Mr. Absolutely Not!: A Romantic Comedy, page 19
Maybe that’s why I kissed him, why I suddenly want him.
I lie there wracked with guilt for kissing him. I’m just as bad as my sister, right? Did I kiss him because I was attracted to him, or because I just wanted to use him for his resources?
Well, I want to use him for something, that’s for sure.
I can’t stop thinking about the way he stared at me, the way he said he would throw me on the floor and fuck me ’til I screamed.
Wrapping the blanket around me, I ease my legs off the mattress. My toes sink into the carpet.
Salinger’s not there when I open the door and peer out into the dark hallway. Chewing on my lip, I tiptoe down the hall, not sure what I’m doing or where I’m going.
This is stupid. I need a cold shower and sleep.
There are footsteps on the stairs. Before I can race back to the guest bedroom, Salinger comes up the stairs, in a white dress shirt and suspenders that look way more erotic than they have any right to.
I’m practically drooling.
“Sneaking out?”
I clutch at the blanket and let out some unintelligible stammering.
If I was Lauren, I would throw myself at him, grab his hand, push it between my legs, and let him know how much I want him.
I’m a scaredy cat.
“Um…” I wrack my brain.
He moves up on the top step, so he’s looking over me.
I lick my lips. His eyes watch the motion. “I just… I don’t have any clean underwear.”
That’s what I came up with?
“Er, sorry, not your problem. Just it’s, uh… weird. I don’t really do the commando thing. I’m gonna go try, though, I think I’ll survive.” I practically run back to the guest room and wince when the door slams behind me.
I can’t tell if I want him to chase me or if I’m terrified of the prospect.
Definitely terrified.
Then why am I secretly thrilled when I hear his footsteps outside in the hallway a few heart-pounding moments later?
The footsteps hesitate. Then he knocks. “Mandy?”
Oh my gosh, he’s here! Is he going to have his way with me? I’m being boiled alive with desire.
Get it together.
I rush to the door and try to seem presentable when I open it.
Unfortunately, Salinger doesn’t grab me and kiss me passionately and declare his undying love for me.
Instead, he holds out a familiar scrap of pale-pink fabric that I had been determined to pretend had fallen into a conveniently placed black hole so its absence would not haunt me.
“Fuck.”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “You left these in the bathroom a few weeks ago.”
Double fuck. Glad that it’s dark so that he doesn’t see the embarrassment all over my face, I mumble, “Thanks,” and almost slam his fingers in the door, I shut it so hard.
Kissing Salinger was about as horrible a mistake as going to that singles mixer and giving Jaxon my number.
One thing’s for sure, I am never letting this happen again.
28
SALINGER
It’s bad enough that I’d held on to the panties and stashed them in a crack on the underside of the bed frame, like I was still some dick-headed teenager. But in the evenings after work, I would take them out of the hiding place and run my fingers over the seams, memorizing the little lips of lace and the small bow.
After several stern lectures to myself and with a metaphorical gun to my head, I finally washed them, the first load of laundry I’d done in years.
I should have just thrown them away, pretended I knew nothing about them. Now, they were nestled between her legs, like I wish my mouth could be.
I crossed a line. I kissed my assistant, after swearing she was safe in my house. Clearly, I was lying to her and myself. This is why I don’t date and instead just use women as a stepping stone to money, power, and connections.
Now? I don’t want to use her for anything… well, anything business-related. I definitely want to use her—and let her use me.
Maybe I’m just leveling up to my next iteration of unconscionable villain and taking advantage of a vulnerable woman. Because that’s what Mandy is—vulnerable, terrified. She hasn’t been sleeping, so she’s clearly not thinking straight.
I pace there in front of her room for too long.
She came looking for me. She wants me.
How can I be expected to stay away when she stares at me with those big brown eyes, needing me to protect her? And it’s not my imagination or wish fulfillment. She needs me. Mandy feels safe with me. It’s obvious as soon as she’s safe in my car or my home or just around me—I can see her visibly relax, let her guard down.
It’s intoxicating, this power I have over her.
Which is why I need to stay away from Mandy. I’m a terrible man, and she already has enough of that in her life.
I’m finishing my workout when the concierge knocks on the front door.
He grins.
I scowl. “Seward.”
“Special delivery!” He hands me a shopping bag from a high-end store along with a paper cup of coffee from the café next door—which only seems to be open by appointment—along with a paper sack containing an oversized jam-filled croissant. “I ate yours already.”
I snort.
“Did you a favor. I know you’re trying to watch your figure.” Seward pats his stomach.
I take the bag with a “Thanks,” set it on the kitchen counter, and towel off my face. Inside the bag are the clothes I requested for Mandy. No undergarments—that felt too wrong.
Pepper is scratching on the other side of the guest-room door when I pad down the hall, still in my bare feet and workout clothes.
I knock softly.
No answer.
More whining from Pepper.
I knock again.
I spent a lot of money on this penthouse. You know how they say money doesn’t buy happiness? Lie. Sure, some people might think that, but those people probably grew up in a loving middle-class home and not an RV that literally rotted around you as you slept.
Guess what? Money absolutely does buy happiness, and my penthouse with the custom mahogany-inlaid floors makes me very happy—and I will be very unhappy if that dog ruins them.
I ease the handle down and swing the door in. The dog scuffles as the door scoots her backward.
“Just come around the other side,” I whisper, so I don’t wake up Mandy.
The dog can’t seem to figure it out. Dumb animal.
I open the door wider to try to make Pepper figure out where she’s supposed to go, and suddenly there’s Mandy. She has one hand in her hair and the other over her mouth, mid-yawn.
My T-shirt, clinging to her skin, has ridden up. She’s wearing the same pink panties over which I’d really had to dig deep in order not to jack off on them. With her curvy, soft thighs and hard nipples under the fabric, she looks utterly fuckable.
She also screams when she sees me.
Cursing, I shut the door. It jams on Pepper, who has finally figured out how to get around it.
“I thought you were still asleep,” I explain through the partially open door.
“So you’re just sneaking in here to spy on me?” she yells from behind the chair.
“I promise I’m not looking.” I hold up the coffee, the pastry, and the shopping bag and take two steps into the room. Of course I’m looking, but through my splayed fingers. I see her on her hands and knees, peeking around the oversized low-slung chair by the fireplace.
“For you.” I set the presents on the dresser. “I’m taking your dog out before she messes up my floors.”
I shove Pepper out of the way with my foot, shutting the door behind me.
Then I wait.
Mandy’s footsteps pad over the carpet. I lean forward, resting my head on the cool wood of the door. I wonder what she would do if I went back in there, pushed her back against the wall, and kissed her again like I did last night. Would she scream? Would she yield?
It’s better if I don’t find out.
The lobby of the tower is empty. The lobby of the building is always empty. Rich people move around the world like sharks, never staying in one place long.
On the rare occasions I run into one of my neighbors, they usually seem detached—or they want to set me up with one of their daughters’ niece’s cousins, hinting that I need a well-bred wife.
I am getting older. It wouldn’t be hard to take one of them up on such an offer. I know women like their daughters—they know the score. Have a few babies, keep your affairs discreet, look pretty at charity and business functions, and the checks keep rolling in.
I probably should have a wife, right? People will start to talk eventually, wonder what was wrong with me. A woman from a good family would cut any rumors off at the knees.
Then why do I keep thinking about having Mandy by my side?
“I could have taken Ms. Pepper out,” Seward reminds me when I walk past him, carrying the dog.
Yes, I’m carrying her. Sure, I could have an argument with an animal with a brain the size of a peanut to try to convince her that she’s certainly capable of walking—or I could just pick her up and carry her.
“She has separation-anxiety issues.”
Seward follows me out. “She doesn’t want to be away from her father.”
“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?” I put Pepper on the damp sidewalk. She immediately sits on my foot.
“Considering you’re the only person in residence at the moment, don’t worry—this will just stay between us.”
The concierge smiles as he unfurls an enormous umbrella over Pepper. He bites back a laugh as I nudge the dog toward the flowers alongside the building.
“Just say whatever it is.” The growl comes out meaner than I intend.
“It’s nice to see you with an animal. They add joy to our lives. Children too. I hear your little brothers might be stopping by. Should I secure some toys or child-friendly snacks for them?”
I’m going to kill Fitz. “You have been misinformed.”
Mandy is in the kitchen wearing the new clothes when I come back with Pepper.
“I spent way too much time with you.” I’m talking to the dog, a bad habit I’ve apparently picked up. “You’re lucky that I like to talk to Seward. He gets lonely. We’ll have to go visit with him after work.”
Mandy’s made herself some sort of breakfast sandwich. I didn’t even know there was food in the fridge to cook. It smells delicious, slightly spicy. Is that eggs and sausage? Onions, maybe? She’s tapping at an email on her phone with one finger. Music is playing softly. She hums along, leaning over a plate to bite into the sandwich.
The black skirt clings to her hips and the curve of her ass as she bends over. She’s in those same black heels from yesterday, and she stands on one foot, the other raised slightly behind her as she taps the toe of the shoe absently on the floor.
The shirt is too small—it’s practically molded over her chest, so I can see the outline of her tits through the fabric. It stops just at the waistband of the skirt, though as she leans over, I see an expanse of the smooth skin of her back.
I roll my shoulders. “You need to go change.”
She jumps and wipes at the smear of cheese on her mouth. “These are the clothes you gave me.” She’s annoyed, brown eyes flashing as I approach her.
“And you need to get out of them.”
Her eyes flick to the sandwich then back at me, defiant. “Just go ahead and say it. It’s too tight, or I need shapewear, or I’m embarrassing you. Whatever horrible thing you’re thinking.”
It’s like she forgot that I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to throw her down and fuck her on the floor last night.
We’re going to do it like that? Fine.
“You really want the truth?” I hook two fingers in the V neck, pull her. She jerks forward. I grab her wrist so that she doesn’t spill the dripping breakfast sandwich on her clothes.
“I want you to take off that shirt and your bra, then put the shirt back on so I can suck your tits through the fabric. I’m not going to get any work done today if you wear that shirt. So you need to change. I have a lot on my schedule today.”
Her eyes lock on my mouth. She swallows. “That’s a valid reason,” she croaks. “I’ll just go home and change.” She turns like she’s going to leave, like I’m just going to let her walk out the front door by herself.
I jerk her back by her wrist, wrap my other hand around the back of her neck. Try not to kiss her.
“I told you—I don’t give a shit about your boundaries. You’re not going home.” I steal the sandwich out of her hand and take a bite. “Fuck, that’s good.” The flavors explode in my mouth.
“Hey! You can’t just take my food.” Mandy trots after me, her heels clicking on the floor. “Don’t you have a private chef?”
“He leaves the meals in the fridge, but this is way better than anything he’s ever made.” I take another bite.
Now Pepper is racing after me, begging for a bite while trying to trip and kill me as I climb the stairs.
“You’re going to have to drive me back to my apartment, then, if you’re going to be so unreasonable.” In the tight skirt and heels, Mandy can’t get up the stairs as fast as me and Pepper.
“Hard no.”
“You don’t get to just dictate my life.”
“I’m your boss. Try again.”
She’s huffing down the hallway as I go to my closet, grab one of the identical starched white shirts hanging there.
I hand it to her as she walks through the doorway of my bedroom. “Put this on.”
Then I push her to the closet and lean against the sideboard while I eat the breakfast sandwich and try not to think of her in there, shirtless. I could fuck her in that skirt and those heels with my hands over her tits.
“You have to give Pepper the last bite,” Mandy calls out from the closet. The dog is slobbering at my feet. “She always gets the last bite of anything I eat.”
As she comes out of the closet, Mandy rolls up the shirtsleeves. The dress shirt is tucked into the black skirt.
She looks…
“Better,” I say.
“This looks dumb.” Mandy wrinkles her nose.
I toss the last bite of the sandwich to Pepper. Hungry for something more, I grab Mandy’s chin, run my thumb over her mouth. “You look fucking hot in my shirt.” I’m not going to kiss her. “I’m going to shower, then we can leave. Unless you want to stay?” I can’t decide if I want her to call my bluff.
She just gulps and hurries out of the room.
Cursing, I shrug off my workout clothes and step under the cold spray of the shower.
I shouldn’t keep her here, don’t need to keep her here. I can send her to a hotel. Shoot, I can put her up in a different high-security tower and hire a car to drive her around, if I’m that worried about her safety.
But there’s this need—I need her near me. I need to know exactly where she is.
Or maybe I just want to fuck her.
29
MANDY
Salinger’s car is waiting in front of the tower when we step off the elevator.
“Is Ms. Pepper going into work with you, or do you need a dogsitter?” Seward asks hopefully.
“Very clearly, you’re volunteering.” Salinger’s tone is conversational, casual, like last night he didn’t just have his hands all over me. Like an hour ago he didn’t say he wanted to suck my nipples through a shirt.
“As I said, it’s nice to have animals and babies around.”
“Salinger, you should adopt a pet so Seward has a friend to talk to,” I say.
“We don’t need anyone else around here having entire conversations with animals.” He opens the passenger door for me, and I sink into the deep leather seat.
The car smells like Salinger. I wonder what it would be like to have that smell wrapped around me in his oversized bed, with the dark comforter shoved to the foot of the bed, us tangled in the sheets...
Nope. Not about my boss, we’re not.
Lines are being blurred, though, or maybe it’s just me.
Beside me, Salinger’s driving, eyes unreadable behind dark sunglasses.
He’s so unfairly hot, and I admit I had some teen-girl fantasy of him falling in love with me when I first started working for him. That is, until I came to my senses and signed up for that singles mixer.
I never should have gotten involved with Jaxon, and I definitely can never ever get involved with Salinger Svensson.
“Mandy,” he says.
Pepper tries to climb into his lap.
“Don’t get hair on his clothes, Pepper.” The dog ignores me, jumping in Salinger’s lap, her front paws on the window. “Oh, Starbucks!”
Salinger’s trying to ignore us, which is probably hard because we’re both practically in his lap as me and the dog gaze longingly at the green-and-white storefront.
“Coffee.” My voice is reverent. “Pepper and I usually buy a pick-me-up on the way to the office.”
He keeps driving.
“Oh, you passed it, but that’s okay. There’s another one coming up.”
“We’re not stopping. I had very expensive coffee brought in for you.” He signals and makes a turn.
“They ran out of the Cosmic Coconut cold brew the last time I was there. I need it before it leaves at the end of the month—you don’t understand,” I plead.
The dog rests her head on the steering wheel and howls.
“I’m in the office when you bring in those disgusting drinks.” His mouth twists. “I understand—I just don’t condone it.”
Pepper is acting like she’s dying.
“She wants her Puppuccino,” I tell him.
“Really? Because I think you just want your coffee slop.”
