Page 2 of Summoned by the CEO (Curvy for Keeps)

“What?” I say, somewhat disturbed that there’s a “file” on me. And that Aran Archer is reading that file and raising an eyebrow. Ohmygod, what’s in my file?!

“So you have a college degree and you even went to graduate school for a year,” he says. “Why are you working as an administrative assistant when you could be climbing the corporate ladder?”

“What’s wrong with being an administrative assistant?” I say.

“Well, nothing. It’s just that you’re overqualified for the job. I don’t like to see my employees selling themselves short. At Archer Industries we value ambition. Drive. Reaching beyond yourself.”

I clench my jaw and my fists at the same time. “Ilikemy job. And I’m really good at it. Also, I resent the implication that I’m not ambitious or driven. You don’t know anything about me, all right?Aran.”

I almost spit out his name, and when I see his expression change I swallow hard and almost bite my tongue off. What the hell iswrongwith me?! Do I have a death wish or something?! Why am I even here, anyway?! Archer Industries has like a thousand employees just in this building. There are like ten supervisors between me and CEO Aran Archer. This certainly isn’t a damned performance review. So what is this?! What in God’s name is this?

“I know enough about you, Angie,” he says slowly, standing to full height and focusing every ounce of his attention on me. “Enough about you to know . . .” he says, trailing off like he’s not sure if he should finish that sentence, like the rest of that sentence will change everything.

“Enough to know what?” I say, blinking like a hundred times as I feel that wave of indescribable heat pass through me.

“Enough to know that . . .” he says, swallowing hard and closing his eyes. He shakes his head, smiles slowly, and when he opens his eyes I see that he’s made a decision. “Enough to know that you’re mine. You’re mine, Angie. I knew you were mine when I saw you in the hallways. I knew you were mine when I watched you on the security cameras. And I know you’re mine as I see you sitting in front of me. You’re mine, Angie. You’re fuckingmine.”

2

ARAN

I stand in utter silence as my words hover in the air like solid objects. I just did what I swore to myself I wouldn’t. I just said what I know just proved I’m a deranged, unhinged beast from the middle ages or something. What next? Do I just take her face-down on my desk, grunting and growling like an animal of the wild jungle?!

“I’m . . . I’mwhat?” she says, blinking like a bewildered schoolgirl even though she’s a perfectly poised vision of beauty, with curves that make me want to roar out loud, hips that make my fists clench as I yearn to dig my claws in and drive deep and hard, claim now and forever what I know is mine.

I scratch the back of my head and wonder how the fuck I’m gonna get out of this. It took me a month just to prepare myself to call her in here, but clearly I wasn’t prepared for the ferocity of my feelings, the rawness of my need, the primal attraction that’s all-consuming, all-encompassing, instant and pure, unimaginably strong, undeniably real.

“Who’s that girl?” I’d asked one of my top-level assistants (whose name escapes me—doesn’t matter, since my assistants don’t last that long). This was a month ago, when Angie had caught my eye. Actually she’d caught myeverything. My eyes, my ears, my swollen cock, my aching balls, my heart, my soul, my imagination, my ambition. Everything.

The attraction had been instant, an explosion of need that was so deep and raw I knew it was more than just me lusting for that magnificent ass. Lust has never had much of a hold on me—mostly because I know that it’s a sucker’s game, that many a mighty king (or CEO) has fallen from his heights just because he plunged his cock between the sweet asscheeks of a smart and ambitious woman who knew exactly what doors could open for her if she bent over and spread wide. I learned my lessons from the mistakes of my father, and I learned them early in life:

Lesson One: Never trust a woman.

Lesson Two: Never trust your cock.

Lesson Three: Never say “I love you.”

“I love you,” I blurt out like a fucking idiot, my cock hardening in my tailored trousers that I don’t think were designed to contain my full erection. My head is throbbing as hard as my balls, and I rub my temples when I realize I just violated rule Number Three for a woman I don’t even know. Clearly I’ve lost it. All these years I thought I was practicing supreme self-control, ultimate mastery of my needs, complete dominance of my body and mind. Yeah, well, clearly all I did was turn into an unhinged psycho who just declared he loves a woman he doesn’t know. Great job, Archer. Now turn off your cock and use your fucking brain to get yourself out of this hot mess.

“OK, this is one of those corporate gags, isn’t it?” she says finally, forcing a smile and touching her hair as she shifts in her chair. “Where’s the camera?”

“Right there,” I say, gesturing with my head towards one of the three cameras in my office. I had them installed years ago, mostly to protect myself from any accusations of inappropriate behavior when I’m alone in my office with a woman. But now my own paranoia has put me in a position where there’s conclusive proof that I’m a predator, another powerful man using his position to take what he wants, using his authority to satisfy his basest needs.

And this woman, this curvy goddess perched before me like an angel, is my only need right now.

A need so powerful and raw it’s freaking the fuck out of me.

A need so desperate and dark it’s all I can do to not simply say to hell with years of good behavior, Archer. Take what you want. Take what you need.

Take what’s yours.

Angie glances at the cameras and then looks at me with a puzzled frown. “What . . . what is this, Mister Archer? What’s happening here? Why are you . . . why did you . . .”

Why indeed, I think as I rub my stubbled jaw and almost laugh at the absurdity of the mess I’ve created with the potent mixture of my big cock and my even bigger mouth. But when I saw Angie in my hallways a month ago, I knew she was mine. I knew I had to have her. I knew I’d burn everything down to make her mine, sacrifice it all to claim her from the inside and outside, her heart and soul, her mind and body, her sex and her love. I’d watched her like a stalker in the dark, turning on my security camera feeds and staring like a pervert as she went about her day, that big, beautiful ass moving like poetry beneath her skirts and dresses, that heavy bosom tempting me like Ulysses under the spell of the sirens, her soft, pretty face hardening me and melting me at the same time like magic. I was a man obsessed. Iama man obsessed. Depraved and dark. Flooded with lust for a woman I don’t know. Overwhelmed with what feels like love even though it’s totally fucking illogical, maybe even impossible.

I swallow hard and blink three times as I take stock of the situation. I haven’t touched this woman. Haven’t threatened her. Haven’t propositioned her. Maybe I can still talk my way out of this, I think as I glance at the cameras and blink again. Talk my way out of this, or maybe . . . just maybe . . . talk my wayintoit.

My mind snaps into focus as I remember the reason I called Angie in here. I’d decided to promote her, to give her a job on the executive floor, down the hall from my dark, isolated office. It was a lame-ass, half-baked idea, driven by my uncontrollable need to be near this woman, to win her over slowly and carefully. But that plan is out the window now. I don’t want to do this slowly and carefully. I want this now. I want it all now. I wanthernow. I want my future now. My forever now. All of itnow!

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