Pulling at the roots of my hair, I take a cleansing breath, and in walks Rebecca. She quietly closes my door behind her, bats her lashes, and smirks. Goddamn, my office must be a revolving door today!
I’m not excited to see this woman because she wants attention like a newborn puppy. I have a lot on my plate, leaving no time for games. Nevertheless, I’m nice to her and appease her as appropriately and professionally as possible.
“Hello, Rebecca, I don’t believe I summoned you to my office.”
“No, you didn’t, Mr. Fox. But I thought I’d see if you needed anything. You know I’m more than happy to help in any way I can, sir.”
She trails a finger along the top of my desk and bites her lip suggestively. Her seduction game is amateur and weak. It’s not going to work on me. I’m not interested.
“Actually, I’m all set, Bec. Thanks, though. I’m sure the guys down in encryption probably have some typing tasks, or you can collect their lunch order,” I suggest while moving my hand in a sweeping gesture like it’s a grand idea.
She pouts. That doesn’t work on me either. If anything, I find it annoying. She’s El’s age, but compared to El, she’s severely immature.
As Rebecca continues to stand there waiting for me to change my mind, I’m firmer this time. “Really, Rebecca, I have a lot of work to do. Please shut the door on your way out.”
That does it. Her pink lips smack together, and without a word, she takes her leave and slams the door. It’s comical how different Rebecca and Elodie are. One thing they have in common is they both know what they want. Where Bec wants attention, El wants success.
If Elodie were within earshot of that conversation just now, she’d realize I’m not the man she believes me to be.
Once I’m sure Rebecca is not near my office, I reopen my door. I hardly ever close it, even though it would keep Miss Alcott out too. Who am I kidding? El goes where she pleases.
Hell, El should be grateful she was blessed with killer looks—killer is a good term for them—because her personality is ugly at times, especially the way she looks down on me. There are a few glimpses into some warmth and beauty, but when she opens her mouth, she tends to ruin it, and the warmth recedes like the tide going out.
Jealousy on her part, perhaps? Possible jealousy over her father hiring me, I suppose. Not sure otherwise what I ever did to piss her off—I guess just breathing. Trying to remain civil and avoid her at all costs is all I’ve done since I started working here. Yet, there are times my ego gets the better of me, and I have to throw a rock in the water and watch it ripple across the pond.
And the rookie comment? That was a low blow.
Elodie is a frustrating and complicated woman. Just because her daddy owns the company, and I have to answer to him, doesn’t mean she’s in charge of me. We have the same title and same salary. For some unknown reason, she feels the need to ride my ass at every turn and practically babysit me.
There are no guarantees her father will pass the buck to her one day. Mr. Alcott seems like a very level-headed man who would want the best person for the job as CEO when he retires. We’re years away from that, so it’s a moot point. El needs to cool her jets and put down the pitchfork a time or two a day.
If she weren’t walking around with her nose in the air, plotting my demise and placing a target on my back, I might take the time to really notice her as a woman. It’s no secret I loathe the very hardwood floor she walks on. And it’s no surprise that the clack-clack-clack of her heels tapping across the floor grates on my last nerve. Her father always chuckles when he sees the two of us attempting to work together like he knows something we don’t.
Speaking of the man himself, he walks into my office with his hands casually placed in his trouser pockets, and leans against my doorframe.
“Do I want to know how it’s going?” he asks with a grin.
“Well, sir, it’s going, I guess. El just delivered a revised copy of the contract to me, so it appears I have some homework to do tonight.” I tap the contract sitting on my desk with my pointer finger for emphasis. “She’s probably already memorized it verbatim. I have some catching up to do, it would seem.”
He laughs and then crosses his arms, amused by my response. “Give her time to warm up to you.”
“Six months isn’t long enough?” I scoff.
“James, El is a tough one. She’s hard as nails for a reason—the reasons being her own. She had a…rough go of it in high school. Yet, she turned everything around when she started working here and then went to college. Her tenacity is what I admire most, and it’s not just because she’s my daughter. Her merit speaks for itself. She’ll come around eventually, trust me.”
This information is surprising, and I wonder what he means by a rough go. There’s only one way I’ll ever know her story, though, and that will be from her own lips if she ever opens up.
His cryptic words make me want to know more. Her demeanor is not inviting, so it’s no surprise I never realized there’s history surrounding her need to have a hard shell protecting herself. I’ll have to get inventive if I want a chance to crack it open.
When I nod, he seems satisfied with what he’s told me and leaves the room. Leaning back in my leather chair, I put my hands behind my head and grab at my hair again. Do I give her a chance to warm up to me?
“Elodie, Elodie, Elodie,” I utter and shake my head.
As I scrub my hands down my face and try to rid myself of the frustration she inevitably conjures, I also think about her ass today in that tight black pencil skirt. I hate myself in the process because my dick twitches in my slacks at the vision. Just because I can’t stand her, doesn’t mean I can ignore the fact that she’s a stunning woman.
When she leaned over my desk to throw the contract down, her ample cleavage in the white button-down top came into view. Saliva pools under my tongue thinking about her breasts spilling forth from the top—a fantasy I have to snap out of.
Christ, I may be a man, but I need to get my shit together! This is Elodie we’re talking about—Mistress of the Darkness, another name I’ve given her. I’m not supposed to be attracted to her.
Shoving my chair away from my desk, I stand up and start pacing. She literally needs to let her hair down once in a while. The dirty-blonde locks are always twisted up into some kind of style. When she wears her—what I call librarian glasses—and pushes them back to the bridge of her nose, it drives me crazy. El does it for emphasis. She does it for power. And for some reason, right now it’s making my cock angrier and wilder with need and lust.
In about two seconds, I’m going to run to the bathroom and have to jack off. Maybe I need to get laid. Not an ounce of me should accept that I find her attractive. My body and mind aren’t syncing; my dick is rebelling and shouting anarchy! There’s a literal uprising occurring.
She makes this face when she’s concentrating really hard, and her mouth quirks up when she reads a contract. As always, she incessantly twists a fallen tendril of her hair while she’s devouring document after document. The passion that flashes in her eyes when she’s looking at the computer screen, completing a project before the deadline, streaks through my brain. That kind of passion should be flashing through her eyes when she’s under me.