Page 32 of Tempting All The Way

The morning has passed agonisingly slowly. Xavier’s been grunting and moaning around the office all day. The other partners aren’t any better. I don’t know what’s going on, but there’re rumours around the water cooler that the firm’s being sued. I never pay much attention to rumours though.

Xavier walks past my desk and places an envelope with my name on it in front of me. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking. Opening the envelope, I see a handwritten note inside.

Dear Miss Mitchell,

Please see the enclosed memo. I revised the list of rules and regulations expected of you within the office.

Regards,

X

My eyes roll hard and I groan as I open the attachment entitled:Workplace Expectations and Guidelines.

Rule number one: Do not wear revealing or sexually appealing clothing to the office.

Rule number two: The office is now a strictly no-go zone. No matter how much I might beg you, you have to be the responsible one and turn me down.

Rule number three: You will be required for after-hours events. Ensure your schedule is as free as possible.

Rule number four: My schedule is to be cleared between the hours of one and two p.m. every day, unless I have a court hearing on the docket.

Rule number five:

Please meet me in the garage in ten minutes. We have a lunch date.

Why did he leave rule number five blank? And I already have lunch plans. I’m not cancelling for him. I send him a text to let him know that he’ll be eating alone today.

Me:

Can’t do lunch. I’m meeting Lucy. Also, I like the old rules better.

The devil boss:

Cancel your plans with Lucy. I need you to meet me in exactly eight minutes in the garage. Don’t be late.

Asshole.I have no intention of cancelling my plans. I’m not going to respond to his demands. I’m not his damned trained monkey who jumps whenever he commands it. Five minutes later, I get a message from Lucy.

LuLu:

Sorry, Shar. Something’s come up. I can’t make lunch.

Me:

That’s all right. Are you okay?

LuLu:

Yep, I’ll tell you later. We’re going out this weekend.

I toss my cell in my bag. Great, there goes my lunch plans. The desk phone rings. Maybe I’ll just stay here and work through my break. “Xavier Christianson’s office, how can I help you?” I answer. The only people who have this direct number are his clients.

“You have exactly two minutes to get that pretty little ass of yours in my car, Shardonnay.” Xavier’s voice sends goosebumps all over my body.

“Or what?” I ask.

“Shardonnay, please. Just meet me in the car,” he says, his tone more sombre.

Something’s wrong.

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