Page 24 of Bastard In A Suit

The elevator pings, the door slides open, and Duke motions for me to step into the hall. Even though I’m relieved to be out of the confined space, I can’t mask the disappointment that clouds my common sense. Maybe part of me wanted Duke to slam me up against the elevator door and devour me with his mouth.

My stomach flutters.

Duke’s office is dark and lush, sparsely decorated with rich wooden furniture, a fully-stocked bookshelf, and minimal accents.

His desk takes up a third of the room.

Paperwork is stacked atop it in neat piles. A framed photograph balances on the edge, but I can only see the back of the frame, and for some reason it’s almost vital that I see what picture is so important that he keeps it on his desk.

Duke’s office is dark, impersonal. I get the sense he spends a lot of time in it, and yet, there’s not one item that tells me something about him I don’t know from reading the news.

Duke motions me inside, leaving the door open. He leans against his desk and folds his arms across his broad chest. I stand, nervously wringing my hands together, like a damn school girl in front of her professor.

“Go ahead,” he says.

I blink. “Sorry?”

Impatience pinches his handsome features. “You obviously have something important to talk to me about.”

“It’s just…” I’m shaken by the tone of his voice, and my confidence deflates faster than a popped helium balloon. “Well, I…”

“Spit it out,” he snaps.

I straighten, take a deep breath. “I had a really nice time last night…” He quirks an eyebrow. It takes all my willpower not to glance away. “…but now that we work together...” I cough. “Or rather, now that I work for you, I don’t think it would be appropriate for anything else to happen.” My heart beat picks up speed. “Not that I was assuming anything was going to happen.”

He doesn’t say anything, which turns me into a blabbering mess.

I giggle awkwardly. “It’s just that I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression about me.”

“What impression do you think I have?” he asks, his expression unchanged.

A lump grows in my throat. “Well, I’m not sure, really.” Except I know that it can’t be good. Professional. And that’s what I want—what I really want. I think. “I’m good at my job, Mr. Kingston. I know the product, and I’ll work hard and dedicate myself to this company.”

“I have no doubt.”

The knot across my shoulder blade begins to unwind. “And I think it’s better if there are no miscommunications. No distractions.”

Duke uncrosses his arms and walks across the room to close the door.

“I agree,” he says.

My relief is somehow dampened by an inexplicable sense of disappointment. As though deep down I wanted him to disagree, to say that I could have him and still do my job without guilt. Which is ridiculous. Whatever happened between us last night was a mistake, a lapse in judgment. For both of us.

Duke extends his hand. “Here’s to be being professional.”

We shake, and an electric bolt zips along my spine. I try to disengage, but his grip tightens. He stares at me with an intensity that makes my knees go weak. I’m wet. My nipples are as hard as pebbles.

“Mr. Kingston?” My voice drops to a whisper. “What are you doing?”