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Oh my god, it’s not like he invited me for dinner. I’m employed to do my job.
He grins and the entire room lights up like New Year's Eve.
Dear lord, I am fucked.
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KNOX
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I’M GOING TO need to set an alert on my phone that says Don’t sleep with Payton Mills because I swear the universe is fucking with me.
I’d think it was my father if I didn’t know the timing of the recruitment process. No, this was fate messing with me.
The math is simple.
Payton’s pussy or the CEO job.
I’m clear on which one is my priority.
It’s a shame I need to decide, but here we are. Plus, she’s an anxious little kitten and I like my women dominant, so I can break them and turn them into submissives for a few sexy hours.
I do not understand why my cock is once again straining against the fabric of my pants in Payton’s presence.
It’s infuriating.
She is a pain in my damn ass.
I rearrange my satchel to cover my growing erection and wonder if she has any fucking idea that the tank top she’s wearing plumps her breasts.
Probably not.
I should ban tank tops.
I’m seconds away from ripping open her blazer and cupping the nice round globes.
And losing the chance to take over your father's company.
Fuck.
My eyes run down her body and note that her skirt is an office appropriate length, finishing just below mid-thigh, but Payton has tanned slender legs that are made to be spread.
Fuck.
Don’t fuck Payton Mills.
Don’t fuck Payton Mills.
Don’t fuck Payton Mills.
I tell myself I’m not admiring every inch of her, simply taking in the fact that today she is not a hot mess. Her blonde hair is curled and twisted up, exposing her neck—not relevant - and her makeup is perfect, especially the kissable gloss of her nude lip gloss.
Also not relevant.
Her green eyes have a touch of shadow, and there is a kiss of pink on her cheeks. From her knees, those eyes would...
Don’t fuck Payton Mills.
