Arianne Iwoke up this morning basking in glorious bliss. Now, my mood is dampened. Mom’s warning weighs heavy on my shoulders. I should’ve known better. I’m too levelheaded to allow another charming CEO to blindside me. Didn’t I learn my lesson the hard way? One definition of insanity is r epeating the same mistake over and over again, expecting different results. Get your shit together, Arianne. Don’t let those pretty blue eyes derail you. I sigh as I get out of the cab after paying the driver. I need to buy or lease a car. Since Rhys had made arrangements on my first day at SCORE to tour Tekknika Audio, I spent the first ninety minutes of my day immersed in the ins and outs of the company’s production. Now, I’m back at the office. As I make my way to the front door of the office building, I can’t help but notice people staring. I look down at my outfit, worried. Nothing is out of place. No coffee or food stains. Maybe they’re staring because I’m the new girl? I shrug it off and ke ep walking. When I enter the lobby, I receive the same treatment. More stares. “Good morning, Arianne,” Paula, the rec eptionist, says. “Love, love, love the new look. So Holy Chic.” “Good morning, Paula. Thank you. Have a good day.” I head with a determined st ep to the elevator, not bothering to stop at her desk. I’m in no mood to chitchat. As I make my way to my office, I’m keenly aware of the stares. What are they looking at? Then Paula’s comment hits me. Oh. My. God. If my mother and aunt—who live on the other side of the country— know about my evening with sexy Beckett, and Paula is aware of my wardrobe selection from last night, everyone else knows I was out with the boss and that it had little to do with business. Crap. I quicken my st
Ep I’m sure it’ll blow over by lunchtime. I hope. I pray. The walk through the executive floor proves to be an interesting experience. Women shoot me glances. At first, I’m certain they’re shooting daggers at me, but they’re not. Could it be... admiration? I’m not sure if it’s because of my new outfit or last night, but I don’t linger to find out. When I walk inside my office, I freeze. What the hell? I’m so shocked, I st ep out to make sure I’ve not entered the wrong office by mistake. Nope. This is mine. I walk in again, close the door behind me, drop my handbag and laptop case on my desk. My eyes bounce to every corner in shock. I can’t believe my eyes. Everywhere I look, stunning bouquets of yellow roses greet me. Wow. I st ep up to a vase and inhale the delightful fragrance. Sublime. I spot a little white envelope with my name scripted on it with decisive cursive penmanship.
My curiosity gets the best of me. With impatient hands, I rip the envelope open. No way. I’m speechless and in awe. Holy Chic, You’re fucking beautiful. Your new friend. A blush cre eps from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. I was firm in my earlier decision to march into Beckett’s office and tell him we needed to cool things off, citing the many disadvantages and pitfalls of an office romance, but now, I’m so enchanted I don’t know what to do anymore. My phone flashes a text message just before the phone on my desk rings, I jump. It’s coming at me from all sides this morning. I drop the note and rush to grab my phone. Beckett. With a huge smile on my face, I round my desk to pick up the office phone. “Hey, Valerie,” I say. “Hey, Arianne.” “Can I call you back in ten minutes?” “Did you get the breathtaking flowers?” She ignores my request. Err... I hope she doesn’t ask too many questions. “I did.” “It took the delivery guy three trips to bring them all up.” Wow. “They’re from Blooming Thrill—the best flower shop in the city. Everything is super expensive there. No wonder. All the rich people, celebrities and socialites get their flowers from there.” This is unbelievable. “I see,” I say, doing my best to sound as detached as possible. “I texted my husband to let him know some girls have all the luck... present company excluded,” she says. I don’t know how much she knows, so I tread with caution. “It’s a small thank you.” “I’ll play along, but just so you know, those photos on the internet tell a different story. That said, I don’t get paid to pry.” “Let me call you back.” “Sure thing,” she says. I put an end to the conversation before it gets out of hand. Giddy, I turn my focus to my phone. Beckett: Hey, Holy Chic. I laugh. Arianne: Hey, you. Beckett: Did you get the flowers? Arianne: I did. You’re insane. Beckett: You don’t like them? Arianne: I love them. Thank you. Beckett: I was told yellow roses mean friendship. Arianne: That’s so sweet. And unexpected. And mind-boggling. And amazing. And oh, my freakin’ God.
Beckett: Turns out not even top-notch florists sell flowers that say, ‘I woke up this morning with an overwhelming urge for a r epeat of last night’. I bite my lower lip as my nipples tighten with need. An electric current zips through my body, bulls-eyeing its way straight to my clit. Arianne: You’re crazy. Beckett: I’m dead serious. You’re my first. Arianne: Your first? Beckett: I’ve never done anything that was both sweet and dirty before. Arianne: I don’t know what to say. Beckett: I do. I’m in meetings all day to cover for Rhys. I won’t be back in the office until end of day. Swing by my office at sixthirty to retrieve your panties. Arianne: What are you talking about? Beckett: The panties you’re wearing now. Arianne: I don’t follow. Beckett: Did you go commando? Arianne: It’ll be a cold day in hell before I walk around without panties. Beckett: Bundle up, buttercup. Winter is coming. Arianne: Did you lace your coffee with a bottle of whiskey? Beckett: I want you to remove your panties, fold them neatly, find a reason to walk into my office and leave them—preferably damp and permeated with your heady scent—in the last drawer of my desk. Arianne: What? Beckett: I want you to spend the entire day commando and thinking of me. I’m so fucking wet. Arianne: You’ve lost your mind. Beckett: Is that your way of saying you want to put an end to our friendship? Arianne: This goes beyond being friends and you know it. Beckett: I didn’t hear you complaining last night. He makes a good point. The wheels in my head are churning fast. Arianne: But here? At the office? Beckett: Why be predictable? I’m dumbfounded. Arianne: We’re playing with fire.
Beckett: Is there any other way to live? Arianne: What if someone catches us? Beckett: Newsflash. I’m the boss. If my door is closed, no one in their right mind would dare to walk in without knocking. Even Valerie knows better. One of the many perks of signing paychecks. Arianne: You have an answer for everything. Beckett: I’m a determined man, Holy Chic. I grin like a fool. Arianne: Yes, you are. Beckett: You. Me. My office. Six-thirty p. m. I want you wet. And don’t be late. Dear God.