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  The thought of him lusting for my touch makes my core throb until the warmth seeps through my clothes. I cross my knees, as if that’s going to stop my body from misbehaving. It doesn’t. Pulsing starts and the dampness permeates my panties.

  I can’t believe I am doing this. I don’t want this. Ok, maybe I do a little. But I definitely don’t need this. I can’t trust men—much less a stranger. They say there’s no greater education than past experiences, and I have a PhD in relationships-gone-wrong. The most recent guy I’d been supposedly dating took my credit card on a spending spree like it was his Christmas gift. The one before that stealthily helped himself to my car and returned a wrecked-up version of it. The one before that levied the worst emotional toll on me—manipulating me so he could try to claim my virginity.

  “Take, take and take” seems to be the common mantra among the men I attract. I’ve since taken a vow to stay away from male-kind altogether. I’m not about to end that vow just because someone buys me an extra cup of coffee. And definitely not for someone who works in Holland Architects. My dating life has been an Oscar-worthy horror show, I’m not going to carry that tragedy into my work life, too.

  As I whip my attention back to the desk, I realize my fingertips have been playing with the cup, rubbing it, soothing it. I’ve held a million of these beverage cups before, but this one is somehow warmer and more comforting. No, you can’t, I tell myself, as the black letters on the document merge into a blur.

  It’s safer to be alone way. Safer and smarter. Protect your heart and your body.

  I get up from my chair and head to the washroom.

  As I approach the wash-counter, I hear sounds from the closed stalls to my right. The voices are familiar, belonging to two other assistants in the office.

  “By the way…” one of the assistants exclaims, “have you checked out the new guy, Ash?”

  “I have…” the other one responds, with equal enthusiasm, “And divine doesn’t start to define that man!”

  “Agreed!”

  “I thought I saw him checking out Callie though. I have to be imagining that, right?”

  “Yeah, you must’ve been seeing things. Guys like Ash don’t go for girls like Callie. It’s the unwritten rule. It’s against the laws of hotness.”

  “Rules are there for a reason.” The women erupt into a short chorus of giggles.

  I stare at the reflection in the mirror. Callista my given name shortened to Callie is supposed to mean beautiful and perfect. Similar to my misspelled name on the paper cup though, I’m neither feeling beautiful, nor perfect right now.

  Guys like Ash don’t go for girls like Callie.

  Exactly. It’s not like they’re wrong. It’s not like I don’t know about it. I have to be fine with it, as I always am.

  I splash some water on my face, a little cold shower on those intense thoughts, reassuring myself that I’d be fine.

  But…I’m not.

  4

  Brody

  I familiarize myself with the layout of both the company’s departments and the administrative system. And by the end of my quiet tour around the glamorous office floor, I am aware the real role of every employee of Holland Architects. The tenacious worker. The time-waster. The troublemaker. And the insufferable jackass.

  I have to know these things, since I will lead them as their new boss. The employees, of course, don’t know who I am. The jackasses are definitely going to be leaving, followed by the troublemakers. If the time-wasters can clean up their act, they get to stay. Yeah, I wield a ruthless whip when it comes to professional etiquette. That’s how I made it to the top and stayed there. And that’s why I’m here as the new CEO of Holland Architects now, one of the leading firms in the city.

  Sure, if they looked me up, they might find out my true identity, but it really seems like most don’t care. And that’s a problem.

  But there’s one employee who continues to surpass my expectations in every way. And it’s no problem for me. Maybe for her, I’m not sure.

  Constantly moving gracefully about the office floor, continuing to be so fuckably-gorgeous while doing so. Sometimes it’s how she crinkles her brows when she spots a typo in a letter, or the endearing manner in which she mumbles to herself when trying to figure out a problem. At one point, someone drops a stack of folders and she pauses to help them pick the mess. A low groan escapes my throat, as she bends over, affording me a glimpse of the sensual assets she owns. My jaw stiffens with a dark grin as I visualize how it’d be to have my fingers carving indents into the pulpy flesh of those hips, while I claim her tight pussy, punishing her till I’ve exacted blissful revenge for torturing me with such sweet-sexiness for hours on end. She’s had a feel of my hot arousal, it’s only fair I have a feel of hers.

  Damn, you vixen.

  Another starved groan later, I exhale a few calming breaths so my pulsing erection settles. Suddenly, on my screen, an email pops up in my folder. It’s a welcome email from her—one she’s personally typed not some standard cut and paste HR crap—checking in with me and letting me know I can approach her for any assistance, any time.

  Sweetheart, stop being so perfect or I’m going to have to get creative on how to hide my boners.

  Callie’s watching out for me. Apart from being the ‘Employee of the Year’ for how effective she is at her job, this is what she does. Watches out for everyone. And the longer I observe, the more I notice it. If she’s not processing documents for one architect, she’s busy finishing up emails for another. If she’s not filling-in for a colleague while they take extended lunch breaks, she’s fielding calls from troublesome clients for someone else.

  Through all of it, she’s had not a moment’s rest that she rightfully deserves. And the users are getting away with nothing beyond a cursory thank-you.

  Fucking S.O.Bs.

  Yup, the users are the worst breed of jackass. They trigger the fiend in me because they remind me of my worthless dad, who took advantage of my mom, every single fucking hour of her married life. Sucking life out of her by demanding more than what was humanly possible, till she wore herself down to a frail shadow of the beautiful, joy-filled woman she once was. All this, while his lazy ass lounged on a couch all day. So, yeah, the users have a special place in Brody Hell.

  I see that happening here, and it’s triggering the protector in me all over again. Callie is unable to stand-up for herself because she’s far too good-natured to say fuck-off. Well, she doesn’t have to worry from now on. She has me, her man, to do it for her forever.

  Her man? Forever?

  Did I just think that? Is there some aphrodisiac in the air? Did the barista mix something into my drink? Surely, a coffee spill on a Monday morning leading to forever has to be a dream. In fairytales, maybe. Not in the universe of a world-wise 42-year-old CEO, who’s led the life of a veritable player.

  I’ve never wanted forever before. But, the more I delve on the thought, the more the walls around my heart fall down, giving rise to a host of new warm tinges. Telling me that I want forever now, and I want it with Callie West.

  Sometime later, once I’ve finished examining a few project-briefs and coordinated two site surveys, I head out to stretch my legs and refill my cup of water. A couple of assistant project managers are hanging out by the water-cooler.

  “Hey, you’re the new guy. Ash, right?” The shorter of the men greets me with a pointed finger and a quick visual assessment. He’s dressed-up his inexperience with an expensive suit and cologne, but I can tell he’s barely learned to hold a razor properly yet.

  “Yes,” I nod. “And you are?”

  After quick intros, from the corner of my eye, I spot her walking down the aisle to replace a tray of afternoon treats on the side-counter.

  I take my glance. But I have to remind myself not to look too long.

  “That’s Callie, by the way…” one of the junior architects clears his throat.

  The second one drops his voice to let out a chortle. “
I’ll like to give her a good afternoon break.”

  “She’s one frigid bitch.” They banter back and forth in their disgusting way.

  “Bet she’s so stuck-up because she’s never had a good lay.” He grabs his crotch and adjusts what I see is quickly becoming a problem…for both of us. “I could loosen her up a bit.”

  It takes every ounce of my manly strength not to slam their jabbering mouths shut. Callie is not frigid. She is what innocence looks like. But, of course, one has to be a real man to recognize its worth. A rare and refreshing trait in this fickle and fast moving world. Much like a precious bud blossoming in a harsh winter, it makes me want to put my arms around her, protect her from every shard of hail and every cruel storm, from every bastard and fuckboi out there. These two included.

  Sorry, not sorry. I’m possessive of Callie West; no other man will cherish the special woman she is like I would. And darn yes, I’m protective of her; no one else will keep her safe like I would.

  Which is why, I’ll be waiting to watch the heavy-duty door hit these jackasses’ balls on their way out.

  I just walk away, no comments needed, and go grab a cookie.

  I can only imagine one thing tasting sweeter when these pricks receive their termination letter on their desks at the end of the day and are escorted from the building by security, never to return again.

  5

  Callie

  “Finally,” I wince after organizing the last stack of files on my folder, my body aching like it’s just been through a pulverizer. Switching off the monitor, I pick up my handbag, looking forward to giving my sore ankles a warm soak at home in a bath of fragrant lavender to soothe not only the muscles but my soul.

  I’m quickly drawn out of the tired haze by the now familiar echo of a pair of leather loafers behind me. The pulse-quickening returns. Whatever happened to aching body and sore ankles is a mystery as my body awakens just knowing he’s near.

  “Hi, Callie. Want to grab a drink?” His voice greets me from behind, and I melt like a dollop of butter against the brush of his sizzling breath.

  A quick breather later, I spin around. “Mr. Brody?”

  He cracks a smile, and I melt further. “Just call me Ash.”

  “Ok, Ash…” I nod, “But, a drink? It’s a weekday…”

  “So?” He shrugs, like he’s done the weekday-drinking thing a million times. “It’s just a pair of co-workers getting to know each other. You did offer your assistance. I’m new around here and I could use some company.”

  Guys like Ash don’t go for girls like Callie. The harsh words tingle though my brain as I examine the growth of his tightly shaven beard over the day. It’s filled in and he’s more dangerous looking than ever. I’ve never been known for taking risks and fraternization isn’t against the rules. The last manager made sure to nix that after he fell for his secretary. They’re married with six kids. Coworkers can lead to more.

  But why is he asking me out for a drink? He could have any woman here. Does he want something from me?

  I shake my head internally at myself.

  Stop overthinking it! It’s just a drink and after today, you deserve it.

  That's the fun-girl voice screaming in my head. A voice that rarely speaks up these days—so, I listen to her. What harm can one evening and a few drinks do. Right?

  The common sense-girl starts to pipe up and I shut her down by muttering the word, “Alright.” I lick my parching lips as anticipation steals every drop of saliva.

  “I’ll let you choose the place, as long as you promise to pick something that's going to take your breath away.”

  “Oh…” I swallow an excited gasp. Being the gentleman, are we? I don't know how the rest of the evening is going to turn out, but even the suggestion of a wining-dining experience is ten-steps above all my past experiences put together. “Okay, deal…”

  We trade information.

  He motions me into the elevator and seems to need to go back in to finish some business. “Text me when you get home. I’ll pick you up.”

  I rush down to my car, two thrilled steps at a time, shut the doors. Once I’m seated behind the steering wheel, I make sure no one else is in the basement and then let out a delighted shriek. “Yes!”

  6

  Brody

  I watch her red shapely lips move as she recounts an incident from her university days, and all I can think of is claiming those plump tissues until I’ve left them quivering and raw.

  Fucking hell. How can anyone be so stunning, and not even know it?

  A pearl necklace dangling just over the fringe of her delicious cleavage, a flowing peach dress that matches the color of her cheeks. I’m certain she’s an angel dropped mistakenly on Earth. Especially when I watch her under the diffused light of the bronze lampshade. When I do manage to pry my eyes off her, I find myself admiring her choice of venue.

  Decked in muted blue tones offsetting the chunky metal and leather furniture, with classy tunes of a saxophone filling the background, the club is, in a word, elegant. Based on her age, I’d hedged my bets on her choosing a nightclub, or an upscale restaurant. But a chic Jazz club? Who would’ve thought it? And I wonder if it’s the first of surprises to come for the night.

  “Shall we order drinks?”

  “Sure…” She smiles. “Wine?”

  “Stole the words out of my mouth.”

  The more topics I crack open to chat about, the more effervescent she gets. Our conversations flow as freely as the sparkling wine at our table. Soon, there’s no trace of the wallflower from this morning. She’s in full bloom, thriving in the safe space of her protector and seemingly bursting forth on her own blossoming.

  During a particularly hearty bout of chuckles, she catches my admiring eyes on her and tempers her effervescence.

  “I’m sorry…” The color on her cheeks intensifies “I’m probably getting carried away…”

  “Sweetheart…” I take her palm. “You don’t have to hold back…not with me. Not today, not ever.”

  My assurance catches her off-guard. Yet, she doesn't flinch. And that tells me enough. No one’s ever made her feel safe enough to act herself.

  After placing our orders for the appetizers and the main course, I gather her hands in mine, drawing tender patterns along her fingers with my thumb.

  “I want to hear you talk.” I guide my thumb up to the outline of her lips that’ve been taunting me with no mercy. The anticipation is brutal on my nerves, as I lean in to place a gentle peck on them, relishing the intoxicating mix of the tart wine on her sugary lips.

  The sparks are so spontaneous, the currents in our veins leave us buzzing. I would’ve clutched her close, ripped her clothes off and taken her in the moment, had we been somewhere a little more private.

  “Callie, I want to know everything about you.”

  “Like what?” Her lips tremor still reeling from my touch.

  “Like…is there a particular reason you picked this venue?”

  She drops her lashes. “I love jazz. Actually…I’m a jazz singer.”

  Never in a million years would I have imagined the wallflower could beebop and scat jazz.

  “Really?” I cock my brow as my interest in her ratchets. “You've done gigs?”

  “A couple of stage performances, nothing national or even regional, but I’ve gotten a standing ovation or two.”

  I marvel at the bundle of surprises that is my girl. Our order is served, and we begin digging into our plates, enjoying the chef’s talents. When it’s time for dessert, the live performance on stage comes to an end. I put down the fork to acknowledge the band with an appreciative clap and then the back of my palm caresses down her cheek.

  “You know what? You’ve got to sing for me.”

  “What?” Her eyelids fly open. “Oh no… I’m sorry, but it’s been ages. Actually…” She angles close to me, “No one at work knows I’m a singer.”

  I try coaxing her, but she’s clearly terrified at the thou
ght of it. Baby steps, I tell myself.

  She rolls her napkin over and over in her lap, and I curse myself for pushing. She needs time and as much as I feel like my libido is on a clock around her, I’ll keep the timer off to make her mine.

  “Ash, I’ll be back. I…I need the washroom.” Finishing her glass of wine, she dabs her lips with the linen napkin, and then leaves for the restroom at the rear of the restaurant.

  As I wait at the table for her to return, I examine all that has transpired in one day. A day that could not have possibly gone any better. Or so I think, until I hear the manager of the restaurant walk on-stage to make an announcement.

  “And ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a round of applause for a returning open-mic favorite and we’re glad to have her back, Miss Callie West.”

  My girl enters the stage drifting into the cascade of light, and it is like the arena has been built for her. I thought she had an otherworldly aura. And now, as I hear her break out into a mesmerizing Nina Simone rendition, I can tell she has the voice to match.

  A surge of pride whelms my chest to twice its size.

  That’s my sweetheart…only mine.

  7

  Callie

  If there is a word in the dictionary to describe this evening—this entire day, in fact—I would use it. Since there isn’t, I simply sit back in the comfy leather seat, my hand resting in his, basking in a standing-ovation performance afterglow, while the car he’s called for, takes us to his home.