Maliciously Obedient (BBW Erotic Romance) (28 page)

Michael Bournham should be pleased, right?

She suppressed a sly smile and then realized she didn't have to; she was alone and let her face spread with a giant grin, the woman in the mirror closer to the Lydia she’d been a few days ago. She missed that Lydia. The go-getter. The one who busted her ass to try to prove herself, not just for the sake of proving herself, but because it was the right thing to do.

Because it was an internal drive that pushed her to new places.

Like threesome dreams.

When he got to the part about Sunshine, Jeremy was laughing. By the time he described Bernie, that man was prostrate on the ground, face-up, like a turtle on meth. The pièce de résistance with Mike describing the feeling of being pressed against the hood of a sprite can, his face smashed in a bum’s urine, stopped Jeremy’s laugh cold.

He looked up and said, “The exact same thing happened to me in Bangkok once.”

“I can’t one up you on anything, can I?”

“You’re about to be a billionaire, so I have to give you that.”

Mike grinned. “Yeah, I am. As long as I get this reality television thing out of the way and then I can focus.” Once again, Jeremy had surprised him in the office, but by now his presence seemed accepted. Matt Jones had a friend, and it gave him some street cred. Made him more human. No connection between Michael Bournham and Jeremy had been detected, so the triable of Mike to Matt to Jeremy wasn't a concern.

“Lydia did that to you? She really bested you?” Jeremy seemed pleased. A little too pleased. There was a puckish quality to Jeremy, an impish, almost childlike attitude that practical jokes, goofy scenarios, and embarrassment were the highest art form. Especially when Mike was the victim. It wasn’t malicious and never mean-spirited – just good clean fun that Jeremy enjoyed. He was a great fan of Judd Apatow movies and the old 90’s film,
Dumb and Dumber
, was for Jeremy, celebrated the way people considered Fellini a master. For him, it was the Farrelly brothers.

As Mike described his slimy, seedy, horrific experience in Detroit, complete with Dom rescuing him, and later stopping at a drugstore so he could buy lice shampoo, Jeremy practically clapped and begged for Mike to describe Sunshine once more.

“Sunshine? Her name is Sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “She was quite a ray of something.”

“And you were arrested because...?”

“That’s the part that I don't understand, but when your face is smashed in a bum's urine by Detroit's finest, you don't ask questions. Dom saved me. Good old Dom.” Mike had sent Dom to rescue Jeremy a few times, mostly from bars in the college zone where Jeremy targeted barely legal women. If there was a Mardi Gras celebration, a gay pride parade celebration – a party of any kind – you’d find Jeremy at the heart of it, the guy drunk and covered in vomit the next day. Sort of a cross between Charlie from
It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia
and Otter from
Animal House
, Jeremy was Mr. Fun to Mike's Mr. Decent.
How in the everloving hell Jeremy managed to pull off a combo of those two mystified Mike.

But he’d been a hard worker – smart, suave, extremely analytical, and just a little bit unpredictably whacked. When they’d cashed out their stock from the sale of the start-up – and who knew writing reviews about local businesses would turn out to be a multi-billion dollar set up? – leaving hundreds of millionaires of the original post-college, lean and mean founding staff, Jeremy had taken to a life of fun while Mike had taken to a life of sticking his nose to the grindstone.

Right now Mike was down to the skullbone while Jeremy’s nose was intact, always on the hunt for pussy.

“So how are you going to...
discipline
Miss Lydia?”

Mike shot him a dark look. “Let’s not go there.”

“Oh, come on. ‘Matt Jones’ has to do something, right?”

“Well, no. Actually, Matt Jones doesn’t. Lydia did her job.” Mike frowned slightly, a musing look, as he thought the whole situation through for a minute.

“You told her to economize and she took you at your word, didn’t she?” Jeremy smiled a little too broadly and nodded a little too hard, the mocking evident and Mike just shook his head.

“The fucking Embassy Sweets, man.”

“Malicious obedience,” Jeremy said, chuckling.

Whoa. Mike hadn't thought of that. “Holy shit, that's exactly what she's doing, isn't it?”

Jeremy nodded, fiddling with his phone, playing Angry Birds on it. “Yep. You get pissed at your company, so you do exactly what you're told. Everything falls apart when you remove judgment and initiative from corporate life.”

“But I've nurtured her initiative!” Mike exploded.

“You've nurtured her libido.”

“What?” Mike nearly screamed.

Jeremy shushed him with hand signals that either meant
be quiet
or
park the 747 at Gate 11
. “That's not a pissed off employee, Mike. That's a woman who feels scorned.”

“Fuck!” He was right. Fighting these feelings for her meant shutting down. To her, it must look like he was an asshole. Furtive encounters in the supply closet and elevator at work – not to mention the nightclub incident – must confuse her. Blowing hot and cold would make anyone upset. The fact that he was turning into a stone wall made him an even bigger asshat.

She was right.

“She saved Bournham Industries quite a bit of money,” Jeremy said, a supercilious tone permeating his words. “The CEO will be pleased.”

“The CEO is not pleased,” Mike said in a hard voice.

“No,” Jeremy wagged his finger in Mike’s face. “Matt Jones is not pleased. Mike Bournham should promote her.”

Mike chuckled. “I’m not sure
promote
is the verb that I want to apply to her.”

“How about
fuck
?” Jeremy said, all humor stripped from his banter. The shift made the room seem colder and Mike cocked his head.

“That goes without saying.”

“I thought so,” Jeremy said, nodding slowly. “So who's going to do it?”

The hair on the back of Mike’s neck stood up. “What are you talking about, Jeremy?” Was this some ploy for Jeremy to come into the office and try to snag Lydia? Had he gone too far in talking about her?

“Well, you know,” Jeremy said, scratching the back of his head, taking his time smacking his lips together, drawing this out until Mike started waving his hand
come on, come on, come on
. “Is it going to be Matt Jones or Mike Bournham? Which one wants her most?”

Mike sighed and closed his eyes.
Oh, fuck
. When he had signed on with the reality television show this was not a scenario that he had considered. He had thought that there might be some awful, violent episode with an employee or a nasty negative argument with someone, or maybe he’d discover that people were embezzling.

Perhaps he’d find out about some lurid love affair among his upper management, or learn that the mafia had infiltrated his procurement department. Of all the scenarios that he had envisioned where things went wrong, falling for one of his administrative assistants hadn’t even been anywhere near the short list. Or the long list.

Any
list.

He
wanted
her, as time passed, more and more. Mke knew that if he let this go on much longer he’d end up
needing
her. Lydia knew him as Matt Jones, her asshole interloping boss. She knew him in an alter ego, as the owner of the company. So, who was it going to be? Two identities were for superheroes and Mike was trying damn hard to become a billionaire.

But he was no batman.

Chapter Eleven

Reluctant to have any contact with him, Lydia avoided Matt all day. No choice now, though; an email from a big client needed Matt's immediate attention, and it was a simple meeting schedule issue she needed to take care of. One quick question and she could clear this out and go home. She and Matt had worked way too late wrapping up a huge deal for this client, and it was 9:40 p.m. The office was deserted. One last question and she could go home and eat ice cream while watching
Portlandia
.

Rapping on the door twice, she barged in without waiting for him to say anything.

And walked into her threesome dream.

Completely unhinged for a few seconds, she gaped openly at Matt and Jeremy, who was sitting on Matt's couch, relaxed and fluid, like a long, loose, highly-fuckable sex machine ready for this to become one of those porny scenes from a really bad online sex video.

Oh, my God, she was losing her mind.

Jeremy started humming in the silence. Matt glared at him after a few seconds, giving Lydia something to attach to. What was Jeremy humming?

His head bouncing to and fro, Jeremy continued his little song, smiling at Matt.

He was humming
You Are My Sunshine
.

“Did you interrupt us for fun, or is there some work purpose, Lydia?” Matt asked, irritated and slapping Jeremy on the shoulder, which caused him to stop mid-bar and grin madly at Lydia.

Her face flushed as she reconciled the humor and the anger, struggling for balance. How rude! And of all the days to feel so frumpy and off-kilter, the thirteen-hour day beating her senseless and wearing her down. Vulnerable and raw, being treated like his little administrative slave was about as appealing as fetching Dave's double soy latte.

Jeremy wore a simple red t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. Not exactly corporate wear, while Matt seemed ready to take on the executive suite with a fine suit about three levels – no, make it six – above his pay grade. Only the lack of a tie made it look “business casual.”

Ish.

Careful attention to their bodies, to detail, was her saving grace in keeping her temper in check. “The MacMillan account needs to know specifics for the next in-person meeting,” she answered, seething. Jeremy noticed the change and stood, eyes alarmed, and headed toward the door.

“I'll catch you later,” he said to Matt, then tipped his head at Lydia with a nod goodbye.

She didn't return it, eyes zeroed in on Matt. Tapping her toe, she splayed her palms up, a gesture of extreme impatience.

Squaring his shoulder, he planted his hands on his hips and said, “Yes?” as he shook his head, a jerk-like quality that made her whole body roil in fury.

“The MacMillan meeting? When do you want me to schedule it? They're asking and need to make travel arrangements.”

“Do you really need to consult me for every silly little detail like this? Isn't it
your
job?”

Rolling her tongue in her mouth, she imitated his stance, her hands on her hips now, defiant. “I'm just doing exactly what you say,” she replied, matching his tone. “Sir,” she spat out.

“This whole malicious obedience schtick isn't going to work, you know.” Confusion clouded her features. She didn't know what he was talking about.

“Malicious obedience?”

He washed his face with his hands, then ran them through his hair, keeping his arms stretched above his head, showing off those perfect arms.
Rein it in, Lydia
, she warned herself.
Not now.

Not here.

“You plan only to follow orders, right?”

She smirked.

“Go tell MacMillan we'll meet on August 20.”

Spinning on her heel, she left the room. He followed, and then in a low, clear voice, “And kiss my ass.”

Time stood still. The universe imploded. Her entire body was a supernova.

Because he had just given a direct order.

And she needed to maliciously obey it.

Her breath poured out of her in heaving gasps, the room so small it was starting to feel claustrophobic, and all she could feel was the rush of blood through her ears, her heart pounding, and how much she wanted to kiss him, touch him, be with him right now.

Being hurt like this, having him put up a wall and keep her firmly behind it, was blindingly stupid. It made absolutely no sense, and she wished she'd stayed so late. Glowing light from the naked bulbs high in the ceiling made him seem more menacing than he was, hands on his hips, jaw tight and face a mask of granite.

Some part of him seemed to thaw as his mouth turned up a half-grin, not a smile, but a wry, angry look, cold and harsh.

Without thinking, she walked back, bent down and did it, reaching around him, touching his waist as if she had the right to access his body at will, kissing his butt with a big, loud “Mwah!” Standing, she glared at him, arms crossed, daring him to respond. Blinking steadily, he worked to avoid a reaction; she could see his struggle and wanted to laugh.

Ignore me now
, she thought.

Their breathing filled the room. Anger dominated. Matt should have been the one in power, but instead her hurt, his restraint, and their – what? Misunderstanding? – hung out and stayed for a while, managing this internal state of affairs.

“Do as I say, “ she mocked, pretending to use his voice, co-opting his own words from the other day. “Fine. I kissed it.” Cocking one shoulder, she stared him down. A luxurious, sinful heat made its way slowly from her lips to her chest, spreading down her torso and lighting her clit on fire, the throbbing nearly audible in this tiny, dim space. His office wasn't her idea of romantic. This would have to do for a showdown, her skin nearly begging him to touch it, her eyes hooded and, she hoped, holding back her yearning.