

He bites his lower lip ever so slightly, and I can’t stop myself from swallowing hard. I know he can probably read the lust that’s written all over me. Heck, my pupils are no doubt dilating at the speed of light. I’ll never admit to it though. Not in a million years. This guy is used to power, used to getting his way, and that really irks me. I don’t like men like that. Men who think they can just take whatever they happen to see and like.

“It can be your business.”

And suddenly that’s it. He truly
is
hitting on me, but I’m no longer flattered the slightest bit. I’ve had enough of the one-liners that he’s spewing in — I’m pretty sure — an attempt to seduce me and make me one of the many girls he probably keeps on call. I cross my arms and stare him down. There’s soft blond stubble growing on his jaw, and a slight cleft in the middle of his chin that I hadn’t noticed before. I hold my ground, my eyes locked onto his.

“I’m here to work. That’s all,” I say. “No disrespect, Mr. Mulroney, but I don’t like to combine my personal life with my work.”

He pauses, slightly pursing his lips, and he seems to be thinking over what I’ve just said. Finally, he slowly nods. “I’m always here in case you’re interested.”

Yes, I’m fucking interested!
My vagina screams. My lady parts are clawing at the zipper in my jeans like a monster trying to break free. An image flashes across my mind… me stretched out across his desk, my shirt pushed up, my pants on the floor, and his face burrowed between my legs.

He might be a player, but I’m willing to bet he knows his way around a woman’s body. A man as handsome as him is usually blessed with experience. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve only been with a few men, and none of them were even close to being on the same floor as Mr. Mulroney when it comes to the looks department.

And it’s been a while — over six months — since someone has explored my own curves and crevices.

“Thank you,” I say, unfolding my arms and giving him a nod. Thanking him kind of feels like a sign of weakness. I really don’t want to express gratitude that I don’t have. I need a transition out of this conversation though. I nod again. “I should get back to work.”

He takes a step back, finally looking away from me. When he speaks again, his voice is sharp. “You do that.”

Asshole,
I want to say. Just because I didn’t accept his advances, he’s going to turn into a class-A jerk. Then again, what can I really expect? I turn around and leave the room, but I already know it’s going to be almost impossible to get any real work done.

*

“Don’t stop,” I moan, my fingers winding through his hair. In response, Mr. Mulroney picks up the pace, driving into me with swift, upward strokes.

I moan, then close my mouth on his neck. Sweat slips onto my tongue, salty and sweet at the same time.

“Sydney,” he gasps, and the sound of my name on his lips sends a tremor through my body that has nothing to do with my impending orgasm.

His bare skin slaps against mine and I feel the sheets underneath my body rumpling up. With each stroke, the pleasure in me builds, more and more, until I think I’ll surely explode.

And then I’m staring at the ceiling. It’s daylight and I’m alone in my room.

“Jesus,” I mutter, pressing my palms against my face. The dream felt so real. My legs are shaking, and there’s a harsh drumming between my thighs. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so turned on. And over what? A dream about my douche bag boss, that’s what.

“Don’t stop on account of me,” someone says.

I whip my hands off my face to see Eryk standing in my doorway. He has the stilettos on again and he has to squat as he shimmies his way into my room.

“Eryk! What the hell are you doing there?”

“Listening to you have a wet dream, apparently. And it’s not my fault if you don’t close your door before you go to sleep at night. What if a rapist breaks in?”

“What?” I mutter.

“What if a rapist were to break in?” he repeats, biting his thumb. “You should close and lock your door.”

I squint at him, thinking if I can see him better, his words will make more sense. “Is that what you do?”

“Yes.”

“What if this rapist gets in through your bedroom?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Why do you think I put my wardrobe in front of the window?”

I rub my eyes, wondering where all the rape talk is coming from. “No one’s going to rape you, Eryk. You look like a Viking. They’d be too afraid of getting stabbed by your sword.”

His face brightens. “That’s not usually what the boys call it, but I like that nickname. I think I’ll go with it.”

I groan and roll over to close my eyes and hug my body pillow close. I just want to go back to sleep. Go back to that place where Mr. Mulroney’s fingers were tracing their way along my hips and his mouth was finding its way to my breasts…

I snap my eyes open. Wait. Hold on. No, that is
not
what I want to be doing.

The bed sinks as Eryk sits down on it. “So did you bang him yet?”

I roll back over. “Cut it out. What do you think?”

He kicks the heels off. “Why not? Hasn’t it been, like, a million years since you’ve had sex?”

“Since when is six months a million years?”

“When you’re twenty-two it is.”

Hm. I can’t say I really disagree with that.

“Are you going to invite your new friends at work to my show?” he asks, referring to his first-ever drag show at Micky’s West Hollywood, a nightclub not far from us.

“I don’t really have friends there yet, but yeah, I’ll invite them. Will you get out of my room now so I can get dressed?”

“Psst. Trust me, I am
not
interested in seeing your titties.”

“Still. Out. Goodbye.”

“Fine, fine.” He puts the heels back on and stands up, nearly falling back onto the bed as he does so. “I’ll leave you to masturbate while you think about your boss.”

“Goodbye,
Eryk.”

He leaves, closing the door behind him.

For a moment I lay still, staring at the wall. I think of my vibrator, tucked away in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe. It’s been weeks since I’ve taken it out. I bite my lip, considering…

“No,” I say out loud. “Wrong, Sydney. Wrong, wrong.”

With a groan, I peek at the bedside clock, then throw the sheets off and roll out of bed. Crystal’s already left for her job at the rec center, which means I might actually be able to snag the bathroom for a shower. All three of our bedrooms are off the main hallway, but you have to walk across the living room to get to the one bathroom. It can be a pain — especially if you have to take a pee in the middle of the night while one of your roommates is on the couch making out with a date.

Eryk sits curled up on the couch eating cereal and watching a morning talk show. I book it into the bathroom and shower as quickly as possible, thinking I might be able to get to work early.

Now that Mr. Mulroney
hasn’t
fired me, I’m going to do everything in my power to prove to him that I belong at the office. It’s not ass kissing. In fact, I like to think of it as
ass kicking.
I’m more than another throw-away assistant.

To save time, I leave my wet hair to dry in the car. Hopping back into my room, I get dressed in leggings and the long green button-up Crystal gave me for Christmas. Eryk’s still on the couch, channel surfing. Working at a restaurant, he runs on a late night schedule.

“Bye.” I wave at him and snatch up my backpack.

His fingers flutter back at me. “Have fun.”

I shoot him a look. “Eryk. Stop.”

He still stares at the television. “I mean it. Geez. What, you never have fun at work?”

I roll my eyes. “Lock the door after me. We don’t want you getting raped.”

He gasps in protest, but I’m already pulling the door closed behind me. My shoes bang against the metal stairs and I jog across the courtyard with the tiny pool no one ever uses.

I parked out front the night before. I toss my backpack in the passenger’s seat and roll the windows down. My fingers tap against the steering wheel while I wait for the traffic to clear enough to pull out. An image from the morning’s dream appears out of nowhere and I bite my lip, thinking of beads of sweat rolling down Mr. Mulroney’s ripped forearms.

Damn, that was a detailed dream.

But it’s not the reason I’m going into work early.

It’s because I want to prove myself — and not because I want Mr. Mulroney to like me! Hell no. If anything, it’s so someone else might take notice of my efforts and get me out of that hellhole of an office.

Stacey is just settling in when I arrive. She sets her purse behind the front desk and yawns into her hand.

“Hi,” I say, using my best isn’t-this-a-great-morning voice.

She grumbles something in response. I keep going, headed for the end of the hall.

The outer office is dark. I reach across the wall, looking for the switches. The lights flicker and then come on, illuminating the desks. I set my backpack against the wall and then just stand there. I don’t really know what to do without Dana around. The last two days she guided me through every task. All there is to do without her is simply wait.

There’s a noise at the door and I turn, expecting one of the other three assistants. My heart does something weird when I see Mr. Mulroney. Dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, he looks completely out of place in the work atmosphere.

His eyes go wide when he sees me. “You’re early.”

“Fifteen minutes.” I bite my bottom lip. I did
not
mean for the answer to come out so snarky.

He nods. “Your hair is different.”

My hand flies up to my head. I left the windows down while driving here, and my hair’s probably a tousled mess. I open my mouth to apologize for my lazy appearance, but he’s speaking again. “It looks good.”

I wait for more. Specifically, the wildly inappropriate remark that’s destined to come next. But it never arrives. Instead, he walks right past me and goes into his office. The door shuts with a sharp click.