Entry-Level Mistress

chapter 6



It was late when I asked him to drive me home. I overrode his protests and attempts to seduce me back into bed with a stern reminder that I had work in the morning. Work for him. Then I blushed and looked away, trying to pretend we hadn’t had that strange conversation on Friday about a different kind of work.

He had put back on his shirt, left it half-unbuttoned. He wore leather flip-flops down to the garage, but drove barefoot. With my dress slipped back over a body that didn’t really want to be confined, that wanted to revel in the lushness of the night, the drive across town felt illicit. The sky looked darker, the roads more silent and deserted. When we pulled up before my apartment building, I wanted to climb on top of him one more time, right there in his car, on the street. As if he’d read my thoughts, he reached out, caressed my thigh. But that was it, just that brief touch. As he walked me to the building, I wanted more. Finally, at the door, he kissed me.

The apartment was quiet when I stepped inside; Leanna’s door stood closed. I moved about the space as if it were a strange place, as if I’d made a new home in the world of his bed in the fourth floor of that walkup. I did everything by rote, washed my face, brushed my teeth, changed into nightclothes. But under the covers of the bed, my body felt different. I smelled of him.

In the darkness I glanced about the room. I could make out the shape of the last sculpture I had created before I graduated, the head of Medusa. I’d been playing with a mythology theme, trying to find a way to make it new and fresh. In the dark, the snakes looked too smooth, the skin as well, and my skin, the pads of my fingers, so sensitized after the evening, understood exactly what was missing.

Several hours later, I walked into the third-floor office and, grainy-eyed, headed straight for the coffee maker. I set the pot to brewing and then settled down in my cubicle. I didn’t look at James when he walked by, or meet anybody’s eyes, except for Lance when he stopped at my desk with a CD of images and a list of detailed directions. The creative surge of three a.m. dimmed under the bright, fluorescent light of morning. I had absolutely no idea what was going on between Daniel and me. The sex had been good. No. The sex had been great. But maybe all he had wanted was to get Mark Anderson’s daughter in bed.

Was there anything wrong with that? If that were his entire motivation, could I blame him? The thought both amused and disgusted me.

I silently sat through the morning department meeting, staring at the color-photocopied handout. Lance talked about a shared vision of the future of Hartmann Enterprises and a bunch of other managerial motivational stuff that made me tighten my grasp on my coffee cup. Then he shifted into creative stuff, relaying Hartmann’s plans, his desire to move the company in a more global direction, to think about portraying the business that way as opposed to purely American. I’d never thought about company branding as being culturally derived, but it was so obvious I felt stupid for having not. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t admired art, particularly pop art, from around the world.

Jillian, Greg and Steve were the main creative designers and the sketches in the handout were all variants on ideas they had come up with for a new logo, the logo being the first step of redesign. Piece by piece they would redo all the internal stationery and literature and then the website and external literature. There was a good chance, as they got further into the process, that underlings like James and me would be given projects such as “create this page according to this established look.”

I returned to my cubicle, flipped through the handout again and then settled down to the previous task of the day.

When my purse vibrated against my foot, I didn’t force myself to wait. I plucked the now-still phone from the pink depths of my purse. Filled with an energy that had been absent only a moment earlier, I flipped it open.



thirtieth floor. East conference room. Now.



My pulse raced and my mind followed. I didn’t know what he wanted. There were no fake files to bring up, no excuses. Merely a time and a place. I’d never been on the thirtieth floor. I didn’t know what department was there or if it was even a Hartmann floor. Although Hartmann Enterprises was the name on the top of the building, he only used nine of the thirty-two floors.

And for how long would I be gone? What if Lance needed me or—

I shook my head. It was stupid to wonder. Ultimately, Daniel was my boss so surely if he wanted me to meet him, he had a reason.

I pressed my legs together tightly, trying not to think of that reason. Because really, it was one thing to make out over lunch, but another thing entirely to do so during paid work hours.

A different kind of work.

I shook my head again, not liking where my mind was going. I turned back to the computer. What if my phone were turned off? I couldn’t possibly meet him then.

But after last night, how could I not? Perhaps the method was unorthodox, but I was well on my way to knowing Daniel Hartmann, knowing what made him tick. If I didn’t go meet him now, how on earth would I ever find a way to get revenge? It was a stupid, thin excuse of a reason, but I savored it as I stood, stretched, and then, as nonchalantly as possible, made my way to the elevators. I didn’t look to see if anyone watched my progress. I didn’t want to know.

The thirtieth floor was dim and empty, only the emergency lights making anything visible. I turned to the right, east, down the hall.

“Emily.” I heard my whispered name at the same time that I felt his heat, that he pulled me into the conference room and into his embrace. I didn’t have a chance to respond because his lips were on mine and my only thought was to meet his kisses with my own.

I wore a cotton tank beneath my cardigan, and beneath that his hand roamed, caressed my breast through the thin cup of a cotton bra. Every touch burned, sharply exquisite.

“I couldn’t wait another minute,” he whispered against my ear before tugging on the sensitive lobe with his teeth. So this, then, was the work.

“Convenient I happened to be in the same building.”

As he laughed, I gave into the idea, enjoyed it. I stepped back from him. To my left I could see the rooftops of Boston through the glass window. Could anyone in those other tall buildings nearby see us here in this half-darkness?

Not that anyone else mattered because Daniel was watching me, wanting me, and I wanted him. I shimmied my a-line skirt up just enough to reach for my panties. I slid them down, letting the skirt fall back into place. Then I dangled the skimpy cotton from my finger.

I loved seeing that tight, controlled expression on his face, the one that revealed all the passion he held back, that I’d feel when he thrust into me.

I let the bit of fabric drop, took a step toward him. He strode forward, wrapped me in his arms in that dizzying way that made me unaware of anything but him and his touch. He used the wall as leverage, held me up against it as he delved beneath my skirt and stroked between my thighs. He slid a finger into me and I moaned, forgetting to be quiet. He knew exactly how to touch me, the right pattern, rhythm, everything. I climaxed under his touch and while I was still crying out, trembling with the release, he covered himself and thrust deep within me, reaching for his own.


• • •



Cool air struck my skin as he moved away. My weight my own again, I leaned heavily against the wall. Tugging down my skirt, straightening my sweater, I looked out toward the window and tried to gather my thoughts, to understand the wave of emotions now buffeting me. But in the wake of sex, my mind was a wasteland of sexual satisfaction. “So … ”

I listened to his footsteps as he crossed the carpet. He knelt down in front of me, holding my flimsy little panties, pink with a lacy trim. I stared down at the top of his head, at the beautiful waves of his hair, as I lifted my legs one at a time. He slid the fabric up, kissed the inside of my knee. What the hell were we doing?

“Is this going to be a habit?” I asked.

He kissed an inch further up my bare thigh. Was he buying time? Trying to formulate just the right response? I had questions I wanted to ask him. Bold, honest questions that would cut to the quick of our past and our present. But I held my tongue, terrified at the idea. What if he said something that made it impossible for me to stay?

“Yes,” he said softly, his lips moving against my skin.

He stood and leaned closer, slowly stroking my neck. I leaned into his hand.

“And if I text you? Will you come running?”

Again, he hesitated, studying my face, running a thumb along the line of my jaw. What did he see in my expression? His was like a mask.

“I doubt it,” he said finally.

“And?” I prodded.

“You’re coming home with me tonight.”

My stomach clenched at his tone, tight with desire. Yes, I wanted that, but could I continue to let him have his way so easily? Get away with his arrogant admissions? I lifted my chin, raised an eyebrow.

“So this, it’s going to happen your way, everything? You text. I run. You pick me up, drop me off … ”

“I like the way that sounds,” he agreed, a small smirk on his lips, as if he knew there was no way in hell I or any other woman would go for that.

“OK.”

He dropped his hand.

I amused myself. I really did. Of course I wasn’t fine with that sort of highhanded treatment, but agreeing was worth that look on his face.

“OK?”

“Sure. For now,” I said with a shrug, smiling inwardly. “But I’d better get back to work.”

And when he did text that afternoon, just as my workday was ending, I did exactly as he said. Took that long elevator ride to the top floor, nodded to Janine, who stared at me impassively, whatever judgments she might have hidden far behind her professional façade, and then entered Daniel’s office.

When I stepped inside, he was standing next to his desk, shuffling a stack of papers with no sign of stopping work for the day. He looked up, and that half smile of his struck me hard, just like it did every time I saw him. He met me halfway across the room, pulled me tight against him and I instinctively rose up on my toes to meet his kiss, breathed in the scent of his skin.

“I still smell of you,” I said softly as I broke away, lowered down to my heels. “All day.”

He touched my hair, stroked my neck, and my world became the place where his skin connected with mine. “Like I’ve marked you.”

“How territorial,” I managed to say lightly, teasingly. But he had marked me. Was marking me.

And after that, the week was one long game of hide and go sex. I started carrying condoms in my purse after all because I never knew when or where. Well, if it was during the workday, it was the thirtieth floor. But there was also the time in his Porsche and a rather quick encounter bent over the kitchen counter on the third floor during lunch hour. And three nights in a row I slept over at his house, read through Hemingway’s newspaper articles as Daniel worked, showered in his shower, and went straight to work from his bed.

My body craved his with a ridiculously increasing intensity, as if sex with him were meth and I’d become an addict. It felt good. It felt dangerous. I knew I had crossed the line ages ago but I didn’t know how to stop or how to go back to a time before.

I did all the work asked of me and if anyone noticed my extended “bathroom breaks,” they didn’t comment. Except for James, who shot me judgmental looks as if he knew exactly what hanky panky was going on. Which, I supposed, he did. Maybe he was my conscience, my Jiminy Cricket, and I should have heeded the warnings in his disapproval. Instead, I went deeper.

On Friday, I started thinking about the weekend. There was a show in Cambridge that Leanna wanted to go to. There was a gallery opening as well on Saturday. But what I really wanted to know was whether this weeklong flirtation would keep going or if Daniel would fall back on whatever pre-scheduled events he had.

Lunch hour passed without any message from him. I’d been answering his texts all week, jumping at his call, and it just felt too quiet. Maybe it was time for the game to change.

Two p.m. He was in a meeting; I knew that. He’d mentioned that one of his business associates from London was in town. But at the same time, I wanted him. I wanted him to do what I wanted him to do.

I flipped open my phone. Started typing.



thirtieth floor. Now.



I had no idea if he’d meet me. I could totally understand if he didn’t. Yet if he did … I couldn’t stop the pleased smile at that idea.

I took my time, strolled to the elevator, stopped to ask Jillian, one of the higher-ups in the department, if she wanted the image I was rendering in any specific format. Maybe I fooled no one, but the meandering made me feel less conspicuous.

The thirtieth floor was its usual dim self, the hallway eerily silent. I stepped into the conference room. Empty. I struggled to ignore the disappointment. The elevator ride from thirty-second floor to thirtieth was much shorter. He’d had plenty of time to get there.

The floor-to-ceiling glass window offered a stunning view of Boston, not so different from the one visible from Daniel’s office. Even when my father had been a rich man himself, he had never worked out of a skyscraper. He’d preferred a SoHo brownstone, visiting the main office only when necessary. I’d never wondered about that before, about his working halfway across town from his business partner. Hartmann had been the one with the midtown offices, the fancy reception area and the views. Maybe there had been some strife there before Hartmann’s death. Maybe it had had to do with Daniel’s mother.

But my father wouldn’t talk about the past and I was strangely reluctant to bring it up with Daniel, even though the past was the very reason I was here.

Now Daniel Hartmann wanted to expand his business globally. What did that even mean? A skyscraper overlooking the world? A view of skylines in Istanbul or Dubai? Or something fantastical and futuristic?

I wasn’t entirely sure if I’d heard him or sensed him first but then I felt him, wrapping himself around me, brushing my hair aside to kiss my neck.

“You,” Daniel said, interspersed between kisses, and between the insistent motions of his hands pulling my skirt up, “knew I had a meeting.”

“Yes,” I admitted, reaching back to caress him, to unfasten his pants.

“Which, technically, I am still in the middle of.” He pulled my hips back slightly, away from the wall. I rested my hands on the glass, gasping both at the thinness of it separating me from a thirty-story drop and at the touch of his fingers. He slipped my thong down my thighs. Thighs I parted more even as I arched my back.

“You left your client upstairs?”

“Yes,” he said, thrusting into me. I bent my head, my forehead resting against the glass. It was exquisite, earthy and breathtaking all at once, with the view before me and the strength of him filling me, pushing me forward.

“Daniel?” I looked back over my shoulder toward him. “Why did you settle in Boston?”

For a moment he was silent, and the movements of his body as he slid forward and back felt full with tension. I regretted asking anything in the middle of sex, of creating any sort of distance. But then his mouth lowered to my ear, his breath teasing my skin.

“So I could do this,” he said softly, “Right here, right now, with that view beneath us.” I pushed back against him, silent but for my moans. He had avoided answering but that was all right, part of the unspoken agreement to keep things light.

But then he slid out, and the scent of me, him, latex, was heavy in the air. I didn’t move, gasping. Feeling the loss and terrified that I’d broken something.

“Turn around,” he commanded softly. He knelt down and I followed.

On the floor, he thrust back into me, his face buried against the curve of my shoulder. I gloried in the fullness, in the feel of his body between my legs and inside of me. He was mine for just a little longer. I lifted a hand and wrapped it around his neck, curving around the base of his head, something like tenderness in that touch.


• • •



Standing in front of the elevator bank, feeling languid and rumpled, I pressed myself to him, arms draped over his shoulders. He’d come when I called. It made me want him even more—something I’d have to analyze later, much later, as if I could ever turn off the ridiculous analyzing machine of my brain.

“Now I’m going to have to think up some reason for leaving him for fifteen minutes.”

“And for looking a bit less pressed than you did before,” I teased.

“Yes, exactly.” He laughed, but I thought I heard an edge to that. “I didn’t build my reputation on lies.”

Didn’t you? The response stopped at the barrier of my lips and I let the silence stand. It was so easy for me to forget who he really was.

“So why don’t you tell him then that the marketing department needed you,” I said instead, pressing myself even closer as if the continued embrace could make my thoughts disappear. If I simply closed my eyes and held on, I could ride the dizzying thrill of it all. Just feel.

He took my arms and slid them from his body, stepped back. I opened my eyes.

“You would think these little work breaks would make it easier to concentrate, but I’ll still be thinking about taking you home, having you naked. Taking our time.”

His words were making me want him again, making the blood rush through my body, heat gather between my thighs. After all these years of looking at his face in magazines, of being fascinated by him, it was stunning to know he desired me. Good for my ego, for sure.

“I’m going home after work,” I said abruptly.

“Emily—” I liked his protestation. He’d come at my text and now he still wanted my company.

“I have mail, bills, something.” And since my first paycheck had been deposited directly into my account, I wanted to go shopping, to buy lingerie and shoes. Yes, it was completely indulgent and likely a waste of the excess money but at the same time, I was twenty-one and stepping out with a handsome billionaire. Clearly, to achieve revenge, I needed to be well dressed. “Don’t you have any friends?”

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, the epitome of amused, slightly rumpled and devastatingly handsome billionaire. I liked seeing him this way and I liked how easily our interchanges shifted from humor to sexual tension and back again.

“None that I want to sleep with.”

I grinned. “OK. I’ll call you when I get home.”