“Ask your boss if he likes dick, er, I mean eggplants.”
I texted Quinn.
Me: I’m going to kill your boyfriend.
Quinn: I just slapped him for you. He’s sitting next to me laughing like a moron.
As high school teachers, they were off work for winter break until next week, so they were probably lazing around the house and being their typical, lovey-dovey selves.
I put my phone away and focused on my computer. A shadow moved under the other side of Daniel’s door before the door opened and he walked out of his office and down the hall, not sparing me a second glance.
The sad truth?
Sending him that text had been an accident, but I really did want to suck his cock. My insane attraction to him was one of the reasons I’d been so mortified.
But like he’d said, it was in the past. No need to think on it anymore.
Chapter Four
Daniel
My already inappropriate attraction to my assistant had grown even more intense.
When I’d received his text last night saying he wanted to suck my cock and make me come, I had instantly hardened. But then ethics had kicked in, and instead of replying to his text with an equally raunchy one, I instead questioned him.
And thank fuck for that because the text hadn’t even been meant for me. Which was a relief but also somewhat of a downer.
Each time we interacted for the rest of the day, Reed downcast his eyes. Awkward was an understatement. The next day was better. By Wednesday, things seemed to be back to normal, or as normal as they could be after the sexting mishap.
“Good morning, Mr. Sawyer,” Reed said, placing a cup of coffee on my desk. “You have a meeting with the Wylie representatives at ten to present the final product, and a status meeting at eleven thirty with the graphic design team.”
I nodded. “I’m having lunch with a client today, so make sure my schedule is clear between noon and two.”
“Yes, sir.” Reed tucked his hair behind his ear, which drew my attention to his hand as it slowly fell down his pale neck and back to his side.
I shifted in my seat and hardened my expression—though something else hardened too, much to my dismay. “That will be all.”
I inwardly cursed myself for checking out his ass when he turned to leave my office. He was dressed in tight black pants and a cream blouse-type shirt that hung a little on the sides and swooped to form a V-neck.
Reed had been texting another man when he’d accidentally messaged me. So he was into men. Which so didn’t help me any. It would’ve been a lot easier if he was straight. At least then, I’d accept that nothing would ever happen between us.
“Nothing will happen,” I grumbled to myself.
And I’d rehearse that like a goddamn mantra if I needed to in order to believe it.
After checking my email and responding to the urgent messages, I reviewed project mockups from the marketing department and requested edits on others before heading to my first meeting of the day.
Most of my time was devoted to managing projects, public relations, and overseeing the work of the design team and implementing the best marketing strategies. For years, I had worked in the creative field and actually designed campaigns and submitted pitches. I had been bright-eyed and filled with grand ideas back then, desperate to make my dreams come true.
As vice president, I did less of the actual creating and dealt more with clients directly and made the marketing decisions. It involved more social skill—definitely not a job for timid personalities—and was a hell of a lot more stressful, but the pay was worth it.
“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Reed said, shutting down his computer before slipping on his coat. He did it so gracefully too, one long arm in, followed by the other. Pale, delicate fingers buttoned it, then smoothed down the front. “Are you excited?”
The meeting with Vivian Parks, the big client we were hoping to reel in, was first thing in the morning. She was opening a large resort and spa in the mountains, and if it was successful, it would really put our agency on the map. More business in other cities equaled more revenue.
“Excited? No,” I answered, grabbing my coat and putting it on—not nearly as gracefully as he had. “But I’m prepared. You made travel arrangements, correct?”
The resort was a four-hour drive away, so we needed to leave around six to make it on time.
“Yes, sir.”