Office Hours (3 page)

15

What would this weekend bring?

He knew they worked together wonderfully—she always knew when he needed her to make a phone call or to take notes, or when to arrange a business lunch. Though she refused to get his laundry and personal items for relationships. She wouldn’t organise dates for him.

She would get his coffee, but only if she wanted one herself. She didn’t take any shit off him or anyone. If a client tried to get a grope, she would shut him down instantly, no teasing or tormenting, trying to find out what she could get out of the situation. Professional all the way, and because of that he had the deepest respect for her. Anya King was among a handful of women he respected. Most of the women he’d come across wanted to fuck their way to a promotion—in his book a promotion was earned and not on the back.

Some business associates might take what younger, ambitious women had on offer, and maybe if he’d been younger he would have too, but he’d had his fill of women willing to do anything for a price, and now he was looking for the woman who’d do anything just because she wanted to and not because of what she might gain financially.

Nathan found he prayed every day for such a woman.

He mindlessly soothed back Anya’s hair with his fingers as he continued to take in the views outside the window, musing on how trusting she was as she lay in his lap.

OFFICE HOURS

Sam Crescent

16

Chapter Two

“Anya…Anya…Anya…” On and on her name was called, her body being shaken ever so slightly. Anya swatted at the offending interruption with her hand.

“Go away,” she grumbled, squeezing the comfortable, but stiff, pillow.

“Anya, we’re here.” The call was soothing, trying to draw her out of her incredibly erotic dream.

“I’m asleep. Whoever you are, leave your number, I won’t call,” she growled. She kept her eyes shut, trying to fall back to sleep.

“What?”

Anya opened her eyes wide.
No way
, she shouldn’t be able to hear that voice in her flat.

No way
, that voice wouldn’t call her by her given name. Her eyes travelled up the long, lean leg she was currently squeezing, travelling up until she met the face of her boss.

Oh shit.

Anya jerked into a sitting position so fast that she fell in a heap on the limousine floor.

Slightly bewildered, she looked up to see hills upon hills separated by olde worlde dry-stone walls outside the car windows. Greenery was everywhere, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Buxton?

“Where are we?” she asked, trying to distract Nathan from the question he must have been dying to ask.

“Buxton. This is where we’ll be staying.” He gestured to a quaint-looking pub that, according to the sign, served Italian food all day long.

“A pub?” she questioned.

“What is wrong with a pub?” he queried, still staring curiously at her.

“Nathan Banks, you’re a multi-millionaire—surely you prefer a few of the little creature comforts us mere mortals are used to as well.” It was the first time she’d ever spoken of his extreme wealth.

He laughed. “I love my creature comforts. I love a nice soft bed, a good bouncy pillow, a warm place to stay, hot delicious food…”

OFFICE HOURS

Sam Crescent

17

“Precisely,” Anya agreed.

“But this is not about creature comforts, Anya, this is about working together in the wilderness.”

“This isn’t the wilderness, sir, this is a pub. There’s probably less wildlife.” Anya pulled herself back onto the seat beside him and looked out at the place she’d be staying. A beautiful place—she wouldn’t tell him how much she looked forward to staying there. On all of his other business trips, he’d demanded top-rate hotel accommodation, no expense spared.

Those sorts of places really unnerved Anya—she didn’t like the attitudes of the wealthy elite.

They tended to think they could have anything and anyone. If anyone turned them down, they just increased the price. Some of Nathan’s friends had propositioned her in the past, and if she’d been any other woman, she was sure they’d have succeeded in scaring or bribing her into bed. But she was not any ordinary woman, she was Anya King. Anya King took shit from no one. It had been nice to see their shocked features when she’d refused their offers of sex, and other things. One married man had even offered her a place as his primary mistress, living in wealth and luxury for the rest of her life. The guy had been a pig, a little older than Nathan but not by much, a pompous ass who had thought she was for sale. She’d soon taught him a thing or two. His wife now had his balls in her hands.

She didn’t mess with married men. If married men propositioned her, she’d tell the wife. Monogamy in a relationship was important to her—a committed relationship quite a different thing to a one-time fling—and she would not go against her beliefs for anyone.

“What was that about when you woke up?” Nathan broke into her thoughts with his dreaded question.

Stalling, she said, “What are you talking about?” She put on her best bewildered face, gazing at him with what she hoped was a confused look.

“You know what I mean, Anya,” he said, not giving her a chance to escape.

Searching, searching, she ran through her mind like an internet search, trying to pull out as fast as she could the best excuse, or even the best version of the truth.

“I was dreaming.”
The
best excuse she could come up with. It sounded lame and clichéd even to her.

“When you’re dreaming, you don’t say full sentences,” he argued.

“Yes, you do,” she contradicted.

“No, you don’t. You’re sleeping, Anya.” As if that was a good explanation.

OFFICE HOURS

Sam Crescent

18

“I talk in my sleep all the time.”

“Anya.”

“What? Are you suddenly the expert on sleep-talking? Proper protocol—I’ve not given you permission to use my given name,
Mr Banks.”
Stalling, still.

“I did not know you had a boyfriend,
Miss King
.” He looked down at his hands, fisted on his leg. She frowned at his trousers then up at him.

“I don’t,” she answered with the truth.

“Then who were you talking about?”

She thought for a second. She had no idea who she’d been talking about—she’d never taken a man back to her flat. Her flat was her space. She didn’t want any upset relating to the one place of peace in her life.

“I’ve had boyfriends before, obviously.” Although she preferred to keep her flat private, she had stayed over, some time ago, at an old boyfriend’s place. Usually she tried to stay well clear of sharing space with her lovers.

“Oh, when?”

“Years ago.” She gave her answer instantly, without thinking. Why was that?

“Oh.”

“Oh,” she agreed.

Anya had learnt early on that relationships could get really messy. Her first ever sexual relationship had been with an Italian man. A man older than her and completely gorgeous.

He’d taught her everything she knew, and how sticky and heartbreaking it could be discovering your lover was married, not just for her but also for his wife. Antonio had been ten years older, wealthy and leaking sexuality and charm. He’d charmed her from the very beginning, winning her heart in a matter of hours with his wit and charisma, making her laugh and cry, making her intrigued, curious to know more. Every time she’d been in his company, she’d made sure she dressed to impress him, adoring his compliments and attention. He had taken her to fancy restaurants, buying her champagne and jewels. She had fallen so hard, thinking about him, constantly wondering what he was doing. What he was thinking, whether he missed. She’d yearned for him to be near her, loving her body the way only he could. At night he’d possessed her body, taking her to dimensions of pleasure she’d never even known existed.

OFFICE HOURS

Sam Crescent

19

After three months, Anya had broached the subject of moving in together, commitment.

She could not imagine spending time with anyone else, being with anyone else.

Reality check. A cruel betrayal by Antonio, the man she loved. His scorn at the idea of making it a permanent relationship, including marriage. Her hopes had disintegrated in front of her very eyes. They were fucking, pure and simple, he’d told her. She should not have believed that because a man has given her jewels, food and wine, that they were anything long-term. She could be a lover—he had loads of them, all over the world, plenty of females to warm his bed—but she’d never be his wife. He’d had one of those as well, one from an upstanding family, with morals and money.

Harsh words crumbling her ideals, she’d picked herself up from the gutter, concentrating on working hard and playing hard, never again allowing a man to get too close.

“Are you dating anyone now?” The question jolted her out of her glum memories of the past.

“What?”

“Have you got a boyfriend?”

“I don’t date.” She stopped the conversation abruptly, reaching for the door handle then rushing out into the bitterly cold fresh air.

Taking huge gulps of air, she tried to breathe out the pain of the past.

After five minutes, having got her bearings, she was ready to face the weekend ahead.

“Feel better?” he asked as she approached the car again, his arms folded, leaning against the door.

“Ten times better.”

“Let’s go then.”

As she followed him into the spacious pub, the smell of basil, garlic and pasta assailed her senses, making her mouth water.

Nathan walked to the reception desk. “I have reservations for Nathan Banks and Anya King.”

The young lady at the reception desk, dazzled by his good looks, smiled and blushed, batting fake eyelashes at him. Anya rolled her eyes and waited, arms folded. This weekend could end with her resignation.

OFFICE HOURS

Sam Crescent

20

“Ah, yes. Linda and Andrew told me to show you to your rooms and let you rest.

They’ll be with you shortly.”

She took a key and escorted them up some cramped back stairs. Anya laughed at the faces Paul was pulling while bringing up their suitcases. “His case is heavier than yours,” he muttered, making her laugh out loud.

Nathan turned, giving them a funny look. His Boss look.

“Here is your bedroom, Mr Banks—spacious, the best in the house. Follow me, Miss King—your room is down the hall.” Her frosty glare made Anya want to stick her tongue out, but she resisted, sending her the best smile she could muster.

“I’m sorry, but I ordered rooms side-by-side with an adjoining door.” He sent the other woman a dazzling smile.

“Are you a couple?” she enquired—very unprofessional.

Anya, wanting to have a little laugh, went to his side and took hold of his large hand, her other running across his chest. “Sweetheart, we can’t hide it any more. We would love the two rooms for more privacy. He
did
negotiate weeks ago.” She smiled possessively.
If I’m
not getting any, neither is he.
She chuckled as the woman walked into his room and pointed out the door to the adjoining rooms, which apparently was free after all. She left the key and stormed out.

She pulled her hand away from his and took her case from Paul.

“Pick us up at nine on Sunday night,” Nathan instructed, before the driver left, shutting the door behind him and leaving them in total privacy. “What,” he said, “was all that about?”

“The girl had a crush on you. I thought it best to protect you from a possible night invasion.” Anya shrugged, opening her connecting door to be confronted with a nightmare of peach and frills. “Yuck. I’m so getting a raise when we get back home.”

“She wouldn’t have come to my room.”

“Next time I’ll leave you to the calculating mind of women, but this weekend is about
team-building
not about
sex,
” she answered, before moving into her own room and shutting him out. After all, she
was
a woman. She knew the calculating minds of her own sex, which was why she worked damned hard to carve out her own respect.

Some serious private time was needed. She slammed her case onto the bed, unlocked the clasps and unzipped the case lid, flipping it open.

OFFICE HOURS

Sam Crescent

21

Oh, no
.

Anya rummaged through the clothes, the underwear.

It was like some sick joke out of a sit-com.

She shook her head and clicked the locks back into place, then went back to the door connecting her room and Boss Man’s. Building up her courage, she opened the door. At the end of the bed Nathan stood with a bright purple, seven-inch Heartthrob vibrating dildo in his hand and her various styles of crotchless panties and peep-hole bras in a range of colours spread across the bed along with her other clothes and very special toys.

Smiling, Anya brought in his case and placed it gently on the bed. “You found Tim.” She saw him gulp, looking from the fake cock to her, and back again.

“You brought a dildo with you?”

“Shh.” Anya placed a finger against his dry lips. “You’ll hurt his feelings.” She picked up her clothes and shoved them into the suitcase.

“Why do you need this?” His question stopped her for a second. Turning, she gave him her full attention. She contemplated telling him the truth, weighing up the consequences.

Fuck it, he’d brought her on this trip, he could deal with the truth. He was a big grown man.

“Since my very bossy boss told me I had to go on this team-building crap, my weekend of getting fucked went out of the window. So I brought reinforcements. I love cock, Mr Banks, and you have stopped me getting my dose.” She took the purple pleasure device from his motionless fingers and left with her head held high.

She closed the door once again, laughing.

Oh, did she need some quiet girl time.

Nathan couldn’t move. His feet felt glued to the floor. Licking dry lips, he stared from where she’d stood a few moments ago to the door she’d shut firmly behind her. His body tense, his mind ran riot with thoughts of her, right now, at this very second, lying naked, spread across the frilly bed, penetrating her pussy with
that
poor excuse for a cock.