The Boss's Orders: Alpha Male Billionaire Office Romance

C
opyright
© 2016 by Cat Carmine

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

“
D
o
you think we’ll lose our jobs?”

My coworker Kelly asks me this as she leans over my desk. We look at the memo on my screen, the one that just an hour ago was sent to every employee at Prescott & Bailey, where we work.

“I don’t know yet.” I fiddle nervously with my pen. Kelly and a couple of the other secretaries are all huddled with me at the reception desk. I’m silently praying that none of the senior partners walk by and catch us gossiping. Of course, they’d know right away what we were talking about. It’s all
anyone
is talking about at the office today.

Merger. Hostile takeover. Redundancies. Those are the words on everyone’s lips.

People have been coming by my desk to gossip pretty much non-stop since the memo went out. They think because I sit at the reception desk, I know what’s going on around here. The truth is, I’m just as much in the dark as everyone else is. All I know is what was in that memo, which is that effective immediately, we would no longer be known as Prescott & Bailey. We were now part of Godrich and Associates. Our jobs were safe for the moment but the implication was clear — that might not remain the case.

To say I’m nervous would be an understatement. I’ve been with Prescott & Bailey for less than six months, and I spent more time than that on the job hunt. I thought graduating with a business degree was going to mean I’d land a cushy job straight out of college, but it hasn’t worked out that way at all. Every time I think about it, I want to kick myself — if it was all going to be for nothing, I should have just got the art history degree like I wanted, and never mind trying to make the practical decision by studying business. At least then I’d be able to spout off clever art facts while being broke and underemployed.

And sure, working the reception desk as at an acquisitions firm might not be my dream job, but I’ll take underemployed over unemployed any day. I can’t afford to be unemployed again. Before I got this job I was on the verge of being evicted, and my two roommates still shoot eye daggers at me every time I walk into the room. There’s no way they’re going to put up with any more excuses and late rent checks.

Yet as worried as I am for me, I’m more worried for some of the other people who work here. Kelly, for instance, who has four kids and a husband who got laid off from an engineering job three months ago.

“What does ‘hostile takeover’ mean?” Kelly asks. She’s biting her lip and I can see the beads of sweat on her forehead. She’s already texted her husband, who told her not to panic yet, but I can tell she’s doing exactly that.

I shake my head. “I don’t really know. Maybe it’s not all that bad.” I don’t say what I’m really thinking, which is that it can’t be all that
good
if it has the word
hostile
right in the name.

The memo didn’t mention the hostile takeover part of the deal, of course, but a quick Google search turned up that little tidbit pretty easily. Financial papers are salivating over the news. Apparently this is a big deal in some circles.

That’s why no one here is feeling safe. Especially not me, a lowly office admin. I’m sure Godrich and Associates already has a full stable of highly capable support staff. What are the odds that my job is going to survive all of this?

You’d think that would have motivated me to work hard and keep my nose down, but it’s having just the opposite effect. As soon as Kelly and the other ladies leave my desk, I drop the pen I’ve been anxiously gnawing on and hop back on the internet to Google the shit out of Godrich and Associates.

And my new boss, William Godrich.

None of it’s pretty.

From the sounds of it, William Godrich is a real bastard. The
Financial Times
doesn’t call him that, of course. They use words like ‘
ruthless
’, ‘
brilliant
’, ‘
strategic
’ and ‘
cunning
’. But you only have to work in the corporate world for five hot minutes to learn that those are all code for ‘
heartless bastard
’ — the kind of person who’s willing to not only screw the competition, but to step all over his own staff if it means cutting a finer profit.

Of course, the official profiles I find online only tell one half of the story. Don’t they always? They all talk about his meteoric rise in financial acquisitions. He’d built Godrich and Associates from the ground up and today he was considered one of the top fifty most powerful men in America.

But I click deeper into the search results and find message boards that tell the other side of the story. Ex-employees and competitors alike all rant about his arrogance, his unpredictability, his bizarre rules.

They also hint at something else, though none come right out and say it: William Godrich has a kinky side.

Hmm, now that’s interesting. I tuck my long blond hair behind my ear, and look around to make sure no one’s coming into the reception area. I troll forum after forum, looking for hints as to what this man is all about. One former secretary who claimed he forbade her from wearing panties. Another who says he encouraged her to masturbate at the office. An associate who said he threw her up against a wall and propositioned her after a client dinner.

Reading these illicit little details makes me squirm in my seat. Everyone I know in real life is so straight laced (well, at least as far as I know) so I can’t help but be curious about a man with such predilections. I wonder about what other things he gets up to … what stories
haven’t
made it to the internet…

I click over into Google Images to see just what this kinky pervert looks like. I’m imagining a dirty old uncle type, maybe with a moustache. Definitely a bad combover. The kind of guy who would host swingers parties and invite your parents.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

To my surprise, he’s absolutely gorgeous. He’s younger than I expect, maybe mid thirties, with dark blonde hair that he wears combed back and to the side, like a 1950s crooner. Clean shaven, with a jaw sharp enough to cut diamonds. Lips that you just want to take between your teeth and tug. And in every photo, the same cocky, arrogant smirk.

Damn, he’s hot.

I click through picture after picture, drooling over his chiselled jaw and the way he wears a suit.

Claire!
I chide myself. Remember that this man holds your future in his hands.

And it doesn’t sound like he likes to play nice.

I know the best strategy for me is just to keep my head down, stay under his radar and pray that my job survives this merger. And that’s fully what I intend to do.

Until the elevator doors ping open, and in walks William Godrich.

Damn. Damn damn damn.

He’s even better looking in person. I’m glad I looked him up on Google and know what he looks like because otherwise I might have had no idea this was him.

As it is, I plaster on my best receptionist smile.

“Welcome, Mr. Godrich.”

He doesn’t answer me. He’s looking around the reception area. The expression on his face is one of pure disgust.

Well, that’s not very reassuring.

He’s got an entourage of people with him, all in stiff suits. Most are looking down at their smartphones and one scribbles furiously onto a notepad as he surveys our office area.

I refuse to let my nerves get to me.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Mr. Godrich finally deigns to look at me. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it or not, but his look of disdain seems to lessen by just a hair when he looks at me. I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.

“I’m Claire,” I tell him. “Can I call someone for you?” I’m already picking up the receiver on the phone.

He comes over to my desk and rests his hands on the ledge.

“Claire, is it?”

I squeak out a yes.

“Claire, I just bought this company. I don’t need anyone’s permission to go anywhere.” He sneers at me. “This is
my
house now.”

“Yes, sir.” My voice is shaking as I hang up the phone.

But it’s not just from fear — being this close to him is sending serious shivers down my spine. I’m shocked to realize I’m actually a little turned on right now. I can feel my thong dampening under the dress. Something about his tone — about his words.
This is my house now.
I can almost imagine those words being directed right at me, and with a much dirtier intention.

Claire!
I chastise myself again. This is your future boss. Pull yourself together.

“Yes, sir,” I say again, embarrassed by how high-pitched my voice sounds. “You can do whatever you please.” It comes out sounding more suggestive than I mean it to, and my whole body flushes with embarrassment. But Mr. Godrich only smirks at me.

Damn, that smirk. Those lips…what I wouldn’t give to have them all over me.

Claire!
Seriously. Now I’m getting really flustered.

I’m relieved when he finally leaves the office area, but I’m so, um, distracted that I can barely concentrate on the work I’m supposed to be doing. I turn on my little desk fan and point it straight at my face, trying to cool down the hot flush that’s simmering beneath my skin.

I keep thinking about the secretary who claimed he told her not to wear panties to work. I think about what I would do if he asked me that. I imagine what it would feel like to be sitting here at reception without any panties on under my skirt. The thought only makes me squirm.

Then I think about the woman who said he wanted her to masturbate at the office.

What a thought.

Masturbating at work. Imagine … just being so turned on that you had to slip away, find an empty office, let your hand wander up your thigh…

I squirm again in my leather seat but that makes me more aware of the way my pussy is aching beneath my skirt. I try crossing my legs and squeezing them together but that only adds to the tension.

I try to force myself to go back to the spreadsheet I’ve been working on, but my eyes are crossing before I even look at the screen.

I’m never going to get any work done like this. All of this nonsense with Godrich and Associates — and with William Godrich — has got me all riled up.

I debate going to the vending machine for a Snickers bar, but for once, it isn’t sugar I’m craving. It’s release.

I shake my head. I’m already having crazy thoughts. It must be the stress of the merger.

And yet … is it so crazy? With the merger, it’s more important than ever that I make a good impression on my new employer. If I could just deal with this then I’d be able to concentrate again. And for some reason, reading about William’s secretary makes the idea of doing … that … at the office not seem so shocking.

In fact, it seems kind of hot.

I bite my lip. Do I dare? At work? I’ve never even considered doing anything so, well, naughty before — but something about William Godrich has thrown me into some kind of wild frenzy this morning.

It must be the stress of everything that’s going on.

I look around reception. No is around and none of the senior partners are expecting any clients for the next little while, so I could just slip away for a few minutes …

No, Claire. Are you crazy?

But then I think about those lips. That smouldering gaze.

You’re in my house now.

Fuck it.

I put the ‘
back in five minutes
’ sign up on the front of my desk and slip into the washroom.

Thankfully there’s no one else in there. I go into a stall, lock the door behind me, and before I can even consider the insanity of what I’m doing, I slide my hand up under my pencil skirt. I can’t help it. Thinking about him just makes me feel so naughty. Mr. Godrich. Those lips. Those eyes. The muscles that were so clearly evident under his suit jacket. Everything about him makes me want to do the most deliciously dirty things.

“This is my house now.”

“Yes, sir.”

A part of my brain is appalled by what I’m doing, but the rest of me is desperate for the release. My fingers slip through my folds. I’m soaking wet, and getting wetter by the second. Oh, God, this is so bad —yet I can’t stop. I circle my clit, moaning as I imagine his lips on my pussy, and all the other very dirty things I would let him do to me. That he might ask me to do.

When I come I moan again, trying to keep as quiet as I can. But the orgasm rocks through me, shattering me, and I know I’m louder than I should be. I just pray there was no one around to hear me.

When I’m done, I feel a bit better but not as much as I had hoped. I also feel slightly horrified with myself — did I seriously just do that? In the ladies’ bathroom?

But at least it’s taken the finest edge off of things, and I’ll be able to get back to work. I wash my hands and then slip quietly out of the bathroom.

Only to my dismay, there’s Mr. Godrich again, with all of his associates, standing right outside the bathroom.

“Claire,” he says.

My whole body flushes with shame. Oh my God. What did they hear? Hopefully nothing. I wasn’t that loud, right? Oh my God. Why the fuck did I do that? What was I thinking?

I can’t read the expression on his face. He is a complete statue, carved of beautiful white marble.

“Mr. Godrich,” I say, nervously. “Sir.”

“I hope we’ll be seeing you again soon, Claire.”

“Yes, sir.”

His lip twitches, just the tiniest bit, into what I think is a smile.