My chest expands and my breasts push against my blouse as I stand. The idea that just occurred to me is ludicrous, asinine, and possibly the worst one I've ever had. But other than the possibility of losing my job—oh, and my dignity—it just might work. It might not only show Mr. Duncan Willis that I take my job seriously, but at the same time save me from sitting at the children's table or with a blow-up date at Scarlett's wedding.
I square my shoulders, take another deep breath, and turn toward Mr. Willis's office.
No longer inhabited by butterflies of lust, my tummy is now filled with bats, like those that explode out of a cave in some old Indiana Jones adventure film. "Come on, Kimbra," I tell myself. "It's now or never."
With more determination than I thought possible, I walk toward his office door. My red shoes clip the tile at a fast pace. Despite my quick steps, it's as if the journey takes longer than ever before. In reality, his office is only on the other side of the large room housing mine and seven other cubicles, and down one hallway.
I've been to his office many times. I know from experience that his office space is separated from his assistant's by a large glass wall. A switch can be thrown that changes the glass from clear to opaque, giving his space the privacy necessary to discuss employees' futures. Currently as I approach, the wall is clear. Coming to a stop in the doorway, through the pane I can see Mr. Willis sitting at his desk, his green eyes squinting as he concentrates on whatever is on his computer screen.
I walk toward his assistant's desk and half-smile.
Since it was a woman I heard in that bathroom, I know the person with Mr. Willis earlier today wasn't his assistant, Jorge. Besides, if Mr. Willis and his assistant wanted to go at it, they wouldn't need to use the company bathroom. They could just do it behind the opaque window.
It's been the location of more than a few of my fantasies.
And I'm relatively sure that Jorge isn't Duncan Willis's type, though Duncan's gender may be Jorge's.
"Jorge, I need to speak to Mr. Willis."
He looks up from his computer as his dark eyes shine from below his blond styled hair. He's wearing a camel cardigan sweater over a tight black shirt. No matter who Jorge would like to get it on with, he's always the epitome of chic and style. "Hi, Kimbra. Don't tell me you're firing people again."
My eyes widen. "The day is young."
"Oh, for such a pretty young thing, you sure can be scary."
I push my shoulders back, hoping he's right. "Mr. Willis?"
Jorge tilts his head toward the door within the glass. "Go on in. He just got here so I doubt he's busy. But I warn you, something has him a little peeved this morning."
Just got here? Peeved? Thirty minutes ago Mr. Willis was on the first floor. Maybe banging some office slut in the bathroom threw off his schedule. Or maybe he's upset that it was interrupted.
Opening the door, I clear my throat. "Mr. Willis."
Chapter Five
Duncan
This day just got better, not that I'm going to let Miss Jones know that, not yet.
Kimbra Jones is a vision, one I never expected to walk into my office this morning. Not after what happened a few minutes ago.
My cheeks rise and lips thin as I scan her sumptuous body from head to toe. Her auburn hair is piled on her head exposing her slender neck and the red necklace moves with each of her breaths. It matches her fucking red shoes perfectly. My dick hardens as I imagine what I could do to her while she wears those shoes, maybe those and nothing else.
In my defense, my dick doesn't stand to attention for every woman. It wasn't even at full mast earlier today despite that woman's best intentions.
In Kimbra's defense, she doesn't wear overly revealing clothes, but hell, that's what makes her all that more enticing. With a body like Kimbra's, she could be in a damn paper sack and it would be impossible not to notice her curves. The way her ass sways in that tight skirt and her tits, her gorgeous round big tits. They're almost too perfect. Since she entered our employment three years ago, I've given those tits a lot of thought. My decision is they're real.
I came to that conclusion through years of research with strict, independent measures. Okay, it wasn't that defined. Basically, I've known women who've paid a fortune for tits like Kimbra's. I've even paid a lot of money for a few women in my past to have tits like those. The thing is, there's something about fake boobs—something I don't see in Kimbra's.
As her voice echoes through my office, it takes all my willpower to stay seated and not push the button to cloud the glass and pull her close. Earlier, it wasn't the sound of her shoes that told me someone was in the bathroom—just before that happened, I'd heard a whimper, a perfect little whimper.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't get off on someone listening, or someone getting off while they listened. But never in a million years did I imagine it would be Kimbra Jones. I honestly didn't see the shoes until it was too late.
I'd much rather have my dick in Kimbra's mouth than the woman's from accounting. Actually, that woman never got it in her mouth. She was too busy rubbing herself all over me, trying to turn me on. She's been throwing herself at me for a while, and I've had a small dry spell of late. A few dates here and there, but none I enjoyed as much as sitting with Kimbra after dinner the other evening. Since that night, the beauty in front of me has been on my mind more than usual. And then I saw her this morning in the coffee shop, and she looked so damn sexy—red shoes and all.
When that other woman offered her services, I decided that a little relief was in order. I could have taken matters into my own hands, but why turn down the gift of a blow job?
"Mr. Willis," she repeats, bringing me back to present.
"Yes, Miss Jones."
She reaches for the door and pushes it shut. Taking two more steps toward me, her sweet perfume reaches me before she does. Based on her stick-straight posture and the determination in her blue eyes, I'd venture to guess that fulfilling my fantasies isn't on her agenda.
She's obviously pissed and cute as hell.
"We need to discuss a company policy infraction that occurred this morning."
I lift my brow, unsure if I should be impressed that she is so damn good at her job or that she has the courage to confront me. "I see. Did you witness this infraction or was a report made?"
She clears her throat. "I-I witnessed it."
I stand, hoping my body's reaction to her and her fortitude keeps itself hidden. Casually I tug and straighten my suit coat, hoping another layer of covering will do its job. Keeping her bright blue eyes locked on mine, I narrow the distance between us. "This infraction, can you describe it?"
What the fuck am I doing?
My business partner, Michael Buchanan, has been lecturing me about women since we were together in college. I can't help that he's married and tied down to one woman. I'm not. Besides, I don't look for opportunities. They throw themselves at me or walk into my office of their own free will.
It just so happens that the incredibly beautiful and sexy woman in front of me has never shown that kind of interest. And, if I were to be truthful, it's bothered me. I've given her more attention than half the women who spread their legs and never once has she responded. Even at the bar the other night, she was friendly but respectful. Not once did she seem to notice that I'd like to know her better.