Page 73 of 12 Days

Chapter 29

Easton

In the entire history of boardrooms—I’m admittedly no expert here, but in what I’m sure is a long history of rooms meant for groups of coworkers to conduct business and exchange ideas—I highly doubt that any group of people has had as much fun, or has felt as much passion, as the thirteen lucky souls now soaking the afterglow of Alyssa’s show-stopping performance; complete with audience participation.

We’re sitting peacefully around the gigantic hunk of cherry wood in the center of the room, completely comfortable in our silence, and just totally fucking relaxed in the middle of an illustrious, high-powered corporate headquarters.

“Some day at the office, huh fellas?” That’s Tristan, breaking the silence.

I’m compelled to tell Tristan that somebody had to break that beautiful life intermission of quietude, and I’m glad that somebody turned out to be him. I’m not much of a quietude-breaker, personally. I’m just into letting it all happen—especially right now.

There was a time I may have ribbed one of my coworkers for using an expression like ‘let it flow’—but if any one of my colleagues ever decide to speak up with that clichéd, new age-steeped expression, I’d be right there with him.

Just letting the day flow. It feels pretty fucking great.

“Ha. ‘fellas’,” Alyssa remarks, returning Tristan’s word to him and highlighting one of his particular charms.

Tristan gets it, aiming a wide grin right at her from across the table. He’s into demonstrating his fondness for Alyssa in obvious ways. She’s a magnificent woman, and she does appreciate it, but I like sticking to my own style of subtler communication for the time being.

“This is one of the best days yet, that’s for sure.” Ford’s resting his feet up on the table, talking with a markedly relaxed version of his standard forceful tone. “And we’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

“I’ll say,” Ethan comments, directing his own brand of crooked grin at Alyssa to complement Tristan’s smile.

I smile too, but mostly to myself. I love that even in our most relaxed and contented moments, bits of our ingrained, competitive dynamics still end up showing in their face.

Alyssa’s only five minutes removed from being the center of attention and plainly savoring every last erotically-charged microsecond, feeling nothing in the universe of discomfort. Yet now, realizing how much of this euphoric attention is focused on her—well, all of it, really—I notice her cheeks beginning to lightly flush.

I’m immensely enjoying watching Alyssa enjoy the attention, and she’s handling it expertly: just staring up at some arbitrary part of the ceiling, maintaining a smile of supreme confidence, sexiness and badassery.

“Like I said, swag.” Owen’s calling back his preshow remark, which Alyssa visibly channels into her stately vibe. Cool, unfazed, in total fucking control.

“Like a fucking boss.” Sean’s praise is running very similar to Owen’s, but he’s still summing up Alyssa’s demeanor perfectly.

She keeps her composure, and doesn’t focus on any one of us. Her smile stays unchanged. As Sean said, like a fucking boss.

“It’s just been so much fun, too.” There’s Tristan again, keeping with more wholesome and less self-conscious style of commenting.

“You can say that again, I don’t think I’ve ever had fun like that at the office. Not to that extent, at least,” Theo interposes, adding a late yet heartfelt addendum to his Oscar-worthy speech from earlier.

“And we’ve had some fun, too, but it all pales in comparison,” says Nico.

Pales in comparison. She seems to really enjoy that accolade, even if she may not know what she’s being compared to. Some office birthday party with lousy supermarket sheet-cake, perhaps? Or a company-wide holiday bash where everyone got a bit too drunk?

It’s a great compliment, though, even if evokes comparison. Hell, maybe it’s so effective because it does evoke comparison.

“There is no comparison. Not to Alyssa.” There it is. I’ve found the perfect spot to throw in my own little compliment, and I’ll be damned if it’s not effective.

Alyssa stirs for the first time in minutes from her queenly manner, taking her feet off the table and looking at me briefly, and looking at all of us while her smile turns from cool to warm.

She’s so fucking cute as she blushes and shrugs almost inadvertently, not knowing or really caring of a perfect way to actively respond to our adoration.

“That’s correct, sir.” I’m still rivetted by Alyssa, logically, as I hear Ty’s voice concurring with me from a few seats down the table. “No one should even consider trying. Definitely not those assistants we were once so reliant on using.”

Damn it, Ty. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Of course, Alyssa’s cheeks go from their delighted rosiness to a decidedly less than delighted ashen pallor almost immediately.

Seriously, could he have phrased that any fucking worse? It’s like Ty designed it to be as offensive and as personally hurtful as possible, although I know he was just not fucking thinking—literally.

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