Page 47 of Hate Notes

Finally, his eyes lifted to mine. "If… If we could act on our impulses, then there are some things I would do to you.” Orion’s eyes lifted to mine, as if waiting for me to tell him to continue.

“Like what?” I whispered, senses laser focused on that lingering knuckle of his and what it was doing to me.

“I would enjoy watching you come and making you beg for more,” he said, each word punching into me like a warm gush of heat. “I would bring you to the edge with my fingers, my mouth, my tongue. I wouldn't stop until you begged for my cock, and then... then maybe I'd give it to you, assuming you asked nicely enough."

I shuddered, knees feeling suddenly like they might give out. "Oh," I whispered. "That... is a vivid picture."

Orion's eyes never left mine. "Tonight... I'm going to send you an email."

I frowned.Okay. I guess we’re back to talking about work?“Alright,” I said, voice edged with confusion.

"When you receive the email, the contents will seem innocuous. But the moment you receive the email, I want you to touchyourself. I want you to think about this moment and what I just said to you. I want you to come for me tonight, and you will email me back as soon as you're finished. Have I made myself clear, Miss Hartwell?"

I bit my lower lip, nodding as I struggled to draw a normal breath. "Okay. I understand."

"Good girl," he said, lifting his thumb to briefly touch my chin. I saw the way his eyes lingered on my lips. "Now go back to work. We need to maintain professional boundaries."

"Right," I said shakily. How the hell was I supposed to work the rest of the day like this? I was so damned turned on I wanted to go to the nearest bathroom and get myself off, not wait until his little "email" came tonight. Was he planning to get himself off once he sent that email, too?

God. It was all so dirty, but so hot.

Sauntering back to my desk, I couldn't contain the giddy grin stretching my cheeks. This whole thing was certifiable, of course—a gargantuan HR clusterfuck waiting to happen.

But wow, was it fun to fan the flames with my beautiful, buttoned-up boss. To get under his starched collar and watch him come a little unraveled. Maybe I'd get burned in the end, but oh, what a way to go.

My stomach clenched as Cole's text from earlier flashed through my mind. He was digging into Davenport, and it was my fault. I'd handed him that lead like an idiot, thinking it was harmless. Guilt gnawed at me. I desperately hoped I hadn't already handed Cole something he could use to hurt Orion or the people who worked here.

Day by day, the idea of screwing things up for Orion seemed like more of a catastrophe I needed to avoid, and I wished I had just told Cole to stuff it and ran with the job opportunity here at Foster Real Estate.

I needed to find a way to come clean to Orion soon. But maybe for now, I could just do such a good job with the Davenport account that even Cole couldn’t screw things up for Orion and his company.

My phone buzzed with a text from Eleanor. It was a selfie of her beaming next to her latest feathered find, a ridiculous mallard in a Hawaiian shirt.

Eleanor:Meet Duck Norris!

Chuckling despite my churning conscience, I added Duck Norris' details to my spreadsheet. At least someone's ducks were all in a row. Mine, on the other hand, were scattered across a minefield of my own making.

22

EMBER

Iwas sprawled on my couch in silk pajama shorts and a tank top, half-watching The Great British Bake Off while working on the Davenport proposal. It probably said something about me that I was doing extra work at 9 PM, but I actually enjoyed it. Plus, watching amateur bakers stress over soggy bottoms was oddly soothing background noise. I found myself muttering corrections at the screen: "No, don't open the oven now—and that's way too much cardamom, what are you thinking?"

"What do you think, Catman?" I asked, glancing at him as I returned my focus to the laptop screen. "Can I do a good enough job on this that Cole won’t be able to snake Davenport out from under Foster Real Estate’s nose? Or have I already doomed myself?"

Catman licked his paw, blinked his eye, and then began trying to knock my water glass off the coffee table. He did all of this while maintaining eye contact and radiating that special brand of feline judgment reserved for the people who inexplicably feed them and clean up their poop, much to the likely confusion of cats world-wide.

I plucked the glass away from his destructive little paws and set it on the side table instead. “Thanks for the input, Catman,” I muttered. "Your feedback is noted. Maybe next time try a sticky note?"

My laptop chimed with a new email from Orion Foster.

Miss Hartwell,

Thank you for your diligent work today. I trust you'll give this email the attention it deserves.

Regards,

O. Foster

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