Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(13)

“Beau, hi,” I stammer, readjusting the bags cutting off the circulation to my hands.

“Hey, Charlie,” he says very unenthusiastically. “Uh, this is Ella.”

I give her an awkward wave.

“You did some shopping,” he says, and I look down to notice the huge lingerie bag in front.

“Yeah, well, I got a new job,” I say proudly. You’re damn right I’m going to brag about it a little bit, even if I choose to omit where it is or who I’m working for.

“What is it?”

“Ummm…a secretary position,” I say.

He scoffs, a half-laugh, and I feel a cool breeze of disappointment trickle over me. Then he eyes the pink lingerie bag again, his eyebrows lifting. “You need something from that store for your new secretary job?”

“Nope. That’s just for me,” I reply.

The girl on his arm is looking very uncomfortable, but I don’t care. She probably doesn’t even know that Beau was mine last week. Or maybe she does.

“Hey, did you pick up that check from my dad?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I mutter quickly, searching his facial expression, as if he could somehow know from that little bit of information that I am also going to be his dad’s new secretary.

“Well?” he asks, looking at me like he’s waiting for something.

“Well, what?”

“Well, where’s my half?”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Your dad has it, Beau. If you want it, then go get it.”

His jaw clenches as he glares at me, looking as if he’s already lost his patience, and I want to run. I hate the way Beau makes me feel, like I’ve already failed before I’ve even tried. Like I am nothing but a constant disappointment, regardless of whether or not I was even attempting to impress him.

Then, he grabs my arm and guides me to the side, so we’re out of the way of the mall’s foot traffic. “Charlie, you know I don’t talk to my dad. If you went and got the money from him, then where is mine?”

“He gave me half of the deposit, Beau. That’s what I was owed, so that’s what I took. You can be responsible for your own half.”

“Beau…” Ella calls for him from the middle of the wide aisle, but he just holds up a hand to her.

“Jesus, Charlie! You were supposed to take the whole check, so I could get mine. You just—ugh!”

It occurs to me about halfway through this sentence that I don’t have to stand around and listen to him anymore. I no longer belong to him and I don’t owe him anything. So before he even finishes what he was saying, I turn and walk away. I don’t cuss at him or tell him how little and stupid he makes me feel. But I do have to fight back the tears as I reach the exit of the mall, hearing him yell after me.

The minute I’m alone, I feel a little bit lighter. His voice is still in my head, though, constantly reminding me what a fuck-up I am.





RULE #7: DON’T STARE TOO LONG AT YOUR NEW SECRETARY’S CLEAVAGE.





Emerson





I was prepared for Charlotte to show up at my house in those same black boots I’ve seen her in twice now. I was prepared for her to be clumsy and nervous. I was even prepared for her to be late.

What I was not prepared for is her showing up five minutes early in a nearly see-through blouse and a black pencil skirt that makes my hands itch with the way her ass fills it.

Highly inappropriate to look at my secretary and son’s ex-girlfriend like that, I know, but in my defense, I’m not used to having a plutonic employee in my office. The craving to see her on her knees in that outfit is damn near painful.

“Good morning,” she says as she walks into my house at 8:55 a.m.

My eyes land on her deep red lipstick—is she trying to fuck with me?

“Morning,” I grumble. Her heels click against the marble floor as she follows me into the house. Pointing to the entryway closet, I show her where to put her things.

“Jacket?”

“Oh,” she stammers, starting to shrug out of the heavy wool peacoat. Putting a hand on her shoulder, I stop her, and gently guide her to turn around. With her back to me, I lift the coat from her tiny frame, letting my gaze linger on the soft hairs brushing the back of her neck. After I hang her jacket up on the hanger, she turns around, and my eyes immediately fall downward, landing on her chest.

I was wrong. The shirt isn’t almost transparent…it’s entirely transparent, and she is wearing a black lacy bra underneath. What happened to the roller skate girl or the one dressed in all black the other day? This feels like an ambush I wasn’t ready for.

“Coffee?” I ask because my mind seems to be caught on lame one-word phrases.

“No, thank you.”

“Come in then,” I reply, placing a hand lightly at the small of her back and using the other to point toward my office.

I keep having to check myself. Her surprising appearance today has thrown me off. As hard as I try to stay natural and behave as I normally would, I keep seeing my actions as being too forward and too sexual. Which is not what I’m going for. She’s just a secretary. Not a sub. This is not a scene. Clear your head, dammit.

After directing her to the chair in front of my desk, I hand her the packet Garrett gave me to have her fill out for payroll. Maggie had a small fit over me hiring a new employee, but I have faith we’ll find room in the budget. I need a secretary, after all—an actual secretary, and Maggie is too busy managing all of us to do the work I need around here.