It’s almost midday when I arrive at TrendBlend. I’ve never come in this late before, but then again, I’m doing a lot of things for the first time lately.
Still, stepping out of the elevator and seeing a full office feels weird, transgressive, adding to the sense that I’m living close to the edge a little more. I step past the cubicles on the way to my desk so full of tension that Mia’s call almost makes me drop the coffees I’m carrying.
“Hey Margo.”
She steps in front of me as if pouncing from a hiding spot, looking at me with the kind of expression that only Mia can pull off. A mixture of hardness and scrutiny that puts most people off, but which I think is pretty badass. Not today though—today I could do without feeling like I’m being judged before I’ve even turned on my laptop.
“Hey Mia.”
“Listen, the studio’s booked out this morning. You think we can shoot the post-date interview after lunch?”
“Sure,” I say, relieved at the innocuity of the question.
“Cool. And tell Owen.”
“Will do,” I say, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that just rushed to my cheeks.
When I reach Owen’s desk I put his cappuccino beside his keyboard. He pulls his headphones back behind his neck as he notices me and smiles.
“Thanks,” he says.
“No problem,” I say, putting my own coffee down and settling into my seat. I turn my computer on, pull myself under the desk, and wait for my login screen to pop up. A movement from the corner of my eye causes me to turn and I see that Owen’s still smiling at me.
I frown and lean toward him, then say in a loud whisper, “Stop looking at me!”
Owen’s face turns a little mischievous as he leans in himself. “I wish I could.”
I groan and sigh—if only to hide the goofy, involuntary smile that even his cheesiness brings out. I start to wonder if this is going to be too difficult to get through an entire day of, not to mention the rest of the week—and however much longer this lasts. How the hell can I depend on a guy like Owen to keep his dirty mind and infinite desire to himself?
“Just kidding,” Owen says, as if reading my thoughts. He winks as he rolls back and puts his headphones over his ears again, his lascivious smile dropping as he refocuses completely on his work. I glance one more time at him and then turn my own attention to my work. Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.
For the next hour or so I actually get some work done, glancing over at Owen only now and then, though each time I do I can’t stop a huge smile from spreading across my face at the way he bobs his head to the music, lost in his own world.
After two hours, though, I realize I’ve completely lost my focus. Can he really just sit there pretending nothing happened last night? Acting like he didn’t fuck my brains out and then hold me on the sofa afterward? Is this what it’s going to be like between us from now on? Clandestine meetings where he tells me I’m perfect and I come screaming his name interspersed with this kind of cold shoulder at work and when we’re out in public?
I try to push the panicky thoughts away and tell myself I can deal with them later, that I need to get back to my article so I don’t blow this deadline, but the harder I try not to think about it, the louder the little voice in my head gets. I look over at him, still bobbing to his music as he clicks around, occasionally hammering on his keyboard. I turn in my chair and scoot a little closer to him, then pull gently at one side of his headphones.
Owen smiles and takes them off. “Hey you,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Oh. Um.” My mouth goes dry. Now that he’s actually waiting for me to say something, I feel like I’m being clingy and ridiculous, overthinking this whole thing before it even becomes a thing. “Nothing, I guess. A touch of writer’s block.”
Owen makes a sympathetic face and nods. “You working on that piece about cultural misappropriation and tribal tattoos?”
I look at him closely, studying his face for signs of anxiety or discomfort, but he just looks at me blankly.
“Jesus, you’re good at this.”
“Good at what, fellow worker?” he says, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.
“I’d believe your act more if you didn’t look at my legs when you said that.”
Owen laughs and looks aside as a couple of people walk past. He watches them move out of earshot and then leans a little close to say, “It’s all I can do right now to keep myself under control while sitting next to you, believe me.” He looks around him again and leans in a little closer, and I see a flash of last night’s Owen, the ravenous Owen, the uncontrollable Owen, the slam-me-up-against-the-wall Owen. “I’m this close to shoving everything off this desk and fucking you on it in front of everyone.” He lets his eyes roll down my legs, slowly rising back up the length of my body, so focused I can almost feel where he would put his hands on me if he could. “And you’re not helping in that tight skirt.”
My pulse kicks into high gear and I have to cross my legs against the sudden aching need in my still-sore pussy. I lower my voice and say, “You’re not exactly doing me any favors yourself, looking at me like that. You think I’d rather be sitting at my desk than on your face right now?”
Owen flashes his teeth, his knee bouncing a little. He shifts a little in his seat, and I can tell that comment went straight to his cock. He shakes his head and laughs, sighing deeply as if releasing some inner tension.
“Shit, Margo. I thought I couldn’t like you any more than I do…but you keep proving me wrong.”
“Anyway,” I say quickly, shaking off the trembles in my skin, “I just wanted to ask if you were free on Sunday. I thought we could do some…more in-depth research.” I look around and add quickly. “You know, for the vlog.”
“Research. For the vlog. Of course.” Owen nods slowly, eye-fucking me shamelessly again. “How deep are we talking, Margo?”
I’m so wet now that I can feel it. “Very.” I clear my throat. “Perhaps we should discuss it over dinner.”
He grins, and there’s no doubt in my mind he knows exactly what he’s doing to me with that smoldering gaze sending fire through my body and his low, commanding voice. “Sounds like a plan. Somewhere in your neighborhood?”
“I know just the place.” I return his gaze with a hungry eye-fuck of my own. “It’s about as close to my apartment as Maddie’s was to yours. Short walk.”
Owen thinks for a second. “Only I won’t get to carry you home this time.”
“Maybe we won’t make it home,” I say, suddenly pursing my lips as I consider how that would sound to anyone who overhears. “You know, if we decide to have drinks.”