“Can’t say I’ve ever played,” he replies, opening his driver side door.
“Yeah, well I guess you just play different games.”
His eyes flash in my direction, so I quickly duck into my seat to avoid that haunting gaze. When he climbs in next to me, I swear I catch a hint of a smile painted on his face before it vanishes.
The ride is silent, and I’m a little surprised to find out the location of this new building is actually downtown. It’s not really a new building at all but an old brick warehouse that looks to be under renovation. The windows and doors are covered with brown paper and there are scaffoldings and trucks parked around the exterior. Just above the door is the company logo, sleek in black iron, a circle with the letters, SPC.
Emerson parks the car on the opposite side of the street, away from the dirt and debris of the construction site. As we climb out of the car, I try to pull my skirt down a couple inches and cross my arms over my chest to hide the bra underneath.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
As soon as we shut the doors of the car, a tall blond man in dusty jeans and a tight flannel shirt exits the building and marches in our direction. He has a hard hat on his head and two in his hand. There’s a mildly disgruntled look on his face as he approaches us, but when he lifts his head and locks eyes with me, his expression suddenly changes. A smile stretches across his stubbled cheeks as his blue eyes skate up and down my body. When he turns his head, I spot a blond ponytail hanging under his hat, and when I get closer, I find myself staring at those chiseled cheekbones and full, pink lips. He’s freaking gorgeous.
“Well, hello there,” he chimes with his disarming gaze on me.
Emerson clears his throat, putting the attention back on him. “Drake, this is my new secretary, Charlotte Underwood. Charlotte, this is our general contractor, Drake Nielsen.”
“A new secretary,” Drake says with a sexy, low-tone drawl as he takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. There’s something strange about the way he says secretary, but I’m too hypnotized by his attention to pick out what it is.
“Drake,” Emerson snaps as if he’s scolding the man. Drake doesn’t even flinch, but he does give me a subtle wink. I finally realize, because my brain is moving a little slow with this Greek god staring at me like we’re about to fuck, that Drake thinks I am one of Emerson’s special secretaries.
And you know what? I don’t hate it.
I almost don’t want Emerson to correct him, but of course, he does.
“She’s my actual secretary, Drake. Knock it off.”
There’s a hint of disappointment on the contractor’s face as he lets my hand go. There must be some unwritten rule that people who know of and partake in the kinky stuff can be kinky and flirtatious around each other. But to the rest of us, they have to modify their behavior. Like we’re the muggles and they’re the wizards.
And right now, I hate being a muggle.
“That’s me,” I reply. “A boring secretary.” I twist my lips into a knot and do my best to look downhearted.
Drake’s rough hand runs along the length of my forearm like he’s trying to enchant me. “We’ll have to see about changing that.”
Suddenly, a softer hand latches around my waist and I’m tugged abruptly away from the contractor. “That’s enough. We have work to do.”
There’s laughter from Drake as he follows behind us. “Don’t forget your hats.”
With a scowl on his face, Emerson grabs them out of the man’s hands, keeping his body between mine and Drake’s. The contractor doesn’t follow us inside though. Instead, he begins barking orders at a team of workers on the scaffolding outside.
Emerson mutters in my ear, keeping my body close to his, “Stay away from him. He has no boundaries.”
“What’s his kink?” I ask, and Emerson’s head snaps in my direction.
With his arm still around my waist, he stops me before we reach the door. “You can’t just go around asking people what their kinks are.”
“But you said—”
He’s so close now, hovering over me like a shadow. “I know what I said. I just don’t want you…” His voice trails off.
“You don’t want me what?”
“You’re just my secretary, all right? And you’re my son’s ex, remember? I don’t want you getting involved in this stuff. So don’t ask people their kinks and don’t flirt with the men. Or women,” he adds as an afterthought.
I feel my jaw clench and my shoulders tighten as I glare up at him. “You know I’m twenty-one, right? And remember that big speech you gave about this stuff being so…normal?”
The hand around my waist tightens, and I feel the eyes of other workers on us.
“Will you just listen to me, please? You’re not ready for this, Charlotte.”
In that moment, I hear Beau. I hear him telling me what I can and can’t handle, making decisions for me and taking away my right to think for myself. So I snap, tearing my body away from Emerson’s grasp.
“I will decide what I’m ready for. And my name is Charlie, not Charlotte.” My tone is harsh, biting out each word with anger before I stomp away, tearing open the front door with abandon. He’s quick on my heels, but I don’t dare look at him, even after he approaches me from behind, not touching me this time.
I’m too fired up to really absorb what’s happening around me. There are people working everywhere. They are laying tile and painting the walls while drills and other machines buzz loudly, echoing through the empty space.
“Emerson,” a male voice calls from the other side of the building. We pass through a lobby area with a tall desk and dark black tiles on the floor. Then we enter the main room, which reminds me of a dance club. There’s even a stage at the front, and a team of guys are installing the tallest stripper pole I’ve ever seen.
Along the sides of the room are doors and two hallway entrances, one on either side of the stage. There’s also a second floor with a wraparound balcony that lets those above look down at the club below. I can’t seem to stop looking at everything, trying to imagine what would go on here, what all the rooms are for and what is down those hallways.
“This must be Charlotte,” a male voice says as we approach a slender man in a suit.
He takes my hand and shakes it delicately, keeping his eyes on my face and not my breasts like the god of thunder outside.
“Charlotte, this is my partner, Garrett Porter.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply.
Unlike Emerson, Garrett has a warm smile, showing his teeth as he grins. With honey brown hair and a clean-shaven face, he has the look of someone who does a lot of business. He looks like a salesman, but with those scrutinizing eyes on me, I get the feeling he’s reading me.
Yep, he’s a salesman, all right.
“Is Maggie around? She has paperwork to give her,” Emerson asks.
“Yep, in the office.”
A broad, soft hand lands at the small of my back, but I’m still a little pissed at him, so I quickly step away, instantly missing the comforting touch.
“I’ll find it,” I mutter darkly. I turn back to find him clenching his jaw as he glares at me, and I’m overcome with a wave of disappointment, but I quickly brush it off.
Leaving him with the other men, I cross the open space, stepping over beams and tools, my shoes echoing with each step. Emerson doesn’t say anything as I head down the hallway that leads toward the back of the building, so I assume I’m going the right way.
But this isn’t just a regular hallway. It’s broad with doors on each side and large windows. As I pass the rooms, I take a peek in, but they are still empty, each about the size of a bedroom, and I find myself gulping down my nerves. Will they really let people just go into those rooms and…
I freeze, peering into one. The walls are painted a deep red and it’s still mostly bare, except for one large chair raised on a dais with gold decorative embellishments framing the red velvet seat. “Is that…” I say to myself, or at least I thought it was to myself.