Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (Fixed #5.5)(5)

It was a hell of a power trip to be the one who served them all day, every day, attending to their every whim and need, organizing their businesses, shuffling the details of their lives, all while knowing that they stared at my ass as I walked by. Knowing they’d go home and fantasize about bending me over the desk, devastated they’d never have the thrill of touching me.

I was the only one who knew that when I showed up on the weekends with my mask on and my hair down, those men were still thinking about Trish Bisceglia. Still imagining the secretary they’d flirted with, even while they sucked and teased the masked stranger called T.

The secrecy and the role reversal the situation provided gave me so much power. It put me in control of their desire, unbeknownst to them. In many ways it was the best part of the kink life. Saturdays might have been when the parties took place. But Monday through Friday? That was the foreplay.

I liked the foreplay best when I was the one directing the show.

For some reason, the new guy with the delicious kisses had me feeling like he was the one in the director’s chair.

I had to get myself together.

“I think I got it all, Mr. Stoker. Again, very sorry. Won’t happen again.” I looked to Hudson to make sure he didn’t need anything before I slipped out of his office and back to my desk in the lobby.

Once I was safely seated in my own chair, I let out a long exhale and gave myself a much-needed pep talk. “They think about you. You don’t think about them,” I muttered to myself with my eyes closed until I felt prepared to go on with my work.

When I opened them again, Hudson’s next appointment was standing in front of me. He was ten minutes early, and I swear to God, what I saw when I looked up his tall, muscular frame, was the face of the stranger.

I blinked and shook my head. This was getting ridiculous. It was one thing to imagine his voice, to remember the sexy, delicious taste of his lips, but quite another to fantasize that he was standing right in front of me.

But even after blinking my eyes, it was still his face staring down at me.

“How…” I paused, forgetting how words worked, which wasn’t how this usually went. I saw men all the time in the office after they’d been at the Open Door, and never ever got flustered. I shook my head again. “I apologize, sir. How may I help you?”

My heart was beating so fast I wondered if he could see my chest moving with its palpitations. Maybe he wasn’t even here to see Hudson. Maybe he had gotten the wrong office. I didn’t know if that would be better or worse. I was too off guard to know how to react.

“I’m here to see Hudson Pierce. Nathan Sinclair.” He introduced himself in the same low, rumbling voice he’d used in my ear on Saturday. “Creative Director from Reach, Inc. I have an appointment.”

I’d spoken to his secretary. I’d been the one to put it on the books. All the time I’d been thinking about him, he’d been scheduled to come here. How had it been so fortuitous that I’d met him—that I’d kissed him—only this weekend?

It was kind of freaking me out.

Although really, it shouldn’t be. This had happened before. There was one tech guy, a mogul from Japan. He’d been visiting on business. He only flew in to see Hudson Pierce, and his contacts here had ensured he ended up at a party. I sat on his face for three hours and then served him lunch in Hudson’s office the following Monday. I hadn’t had a second thought about it. My smile hadn’t wavered.

But one amazing kiss from this man had me wondering about serendipity.

Seriously, I was losing it.

Okay, I could do this. “Yes, Mr. Sinclair. Right. Mr. Pierce is still finishing up with his two o’clock appointment. If you have a seat, he’ll be right with you.” I just had to remember that Nathan Sinclair had no idea who I was. I was the only one flustered.

I didn’t know why the thought made me disappointed.

“Thank you…Patricia,” he said, reading the name off of my desk tag.

“It’s Trish, thank you.” What was I doing? I never corrected anybody on my name. Hudson Pierce himself still called me Patricia after all these years. Of course, he didn’t believe in nicknames, but that wasn’t the point.

Actually, hardly anyone ever asked my name. The many rich interchangeable men that walked through my space didn’t care to call me anything but sweetie or honey or darling.

That must have been why I’d told him. No other reason. Because he’d read my name plate. Because he’d bothered to try and find out.

I watched my newly introduced stranger as he carried his portfolio bag over to the sofa, staring a little too long at his ass, my hands trembling the entire time.

Focus, Trish, I told myself. Act normal. Do things the way you normally do them.

What was it I normally did again?

“Mr. Sinclair, would you care for a drink? I have water, tea, coffee…” I would try hard as hell not to repeat the same mishap that I’d had earlier with Mr. Stoker’s hot water.

“Water would be excellent.”

I slipped into the tiny room behind my desk, opened the mini refrigerator and grabbed an ice-cold bottle of water, holding it up to my face first. Maybe if I could just cool down a little bit... But when I stood and looked at myself in the mirror that I’d hung back there, my reflection was clearly flushed and dazed.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.