Page 9 of Crush

I’d rather chew my own dick off.

As I started racing through my inbox, my phone rang and I lifted it from the desk, swiping the screen to answer my friend Gabe’s call.

“Aboutfuckingtime. You got my license yet?” I snapped. Any attempt to keep the pissed-off element out of my tone failed. Of course, it wasn’t Gabriel I was mad at.

“That’s why I’m calling,” he drawled lazily down the phone.

Shit, from his voice, it didn’t sound like good news. “What now?”

If Roger delayed my applicationagain, I would have to go down to the council offices and talk to him with my fist.

Roger Beresford was the older brother of a guy I went to school with. A cocky little twat I’d beat the shit out of for picking on a younger dude. His brother Niall was a dick, theybothwere. Beresford had started to make waves with my alcohol license when I won a shit load of money from him at poker a few weeks ago. Yep, he also couldn’t gamble for shit.

“You were saying?” I prompted. Gabe’s chuckle was the equivalent of nails down a blackboard.

“You need to do some damage control.”

My blood started to boil. “What?”

“Someseriousarse kissing. I must admit, that I’d like to see.” I could almost feel Gabe’s smile through the phone.

My brow scrunched and I pinched the bridge of my nose between my finger and thumb. I closed my eyes. I was getting a headache, I was sure of it.

Dropping my hand and blinking, I listened as he explained how a member of my staff had been rude to Roger on the phone; a woman with a snooty voice and a bad attitude.

As realisation as to why I had to go down to the council offices and kiss Roger’s lardy arse kicked in, I shot to my feet in fury.

FFS! Taking Lady Swift under my wing was the worst thing I’deverdone. I ended the call without saying anything further and started pacing, trying to control my temper.

It appeared I needed to have another chat with my protégé, a very strongly worded one!

Two

Amber

If Max Hunter thought he could get the best of me, he would be sadly mistaken. No man could. Not now,notunless I allowed them to. The only place I enjoyed surrendering to a man was in the bedroom. What can I say, I had submissive kinks and liked to be dominated. Outside of sex, I was the one in control.

Making my way across the yard towards the canteen, the heels of my Louis Vuitton pumps sank into the soggy surface of the ground. Of course, Max had a point about my choice of outfit, but I’d be damned if I lethimknow that. I’d also been wrong about the flood plan but so what? I’d apologised to him in my head, it wasn’t my fault he didn’t hear me.

I alsoneededmy heels, I was on the short side, which made it difficult to lord it over those who deserved it. To be clear, ‘those who deserved it’ were the people who underestimated me.

And Max Hunter did that in spades.

I never seemed to be prepared for his level of dickheadedness. He was always one step ahead of me no matter how many bitch vibes I radiated. I mean, I didn’thatethe guy's guts or anything, he was just an annoying dick. The way he folded those huge veiny forearms over his chest was always glorious, but his need to control everyone around him still made my nails dig into my palms.

Max was arrogantbeyondbelief, a proper calculating alpha hole. It was unfortunate for the strong female population that he was also sexy as hell. Although as far as I was concerned, he wasdeeplyforbidden. And not just because he was my boss.

He had a smirk you felt in your bones and could easily charm the underwear off all the office staff, but his smile was a little too loud for my taste. He waslike most men, chaotic and reckless and after that one thing women kept in their jeans; and Idon’tmean their car keys.

And there laid one of the problems, he brought back too many emotions from my past; messed up ones that an array of high-end counsellors had failed to eradicate. Hence my decision to keep him at arm's length. But I wasn’t stupid, despite my complete and utter distaste for who he was, I wasfiercelyattracted to him, nonetheless. I was a highly sexed female and he wasridiculouslygood-looking. Even when he was sporting bruises. Max occasionally came into work with a battered face. One of the guys at work said he was involved in a boxing club or something like that. It made him look even more dangerous and that would of course call to most women’s lady parts. My own were no different but I would continue to feign indifference as if my life depended on it.

When we were officially introduced, Max had called methe little mermaid, (as in Disney) which I’d found patronising. It hadn’t taken me long to establish that he was trying to be cute, but the damage had already been done. What could I say, I was a grudge bearer.

What also didn’t help his case was the fact that he was the guy who had hit on me at a party the previous week, and his attempt had been borderline rude.

I’d noticed him watching me that night whilst I was on the phone with my friend Mia. I had been outside a house party waiting for her to arrive. Mia had been running late and I didn’t want to go in there alone without knowing anyone. Having flicked the butt of his cigarette next to my neon pink Jimmy Choo’s, Max had then gone on to make fun of them, that cocky smile of his, no-doubt a winner with your usual bit of skirt but not me. His charm hit its target like a bucket of cold water, no one took the piss out ofmyfashion sense. Before I’d started to live a more low-profile life, designers had given me stuff for freejustso that I’d be wearing it when the paps took pictures of me.

Max had made a couple more attempts during that night to hit on me before calling me a frigid bitch and saying something about a stick up my arse. Not thebest way to get the girl. When he’d delivered a condescending playful pat to my backside, I’d slapped his face,hard.

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