The Boss Upstairs - Roya Carmen Page 0,67

sighs loud enough for me to hear. “Well, I think you’re making a huge mistake,” he scoffs. “You’ll regret this, Gretchen.”

My heart skips a beat. Is he threatening me? I really should end this conversation now before he gets more worked up. “I’m really sorry,” I tell him. “I really enjoyed our friendship. You’re a great guy. I gotta go now.”

Click.

Damn, I really could have handled that better. I’ve never been good at this kind of thing.

My phone rings. It’s him. I decline. He calls again. I decline. And again. And again.

Finally, I block his number. I have no other choice.

God, what a mess.

I walk into Weston’s office first thing in the morning.

“We need to make amendments to the agreement.”

He smiles. “Already done. I’ve taken out the ‘no undies’ and ‘no kissing’ clauses.”

“Oh, good.” I say, brought back to the day before. I glance over at the loveseat. I want to do that again, but this time, I want to take it further. I spent hours tossing and turning in my bed last night, imagining his mouth on my pussy. “Can we scratch the ‘no oral’ too?”

His beautiful mouth curves into a slow smile. “What the lady wants, the lady gets.”

I lean against his desk. “I guess all that’s left now is intercourse.”

“That’s right.”

“Okay… well,” I say awkwardly. “I should get back to work.”

He smiles. “Come here.”

Yes, Sir.

I walk over eagerly. He motions me around the desk, until I find myself standing next to him, between his legs again.

“Turn around.”

I spin like a top, and he grabs the skirt of my dress and pulls it up. “Wow. The bruise is still there. It’s yellow now.”

“Yes, I think you should kiss it better.”

He grabs my hips and pulls me toward him. He plants a soft kiss on my bruise. He licks a slow circle around it, and I almost faint from the pleasure.

Then he slaps me, and sends me on my way. Just like that.

Such a tease.

29

I’m a ball of nerves. All my work has culminated to this moment. Everything needs to be perfect. I’ve worn my most professional outfit, a two piece black Donna Karan skirt suit and sensible pumps. I’ve set the presentation on the dining room table; all the mock-up designs I’ve been working on these past few weeks. I make sure I have my notebook handy to jot down feedback if needed.

I check my phone. It’s 3:59 PM. They should be here any minute.

I check my email and Facebook accounts to kill time.

Finally, Rosetta makes an appearance. She’s wearing her Valentino suit, and her hair is up.

“Wow,” she says. “This looks good, Honey.”

“Thank you. Please have a seat.”

She settles comfortably in one of the upholstered chairs across from me. “Where are the donuts?”

“Pardon?”

“You host a meeting, you need to have donuts… or muffins or something.”

I laugh. “You’re kidding again?”

“Yep, I’m joshing. Are you going to offer me coffee or tea?”

“No… I think you can get your own. This isn’t that kind of meeting.”

She shrugs. “Well, if that’s how it’s going to be.” She struggles to get up.

“I’m so sorry,” I’m quick to say. I’d momentarily forgotten about her broken ankle. “I’ll get you a coffee. Two sugars right?”

I quickly go fetch Rosetta a coffee, and we’re both smiling when Weston shows up.

“I’m here,” he announces, and I steal a glance. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and I suddenly feel overdressed.

“I was helping out at Lizzie’s school,” he explains. “I didn’t get the chance to change.”

“No worries. You look fine.” More than fine.

“Wow, these are fantastic, Gretchen.”

I blush a little. “Thank you.”

He sits right next to me, and leans over the table, diligently studying the designs; the logo, business card, informative flyer, website template, and so forth. Rosetta also seems quite riveted. They exchange boards and compare. They argue over some aspects of the designs. Rosetta favors the first, and Weston prefers the third. I also have a preference for the third design.

The conversation is lively, and the room full of energy. Weston in particular, seems wired up. He pulls his chair closer to mine and presses a hand over my knee. I stifle a smile.

He slowly slips a hand under the fabric of my skirt. I should tell him to stop, but I don’t. I should really pull his hand away but I don’t. “This one is softer,” he tells Rosetta.

“Yeah, but this one pops more,” she argues.

He travels further up, reaching my sweet spot. I close my eyes for a second. “Remember the emotions we’re