Duncan - The Deal (The Cocky Smiling O Series #1) (2 page)

T
he dryer
in the bathroom fades the damp spot on my blouse. I don't bother with the one on my panties. At least the coffee stain is gone.

Nevertheless, with each step toward my desk, my fury builds. I'm not against a good orgasm as a great way to start the day, but fuck. Do it in bed. Have it brought on by long, thick masculine fingers or better yet, a hard, large cock.

That's the way to start the day.

Not listening to your boss get off with some office slut after dealing with a telephone conversation with your mother.

I'm HR. Sex in bathrooms is frowned upon. Shit! It's wrong. It's an offense that can result in termination. Not that I can fire one of the owners. But damn, the man needs to keep it in his pants.

I've heard the rumors. Everyone has. That doesn't mean I want to hear his moans or growls.

Fuck!

That growl was so hot.

But seriously. Who was she? That woman could sue his ass, this company—my job is on the line.

I sit at my desk and finally take a drink of my coffee.

"Miss Jones."

My breathing stops as I look up from the cup in my hand toward the entrance to my cubicle. Standing there, all sexy and perhaps slightly perturbed is Duncan Willis.

His shimmering green eyes move unashamedly down my body leaving a trail of smoldering flames. Each inch that his gaze lowers disperses the fire that his growl ignited in the bathroom. As seconds tick, I'm ready to combust.

It's not until his eyes reach my shoes that his grin broadens. "Nice shoes, Miss Jones. I thought I noticed them this morning in the coffee shop."

My shoes. He noticed them? Why did I wear red? Nude or blue...so many options. How many women have on red pumps? Undoubtedly, he not only saw them in the coffee shop, but in the bathroom.

"Mr. Willis, it's nice of you to notice my attire."

"You're very noticeable."

As he turns to walk away, I remember to take a breath. One more second and I would have passed out and probably spilled my coffee again. Why not? After the way my morning has begun, anything is possible.

I turn back to my desk and indignation builds.

He knows I know.

He wants me to know that he knows.

Well, Duncan Willis may be my boss, but he hired me for a job.

Any other employee and I would say something. I
am
bound to say something.

Steeling my shoulders, I begin to move my desk chair, when out of the corner of my eye, I see the screen of my phone light up. In the corner is a little red number—six.

Letting out an exaggerated breath, I swipe the screen.

Six text messages.

MOTHER: What Happened?

I hung up on you!

MOTHER: I can't reach you.

No shit. That's the point
.

MOTHER: Are you there?

My head moves back and forth. She's not great at taking a hint.

MOTHER: Call me back.

Not until I figure this out.

MOTHER: What size tux does Timothy wear? Kurt's friend from California is sick. I said your boyfriend would be happy to fill in. You know how excited everyone is that you're dating.

What the actual fuck?

MOTHER: Call me.

"Fuck!" The word slips out as I bang my head on the top of my desk.

Someone make this all go away!

My chest expands, my breasts pushing against my blouse as I stand. The idea I just got is ludicrous, asinine, and possibly the worst one I've ever had. But other than the possibility of losing my job—oh, and my dignity—it just might work.

It's now or never.

With more determination than I thought possible, I walk toward Duncan Willis's office. The journey takes longer than ever before. In reality, it's only on the other side of the large room housing mine and seven other cubicles and down one hallway.

Duncan's office is separated from his assistant's by a large wall of glass. I know from experience that a switch can be thrown that changes the glass from clear to opaque. In the past when we've discussed hires and fires, he's hit the magical button to keep his office private. Currently the wall is clear, and through the glass I see my boss, sitting at his desk, his green eyes squinting as he concentrates on whatever is on his computer's screen.

I walk toward his assistant's desk and half-smile. Since it was a woman I heard in that bathroom, I know the person with Mr. Willis earlier today wasn't his assistant, Peter. Besides, if he and his assistant wanted to go at it, they wouldn't need to use the company bathroom. They could just do it back here behind the opaque window. It's been the location of more than a few of my fantasies. Besides, I'm relatively sure that Peter isn't Duncan Willis's type, though Duncan may be Peter's.

"Peter, I need to speak to Mr. Willis."

He looks up from his computer. "Hi, Kimbra. Don't tell me you're firing people again."

My eyes widen. "The day is young."

"Oh, for such a pretty, young thing, you sure can be scary."

I push my shoulders back, hoping he's right. "Mr. Willis?"

Peter tilts his head toward the glass. "Go on in. He just got here. I doubt he's busy. But I warn you, something has him a little ticked this morning."

Just got here?
Ticked?
Thirty minutes ago he was on the first floor. Maybe banging some office slut in the bathroom threw off his schedule. Or maybe he's upset that it was interrupted.

Opening the door, I clear my throat. "Mr. Willis."

F
uck
!
This day just got better, not that I am going to let Miss Jones know that, not yet.

My cheeks rise and lips thin as I scan her sumptuous body from head to toe.

Kimbra Jones is a vision, one I never expected to walk into my office. Not after this morning. Her auburn hair is piled on her head exposing her long neck and the red necklace moves with each of her breaths. It matches her fucking red shoes perfectly. My cock twitches as I imagine fucking her while she wears those shoes, maybe those and nothing else.

In her defense, she doesn't wear overly revealing clothes, but damn, I think that makes her all that more enticing. With a body like Kimbra's, she could be in a damn paper sack and it would be impossible not to notice her curves. The way her ass sways in that tight skirt and her tits, her gorgeous round, big tits. They're almost too perfect. Since she entered our employment two years ago, I've given those tits a lot of thought, and my decision is they're real. I know women who've paid a fortune for tits like those. OK. I've paid a lot of money for women to have tits like those, but there's something about fake boobs—something I don't see in Kimbra's.

"Mr. Willis," she repeats.

As her voice echoes through my office, it takes all my willpower to stay seated and not push the button to cloud the glass and pull her close. It wasn't the sound of her shoes that told me someone was in the bathroom earlier—I'd heard the whimper, the perfect little whimper.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't get off on someone listening, on someone touching herself as she listened. But never in a million years did I imagine it would be Kimbra Jones. I didn't see the shoes until it was too late.

I'd much rather have my dick in Kimbra's mouth than the woman from accounting. Actually, she never got it in her mouth. She was too busy rubbing herself all over me, trying to turn me on. She's been throwing herself at me for a while, and after seeing Kimbra this morning in the coffee shop, I decided relief was in order.

"Yes, Miss Jones."

Kimbra reaches for the door and pulls it shut. Taking two more steps toward me she says, "We need to discuss a company policy infraction that occurred this morning."

I lift my brow. "I see. Did you witness this infraction or was a report made?"

She clears her throat. "I-I witnessed it."

I stand, hoping my erection keeps itself hidden, and straighten my suit coat. Another layer of covering is always warranted. Keeping her bright blue eyes locked on mine, I narrow the distance between us. "This infraction, can you describe it?"

What the fuck am I doing?

My business partner, Michael Buchanan, has been lecturing me since we were in college together. I can't help that he's married and tied down to one woman. I'm not. Besides, I don't look for them. They throw themselves at me or walk into my office of their own free will.

It just so happens that the pretty little thing in front of me has never shown that kind of interest and to be honest, it's bothered me. I've given her more attention than half the sluts who spread their legs and never once has she responded.

Kimbra walking in here now is like a fucking birthday present and even though my birthday isn't for another four months, it would be a waste not to accept my gift.

"I-it was fraternization," she says.

"Really?" I ask. "We have a friendly work environment here, Miss Jones. We encourage our employees to get along."

Her tits heave as she takes a deep breath. "Sir."

My cock twitches at the word. I imagine her calling me that, on her knees, naked...

"I'm not discussing friendly conversation near the water cooler," she explains, interrupting my thoughts.

Amused, I lean back against my desk. "What
exactly
are you discussing?"

Her cheeks flush. "Sex."

"Oh, sex. Well, what happens away from the office—"

"Not away from the office," she interrupts. "In the office. In the bathroom."

"Sex? Are we discussing unwanted advances? Did someone force his- or herself upon another?" Little does she know, that is what happened. Granted, I wasn't exactly fighting her off, but it was her advance.

"I-I don't think it was unwanted."

"And you know this how?"

Kimbra's hands come down, slapping the sides of her hips before she turns in a small circle, showing me all her curves, her ass to her tits. Once she completes the turn, her blue eyes narrow. "Mr. Willis, you know that I know. You know I was there. You saw my shoes."

My grin broadens. "Only after I heard you. Tell me, did you cum?"

All the color drains from her face. It happens so fast, I worry that she may faint. And then, it's back. Red. Flaming red. Brighter than her shoes—cherry red.

"Mr. Willis, I am here to say that what happened was inappropriate. What I witnessed
is
inappropriate. What you just said is—"

"Inappropriate," I offer. "Yes, it is. Perhaps HR should fire me."

"You know I can't..."

"Then what is this about?"

"I-I like this company. I like my job. I don't want you or anyone to screw it up."

"Screw?" My brows rise.

Momentarily, she purses her lips. "I'm here as a representative of the human resources department to warn you..."

My head tilts to the side. She's warning me? This little fireball is warning me, and I fucking love it.

"...will make you a deal."

I'd missed some of what she'd said, but the last part has me intrigued. Pushing off the desk, I hit the button on the window, take another step closer, and then one more. "What kind of deal?"

As Kimbra inhales, I imagine taking one more step and feeling the brush of her tits against my chest.

At that moment, her resolve evaporates. "Never mind. It was stupid." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

I reach out and grab her elbow. "Miss Jones, you're right. What you witnessed was inappropriate. We should have made sure we were alone."

She grimaces.

"We shouldn't have done it," I correct. "Michael wouldn't be pleased if this report was made to him. It's not like he could fire me either, but you're right. I was wrong."

Her eyes widened. "Then I'm glad—"

"What deal did you have in mind? What deal can be made to keep this just between the two of us?" Hell, I'll probably tell Michael anyway. I'll wait until we are three or four beers into a ballgame, but I'll tell him. Right now, I want to hear what Kimbra is thinking.

"I need a plus-one for a wedding."

My back straightens. What the fuck did I just hear?

"Miss Jones, are you asking me on a date?"

"No," she answers too fast. "I'm blackmailing you. Well, it's not really blackmailing...it's more of a quid pro quo. And it's not really a date. It's a weekend. A deal for a weekend from hell."

I work diligently to keep my lips from gaping open. "Blackmail? Deal? A weekend wedding from hell?"

She nods.

"I'm intrigued. Will we travel somewhere?"

"Indiana. It's where I'm from. It's my cousin's wedding. I forgot about it or blocked it out. But now it's this weekend. My mother RSVPe'd for two. I was dating...He...well, now I'm not. I can't go home without a date. I'm always the one without a date. It'll just be for this weekend, which, by the way, needs to start Thursday and...well, not end until Monday. So I need time off. And...oh...there's this thing about being in the wedding."

She shakes her head.

I stare at the lips, her red, full lips that are the same color as her necklace and shoes. Her words continue to spew faster than I can comprehend.

"But I think I can get you out of that." She exhales. "That's it. You do this with me and I'll never mention what I heard. We can forget it ever happened. Unless...unless," she adds, "you're involved, like, with whoever that was."

My expression of astonishment is replaced by amusement. Involved? I don't even know that woman's name. "No. I'm not involved. So tell me, Kimbra"—I like using her first name—"how long have we been dating?"