Page 3 of The Naughty List

I don’t move. I’m literally frozen from my lack of coat, the now-melted snow all over me, and the utter shock of what this dumpster fire of a day has turned into.

“Hey, lady, you getting in or not?” the driver yells at me. I just stare at him, or stare at my own reflection in the rear passenger window of his car. You can see through my blouse that is now a lovely shade of brown from the coffee and dirty snow; my mascara is running down my cheeks, and my hair looks like roadkill on my head.

The driver flips me the bird before driving off, leaving me to drag my ass back to the train station.

1

DAMON

What in the actual fuck is she wearing?

I can’t help but gawk at Kate’s getup and not in a good way. The brown wool skirt she has on looks like it’s at least four sizes too big and cinched at her waist by a rubber band wound around the excess material gathered at her back. If the skirt wasn’t enough, she’s paired it with a turtleneck that’s a different shade of brown. She bends forward, leaning over the desk to show Marge something. The skirt might be fugly as hell, but it still looks delicious draped over her perky ass.

Even though four out of five days a week I want to wring Miss Flowers’ delicate neck, I’m still a man, and that woman has a body that is nothing short of a fantasy. It’s probably good her personality instantly kills my raging hard-on whenever she walks into my office; otherwise, I’d probably have had to fire her. Can’t have my assistant falling in love with me, thinking our hookup meant a marriage proposal.

“You’re going to end up in HR.” Teller, our sales director, nudges my elbow and laughs.

“Nah, she prefers to take her wrath out on me in more fucked-up ways than that.” I don’t take my eyes off her. Something Marge said has made her laugh and I watch as a genuine smile spreads across her lips. A small pang of jealousy hits me in the gut when I think about the fact that I’ve never made her smile. Not even once.

“You’re lingering,” he says, looking between her and me.

“Yeah, and?”

“Someone’s got a crush.” I flick my eyes back to Teller as he wags his eyebrows.

“A crush? What is this, junior high?” I scoff.

“Just saying, you don’t just lust or leer when you look at her… You linger.”

“What’s with you, man? Charlotte have you watching those Hallmark movies again?”

“Laugh all you want, buddy, but they get her all emotional, and then I get to comfort her and she’s so appreciative of my sensitive side that she ends up getting all hot and bothered, and then we make our own Hallmark movie, if you know what I mean. Sex, we end up having sex.”

“Yeah, got it, Tell.” I turn my gaze back toward Kate just as she’s standing back up and walking over to her desk. She doesn’t notice me at first but then our eyes meet. For a brief moment, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room as the tip of her tongue runs across her bottom lip. I feel a twitch in my pants. For a second I think she might walk over to me but the soft gaze quickly turns into a hardened expression as she places her phone on her desk and then flips me off.

“She wants me.” I grin as I slap Teller on the shoulder and walk back to my office.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I got joy out of coming up with ways to torture Kate. But hey, in my defense, I’m tortured by her presence. Those mile-high heels she wears make her tits bounce with every step and I swear to God she purposely presses them against me when she’s close to me. She may act like she wants to rip my head off, but I’d bet my millions it would be after she fucked the life out of me.

I’m halfway through a contract when I hear her signature sharp knock on my door at the same time she turns the handle and waltzes in.

“Still haven’t mastered the art of knocking, waiting for a response, then entering the room or walking away after three or two years, huh?” She ignores my comment and my smile as she places two files on my desk. Only, she doesn’t turn and walk out like usual; she stands stoically in front of my desk, hands clasped in front of her.

“Mr. Wells, I need a minute of your time, please.” She’s way too subdued; something’s up.

“What can I do for you, Miss Flowers?” I see her flinch when I phrase it that way, which I do because she always gives me a reaction.

“I need to leave early today, around fourish, so I can go pick up my car.”

“Fourish?” I repeat. “What time is that exactly?” I can see her tighten her fingers together; she’s trying not to bite my head off.

“Four. I need to leave at four. The towing yard closes at five and it’s outside the city.”

“And why can’t you do it tomorrow or Friday? You are off work on those days, right?” I lean back in my chair, my fingers steepled in front of me as she squirms.

“Well, yes, I am, but I had plans—”

“Yes, and it looks like your plans were interrupted because your car broke down. Those aren’t my problems or the company’s problems so take care of them on your time.”

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