Page 6 of Love Potions and Paperwork

Henry—a business strategist at an investment firm and avid bird watcher—might’ve been the best boyfriend I’d ever had. He was thoughtful, generous, and punctual which I simply adored about the middle-aged harpy.

But the sex? The sex was blander than a bowl of Corn Flakes. You know they invented those to try and stop people from masturbating? As if creating the world’s most boring cereal would stop anyone from chasing their own release.

Fine, whatever, I’d just be a spinster forever. I’d already missed the years when having kids was on the table anyway. Menopause and all its glory stared at me like the barrel of a handgun.

At least I got to be fuckingfabulouswhile being a lonely wreck.

Maybe I’d screw a few models way too young for me just to scratch the itch when it came.

It would all play into my reputation anyway.

Maeve is mean. Maeve is unstable. Maeve is the mostinfluential person in fashion. If you’re on her bad side you have no side.

It was all bullshit. I was mean because everything from the car I drove to the shoes I wore was fuckinguncomfortable.

Pushing awaythatdepressing reality, I flipped through the first stack of documents waiting for me. Fashion week was coming quickly and I was up to my eyeballs in stress. Fashion shows, parties, luncheons and schmoozefest meetings had my social calendar packed to bursting already—and that was before I tried to factor in the little things like eating and sleep. Everything was such a fucking hassle. It made me so angry I just wanted to explode, quit this shit show and retreat to my brownstone where I’d spend the rest of my days in sweatpants. But I was apublic figure, not even walking out of Siren would change that.

I needed a vacation. Or a massage. Or both. Something to help me with managing the crippling stress and anxiety.

At least my latte is hot,I mused as I lifted the cup to my lips and took a long drink, smudging the plastic lid with a thick layer of red lipstick. A hum of appreciation damn close to a purr escaped my chest.

Eugine had lasted the longest of any of my assistants in… a while. He’d proved to be the most competent person I’d ever hired, not that I’d ever tell him. Or admit he’d managed to get my coffee right from the fourth time I’d corrected him—he flushed too prettily at my disapproval. Maybe it was evil, but I couldn’t say I hated the attention my young assistant gave me. The way his eyes lingered a little too long when I wore the hot pink Christiana Velluchi Spring 2024 collection dress that showed off my curves. Or the way his fingers twitched when I pushed my cat-eyed glasses onto the top of my head. Not that I’d ever act on it.

Like I neededanotherscandal.

Fashion Icon Maeve Randall Under Fire For HR Violation!

Either way, Eugine was the best assistant in the office—and he was only ajunior. He hadn’t even been assigned his own desk, instead sharing it with the nighttime file clerk.

I thought about firing Diane twice a fucking day for asking me some stupid, inane?—

“Miss Randall, Fang just called, they were looking to confirm for the Heavenly Bodies party?”

I pursed my lips, glancing up from the mockup I had been pretending to read. “Diane, have I ever missed one of Fang’s events?”

“No, Miss Randall.” Their cheeks pinked slightly, the end of the deer-like ears drooping towards the floor.

I returned my gaze to the pages in front of me dismissively. Ask an irritating question; get an irritated answer.

A headache was already beginning to brew behind my eyes, a stabbing pain just beyond the sockets. In the hopes that it was just caffeine withdrawal and not another of my migraines, I took another long drink from my scorching latte and flipped the page.

It was an hour later, the empty paper cup promptly thrown in the trash after an impressively dull meeting with the beauty department—honestly, was it so difficult to come up with something more exciting than coral for summer?—that I realised I was sweating.

I swivelled in my chair, turning my back on the last of the team as they took their sweet fucking time to get out of my office. With deft fingers, I unbuttoned the top button of my blouse, heat pounding in my core. Sweat beaded along my face and ran in thin rivulets down my neck. Even the pressure of my bra against my nipples had me stifling a moan, the peaks over-sensitive against the smooth fabric.

Something waswrong, I realised as my hands reached upto massage the heavy mounds of their own volition, drawing a soft whimper from my throat. I looked at my flushed reflection in the window panes, my lips parted on a needy pant.

Something was really,reallywrong.

I adjusted in my chair, pressing my damp thighs together in a futile attempt at sweet, friction-driven relief. The urge to snake my hand into my skirt was ademand.

I needed to get the fuck out of here,immediately. I just needed to sign the contract for our lead makeup sponsor and I’d leave. Take a personal day. Whatever normal people did when they totally lost their minds and considered fucking their desks.

“Eugine!” I called, forcing my hands to grip the arms of my office chair. My knuckles were white from the effort of keeping my hands off myself.

Did I imagine that thin, reedy tone to my voice?

“Yes, Miss Randall?” he asked, the sound of his footsteps muting as he crossed onto the carpet.

---