Chapter One
Katie
Everyone handles crushes differently. Some people confidently approach the object of their affections and try to romance them.
Me, I took to writing about mine. Mainly, because the object of my affection is my sexy boss, Michael Morgan. He’s older than me…by like a lot. He’s richer than me…by like a lot. He’s everything I shouldn’t want…but do.
So, I’ve turned my little fantasies about him into dirty stories. I publish them on the internet under a pen name. I have millions of readers around the globe, eagerly waiting for the next installment of my naughty series, Dirty Contract.
I spend my lunch breaks secretly writing, typing about the filthy things I want him to do to me. The things I want to do to him.
Meanwhile, he sits across the hall in his office with the door open. He doesn’t have a clue that in my mind he’s pushing me up against his desk and having his wicked way with me.
But today is different because it’s Friday. Friday means he’ll go for a long lunch to spend time with his daughter.
He pauses in front of my desk. He’s dressed the same as he is every day in a fitted black button down with dark slacks. “Are you working through lunch again, Ms. Hunter?”
His rectangular glasses frame blue eyes that never seem to miss a detail when he looks at me. If there was an edition of GQ dedicated solely to the silver fox, Michael Morgan would grace the cover.
I minimize the next installment, not willing to let him discover my secret lunchtime project. “Someone has to keep this place running, Mr. Morgan.”
“Remind me to give you a raise.” He starts toward the office door then pauses and turns back to me with a sheepish expression. “The Wagner Contract.”
I give him a longsuffering sigh because I like teasing him. “You lost it in your inbox. Send it again.”
Michael loves his work, but he hates the details like keeping track of the documents, dates, and other vital information. The man is hopeless when it comes to that stuff. I’m forever giving him reminders and making sure he shows up on time for his appointments.
He frowns. “It’s only the second time this week.”
“Third,” I say in a sing-song voice. I pull up my email while glancing at him. “Better make sure your head is sewn on tight. You have the masquerade tomorrow night.”
He scowls at me. “That’s why I have you to accompany me. Best assistant on the East Coast.”
“And Atlas,” I quickly point out. His daughter will also be with us. It’s a relief in a way because it keeps me from imagining the fancy event as a date.
He nods. “Do you have that research for me?”
I pull the blue folder from my tidy desk and hand it to him. It’s a list of all the families attending the masquerade and it includes a note of which ones have sons around his daughter’s age.
Michael is always working on a project. If I had to guess, his latest one is finding his college daughter a boyfriend.
He accepts the folder, our fingers brushing. It sends a tingle down my spine and I fight a shiver.
He opens his mouth to say something else, but there’s a knock on the door.
Eric, the head of cyber security here at Alpha Defense Industries, pokes his head into the room. “Ready when you are, Michael.”
Michael passes the folder back to me. “Add it to my desk.” Then he leaves without another word.
His desk is an overflowing mess of folders. It’s the place where organized projects go to die.
Instead, I stand and move to the filing cabinet across the room. My white heels clack against the marble office floor while the full white skirt of my dress swishes as I approach it.
The crinoline brushes against my thighs with every step, but I like dressing in vintage clothing. I love the way it makes me feel sexy and flatters my curvy figure.
When I’m done with that, I open my document again and lose myself in a world where I actually have a chance with Michael.
***
Michael
After I return from lunch, Katie’s face is pink as she peers at her computer screen. I make a mental note to ask her what projects she works on during lunch that fluster her so much.
Then I wonder if she’d blush like that if she was under me. I instantly force myself to dismiss the thought. No matter how many times I think about her, it’d be wrong to pursue her.
But that doesn’t mean that I’m not taking cold showers because of her. Or adding countless hours to my gym sessions. Anything to avoid picturing her in those vintage clothes she wears.
She always looks like a fifties housewife that stepped out to run a few errands. It torments me the way lace peeks out from under those little dresses. Every time I see it, I think about sticking my head under my skirt and seeing if she wears matching white lace panties.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Morgan?” She looks up at me and asks the question in a breathy tone.
I realize I’ve been standing here and staring as I imagine dragging her into my office and closing the blinds. I’d bend her over my desk, pull up that little dress and finally satisfy my sick curiosity.
Since I can’t do any of that, I clear my throat. I scramble to think of something that would be a reasonable explanation for why I’m staring. “The…the contract. Did you send it to me?”
“Of course.” She taps a pen against her keyboard, all nervous energy.
I stride into my office. Sitting in my chair, I remind myself of all the reasons that I shouldn’t be thinking of Katie.
Namely, that she’s about my daughter’s age, she works for my company, and she’s too innocent for someone like me. All reasons that I have to walk the straight and narrow.
I open my email and accept the document she sent me without bothering to glance at the title.
Kitty’s stomach clenched as Michael stepped closer, the heat from his body warming her. He was wearing that one mischievous expression that usually ended in a quickie on his office desk.
Keeping quiet during those moments was a challenge and she loved it when he’d put his hand over her mouth to muffle her desperate moans while he rammed his cock into her tight body.
I move back to my email and check the document name, Dirty Contract. It’s definitely not what I asked for.
Does Katie read this?
The thought of her reading this dirty material excites me more than I want to admit. Maybe because I’m imagining her alone in her bed late at night. Her phone in one hand, the other inching closer to the apex of her thighs.
Stop thinking about her.
“Ms. Hunter,” I call, trying to keep my voice normal. But it comes out wrong, too deep for a casual conversation.
She’s in my office a second later. She licks her ruby red lips and asks in a voice that’s too damn seductive for the workplace. “Yes, Mr. Morgan?”
Suddenly, it makes sense. The blush that’s always on her cheeks during lunch. She’s reading dirty books, not working on some intense company project.
I open my mouth to tell her what she sent me then change my mind. Nothing good will come from mentioning it. “The Wagner Contract didn’t come through. I need it again.”
Her expression makes it clear she doesn’t believe me. She thinks I lost it already. She puts a hand on her hip, which causes the button on the top of her dress to gape. “It didn’t come through?”
I catch a glimpse of a lacy white bra and fight the urge to groan. Not for the first time, I wonder if she even knows how sexy she is. How damn irresistible that fiery red lipstick is or how much it makes me want to kiss her.
She mutters something about inbox zero and disappears to send me a fresh email with the document.
It appears without a problem and I spend the rest of the day reviewing it. Or at least, I pretend to.
But my focus keeps going back to that dirty book. I get the distinct feeling that I’m missing something.