Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (Fixed #5.5)(4)
Chuck was moaning as he kissed along my neck. Had he been doing that the whole time I’d been kissing this man? I hadn’t even noticed.
The stranger was still on his knees beside me, still staring at me. “Let me walk you out,” he offered quietly.
An innocent offer, but I knew where those offers led. He’d take me to the door, and then he’d stay while I waited for my cab. Soon he’d offer to drive me home, and the next thing I knew I’d be waking up in his bed. I’d been going to these parties for a long time, and I had my rules, but they hadn’t been born from nothing. I’d made mistakes in my younger days.
I knew exactly the answer I had to give, though I’d never been as tempted to give a different one than I was at that moment.
“Let me just get my coat,” I said. It was code for I’m slipping out while you’re not looking.
The sexy stranger stood first, offering his hand to me, which I ignored.
Chuck, as preoccupied as he was with his aching hard-on, laughed quietly behind me. He was familiar with my tactics. I guess I was a bit into the fairytale kink after all—and the clock was striking midnight. Only, I didn’t ever want the prince coming after me.
It was the first time in a long time, though, that I gave the prince a second glance before slipping away into the night.
Chapter Two
“Oh, goodness,” I exclaimed, hurrying to clean up the hot water I’d spilled while pouring it for Mr. Stoker’s tea. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know why I was distracted.”
That was a lie. I knew exactly why I was distracted. I’d been thinking about that green-eyed stranger even though I was clearly supposed to be focused on my job. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. The taste of salt and sunshine had lingered into my Monday, and as I’d stared at the stream of water flowing from the teapot, I’d wondered if there was any way to capture that exact flavor.
But it hadn’t been the first time thoughts of the new Open Door guest had preoccupied my mind that day. As I’d scratched my name down to collect the inter-office files from the financial department, I’d remembered the scrape of the stranger’s beard against my skin. As I answered the phones, my cheery greeting professional as always, “Hudson Pierce’s office, how may I help you?” it was the stranger’s voice I imagined on the other end of the line. When Hudson’s wife wheeled in her newborn twins in the double stroller at lunch, I was thinking of...
Well, I wasn’t thinking of having babies with the man. It had just been a kiss, and I was pretty sure I could only be fond of children that weren’t my own.
But I did fantasize for a moment that I had my own lunch date, that the mysterious bearded man would walk in with two cups of espresso in place of the babies and take me to Marea for strozzapreti. Instead, I’d sat at my desk and eaten homemade chicken salad while I caught up on my digital filing.
And now I’d made a mess in front of one of my boss’s biggest investors.
“It’s all right, darling,” Mr. Stoker said, sneaking a peek down my blouse as I mopped hot water from the table beside him. I glanced up at my boss, Hudson Pierce, who smiled apologetically for the demeaning darling.
Honestly, I didn’t mind. It wasn’t the first time one of his business associates had been sexist, and it wouldn’t be the last time. As long as the men didn’t touch me or say anything that was outright crude, I had no complaints. And if anyone did either of those things, I knew Hudson would have them thrown out of his office immediately. He was a great boss and a respectable man. The looks of longing and the covert sexual glances from the business partners—they were simply part of the job.
It hadn’t actually been Hudson who had hired me to be his secretary. Almost nine years ago now, soon after I started going to the Open Door, Human Resources had selected me for the position. While I knew my skills were exceptional and that I’d shown up for my interview with an unprecedented resume, there was no question that I was also hired for my looks. Pierce Industries was one of the top firms in the city—in the world, even. Hudson Pierce, a young billionaire following in his father’s footsteps at the time, was on track to be the next big thing. Only the smartest and the richest, the wealthiest and most innovative, crossed into his space. And I was their first contact with the man. I was the one who answered his phones. I was the one who greeted them at the door. I had to be capable and competent, and attractive.
Maybe it was a terrible expectation of the world, that my face or my figure should matter at all when these captains of industry were making important tech deals and arguing media space or real estate. But even if it offended my modern sensibilities, it was realistic. Powerful men believed they should be surrounded by beauty at all times. I wasn’t na?ve to that, and neither was Human Resources.
And though he hadn’t chosen me himself, neither was Hudson Pierce. He knew what the men he dealt with wanted from me. And I made sure to give it.
But the reason I was able to tolerate it had nothing to do with my na?veté and everything to do with the Open Door.
In my mind, my job went hand-in-hand with the parties. I doubted I’d find Saturday nights at the Open Door as thrilling and as sensational if there weren’t five full days of buildup beforehand. Working as Hudson Pierce’s secretary, I met and greeted the same rich and powerful men who came to the parties. I served them, I giggled at their bad pickup lines, I flirted with them quietly as they not-so-discreetly checked out my legs. Every day, the senators, the wealthy tycoons, the CEOs were strolling in and out of the doors right past me, never realizing I was the same woman who sucked them off on the weekends.