© 2016 Aubrey St. Clair
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue, and everything else
are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to people or events,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Aubrey St. Clair
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I want to puke.
dizzy as my fingertips touch the closed door in front of me as it teases me
with the afterimage of what is behind it. I’m tempted to push it open again,
but what would be the point? The scene isn’t going to change; I know what I
saw. There’s no chance anyone can deny or talk their way out of it. And I’m not
going to give them a chance to try, either.
it takes me a moment of standing there with a heart pounding so hard I’m sure
they can hear it on the other side. Are they laughing about it? Am I a joke to
stiffen my fingers against the frosted glass and press against it. Not to open
the door—I’d have to turn the handle to do that—but to launch myself backward. I
need that extra push to get my leaden feet to actually move. Force them to step
back to keep me balanced, and then once they’ve started to move, I can use the
momentum to carry me out of here.
need to get away. As fucking far away as I can.
~ One Hour Earlier ~
Global warming, my ass.
figures that I’d have to make an airport run during one of the biggest
blizzards Chicago has seen in years, at least for March. It’s supposed to be
getting warmer, not fucking colder. How is it that I ended up moving to one of
the only cities in United States that has even worse winters than Toronto? Why
the hell couldn’t Visions International—or VI, as everyone always calls it—have
its headquarters in L.A. or San Francisco? It’s definitely something I need to
take up with Edward.
that he’s likely to change anything. The CEO of a company the size of VI doesn’t
normally get affected by such pedestrian matters like weather. He has people to
deal with things like that. People like me, apparently.
not that I want to be treated differently, or special. Hell, one of the biggest
reasons I resisted his advances as long as I did was that I was afraid that
people would think that I only got my job because I was sleeping with the boss.
I made sure that my hard work was already being recognized before I ever even
agreed to a first date with him. After all, I don’t plan on being an executive
assistant forever. Crossing off the “assistant” part of that title has been a
goal of mine for as long as I can remember. So no, I don’t want people to think
that I get special treatment.
maybe, in this one instance, he could have found someone other than his EA/girlfriend
to pick up Mr. Himura from O’Hare?
the car service that I had booked a week ago for this very job.
know that this is a big client, representing millions to the company, but we
have deals like this happening all the time. I’m not sure why Edward made a last-minute
decision that he didn’t trust the service in this storm and wanted me to attend
to it personally. There may be more at stake here than I know about, but given
my position, I should be in the loop. That’s yet another thing he and I will
have to discuss at home.
I even see him there tonight, that is. The very definition of workaholic was
modeled on men like Edward Stonewall. I don’t think you can build a company as
big as VI by leaving work in time for dinner. Some days he isn’t even home by
breakfast and I meet him in the office, bringing him a fresh suit to replace
the rumpled one he’s worn all night. That was more of a pain before I moved
into his penthouse last month. Now that we live together, it’s just part of the
routine. He works all night at least once or twice a week, and a weekend to him
just means that he works a few hours less and does it from home, or his phone,
while we’re out and about.
one positive was that he rushed me out of the office so quickly that I forgot
my laptop, which means I can’t do any more work tonight. That’ll probably annoy
him, but it’s his fault, and I’m feeling too petty for having to make this trip
to even consider swinging back afterwards to go and get it. Anyway, I’m sure
he’ll bring it home with him tonight. God forbid we take the weekend off and
actually do something fun.
take a sip of coffee to take the edge off of my sour mood as I look out across
the endless white tops of the cars sitting ahead of me on the I90. Even if it
wasn’t already getting dark, it would be impossible to tell the color of any of
them in this storm, and the fact that we aren’t even moving is letting the snow
accumulate even more.
this rate, even the two hour lead time I have to get to the airport before Mr.
Himura is due to arrive might not be enough. I’ve barely made it out of
phone beeps from my purse, and since I’m not moving anyway, I pull it out,
expecting a text from Edward wondering if I’ve made it to the airport yet. Mental
replies that range from scathing to sarcastic are all running through my head,
and I’m almost disappointed to find out that it’s just a news alert.
Blizzard Causes Chaos at O’Hare.
I let out a groan as I flip over to my airport app to check on the status of
the flight from Tokyo.
been diverted to Detroit.
only thing in my favor tonight is that I’m stuck right next to an exit,
allowing me to ease out of freeway gridlock without any further delay. Mr.
Himura is going to need a new hotel and pickup in Detroit, and that will be a
pain in the ass to do on my phone. I need my laptop after all, which means
heading back to the office instead of home.
can feel my annoyance start to rise even higher until I realize that even
backtracking from where I am now will still save me far more time than continuing
on to the airport, waiting for my pickup, and then driving him back to his
hotel downtown. This flight diversion actually saves me from wasting another
Friday night sitting in traffic on a day where everyone else in their right
mind is curled up at home with loved ones. Or at least, a good book and a bath.
latter is my new plan, since I know the weather isn’t going to send Edward home
early, even if he did tell everyone else that they could leave. I was actually
surprised by that gesture. He’s normally such a hard-ass at work, expecting
everyone else to work the crazy hours that he thinks is normal. He pays well,
though, and most of his executive team are pretty rich, so it’s rare to hear
any complaints. Of course, that doesn’t mean anyone stuck around to keep
working once he told them they could leave early.
you can call four in the afternoon early.
it’s a step in the right direction for Edward. I know that people often wonder
why we’re together. In truth, he can be a complete ass sometimes. But he
doesn’t act like that to me. He’s always treated me like his princess. It’s
just that most princesses can command more than a few minutes a day from their
been trying since we got together to get him to soften up a little bit to his
staff. Maybe today is finally a step in that direction. I’ve heard people talk
about him behind his back. Most of them think he’s a complete asshole. I’m just
trying to get them to see the side of him that I’ve seen.
taking the side streets and shortcuts I’ve figured out running errands over the
last eight months, I get back to the office in less than thirty minutes. Edward
had me schedule a conference call with Sydney for before market opens, which
means he’s on that now, otherwise I would have called to let him know about the
flight issue. It’s probably something I should handle in person, anyway. Given
how important this meeting seems to be, Edward is likely to blow his top if he
doesn’t have me around to talk him down. That’s much harder to do over the
pound on the button for the fortieth floor, anxious to get in and out of here
as fast as possible. Maybe I won’t even tell Edward about the change in plans
until he gets home tonight. Besides, my mood was just starting to improve and
I’m not sure I want his anger at an uncontrollable situation to bring me down
again. The problem with a man like Edward is that he’s so used to getting his
own way that anything he can’t control makes him crazy. I can’t imagine a
snowstorm will be an exception.
step out of the elevator as soon as I reach the top floor of the cone-shaped
building, stepping out into the familiar space. Everything seems the same as
always, with one exception: it’s unnaturally quiet, the by-product of Edward
having sent everyone home early. Normally each of the windowed offices that
span the perimeter of the floor has one of the executives working in it until
late into the night. It almost seems like a waste to give them all such
incredible views, since I don’t think any of them ever pause long enough in the
day to enjoy it.
can tell by the frosted glass doors that all of the offices on this side have
their lights off. All except for one; the office of Charles Carmichael, VP of
Sales. Charles is married. I’ve met his wife on many occasions, but they also
have three young boys, and I get the feeling that he works late sometimes
rather than go home and deal with them.
I pass by his office, I hear a sound that makes me pause. It sounds like
door is closed, but not all the way, like it was pushed shut in a hurry. Then I
hear it again. This time it is more of a moan than a groan, and I’m close
enough now that I can tell it’s coming from a woman. Is Mrs. Carmichael really
the type to stop by for a quickie in the middle of a freak blizzard?
yes, give it to me!" The voice is hushed, but loud enough to sound
familiar. My eyes flick over to the desk outside of the office. Lindsey Spears.
Oh my God, he's having an affair!
heart starts to pound as I consider the implications. It's actually not all
that surprising. I've never had a very high opinion of Chuck. And Lindsey has
always seemed a bit on the slutty, happily-sleep-her-way-to-the-top side, but
to do it here in the office with Edward on a conference call across the floor
seemed very dangerous. He would be furious. The question is, should I tell him?
God, yes," she moans again. I hear Chuck grunting now as well. He must be
getting close to coming.
normal circumstances, I’d think it was kind of hot, secretly listening to
people fuck. They sound really into it, and the way she’s talking to him
doesn’t sound like this is their first time. But the thought of his poor wife
at home taking care of his three kids sucks all of the joy out of it. For me,
at least. Doesn’t seem to be having any negative effect on the two of them.
have to tell Edward. Let him deal with it. But I can't interrupt his call for
this, and if I wait, they might be done and it'll just be my word against theirs.
Chuck will just claim I misheard things. He's in sales. He'll find a way to
talk his way out of it.
my God. Holy shit. Slam me with your hard cock, you animal!"
roll my eyes at her over-the-top dirty talk. She's probably faking her orgasm, too.
I can't imagine Chuck is
a quick decision, I put my hand on the door. It's now or never. Catch him in
the act and, if I'm lucky, interrupt him right before he finishes. Totally cock
block the asshole.
a deep breath, I push the door hard. As soon as it opens, I catch a glimpse of
Lindsey. She's completely naked and leaning over Chuck's desk. The puddle her
long, blonde hair is forming around her is a sharp contrast to the ebony wood
it's draped over, but it quickly disappears as she lifts her head and gapes at
me in shock. Her big, green eyes are wide and her mouth is open even wider,
although in fairness, it might have been like that before I even came in.
door slams against the opposite wall as I lift my eyes to look at the man
holding onto her hips, buried deep into her from behind, and just as naked. His
eyes are wide as well, but the look of shock on his face is even greater. I
only make eye contact with him for a second before the door rebounds off the
wall to close the couple back inside the office. But it’s enough time to weaken
my knees and take my breath away.