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I smile at her, taking a lock of her hair and twisting it around my fingers. “Totally serious. I can be fun if you do what I say. If not, I can be very not fun. The only choice you have in the matter, pet, is which way you want me to be.” She opens her mouth to say something, but I stop her words by placing one of my fingers on her pink lips. “Think about it,” I whisper, starting to button up her blouse. “Now, let’s get you back to your desk.”
A slight frown on her pretty face, she turns and walks towards the elevator. I follow, not saying a word, and taking in each of her movements from the sway of her little hips to the slight bounce of her breasts. She’s perfect, and I’m going to have so much fun breaking her in.
Chapter Three
Christian
We don’t speak in the elevator. It’s like my wild girl is trying to pretend that I’m not there. I lean against the back wall, crossing my legs and arms, but she stands near the door and the buttons — her back straight as an arrow. I don’t hide the fact that I’m staring at her butt. I know she can tell. Her breath is still erratic. Occasionally, she pants a little or mumbles cusswords to herself.
We are only alone on the ride from the basement to the first floor. After the lobby level, various people file in and out. Some say hi to my pet, but none to me. A few eye me cautiously. I ignore them. I could care less about most of the people here. I know I don’t fit in. I didn’t come here or merge with McKenzie Tech to make friends. I don’t need friends. I came here to expand my fortunes.
The elevator reaches the fifth floor, and the doors open with a ding. My pet takes off as quickly as her short — but shapely — legs will carry her. I love the way her stiletto heels click on the tan tiles of the walkway. It’s like the musical sound of her anxiety — a rapid tap, trying to escape when she is already caught.
She doesn’t look back at me, as if she can pretend that I’m not right at her back, still watching her hips sway. I could reach out and grab her again. Part of me wants to but keeping our new relationship a secret will be more fun. Secrets are the best parts of my life. I keep so many.
When the accounting department opens before us, with all its boring gray cubicles with their low walls and the incessant tapping of keyboards, I let her move away from me. Noting the cubical she flees into; I turn slightly and follow the hall to the CFA’s office. The walls are painted a happy green color here, and there are far too many windows. I know Kane wants this to be a nice place to work, but the higher floors make me miss the dark coolness of my basement.
To set my plan for my new pet into motion, I need to talk to her manager. Luckily, I know the head of accounting well — almost too well.
The door to her office is open. My little sister, Sloane, is sitting behind her desk typing furiously into her computer like it will put out a fire. Something must be going very badly in accounting. I don’t really care. I lean against her doorframe and cross my arms over my chest. It takes her a few minutes to look up at me, and when she does, her long face drops into a frown.
“What is it, Chris?” she snaps, immediately looking back at her computer.
I flinch at her use of the shortened version of my name. I hate that. I’m Christian, not Chris, never Chris. It puts me on edge when people call me that. Sloane knows this, and she does it on purpose. We are not exactly friendly siblings and she sure as shit was not happy when I agreed to join with McKenzie Tech. Usually, we try to avoid each other.
Sloane continues her furious typing. She’s barely paying attention to me. That’s fine, perfect in fact, that means that my request will be even less noticed or scrutinized.
“You have a really short girl in your accounting department…” I start.
“Amanda Burmmell. Mandy.” Sloane glances at me again. “Why? What did she do?”
Way to be negative, Sis, I think. Sloane tends to not get along with people. She’s probably the boss that people hate the most.
I fake a stretch to show nonchalance. I don’t want Sloane to think this is some kind of big deal. “Honestly, I’m interested in her height and little hands.”
“What?!” My sister’s eyes roam over my face like she’s trying to decipher me. She will have no luck with that. I don’t show people my true emotions or thoughts, with good reason. Over the years, I have schooled myself on keeping my body language very casual. Even when I’m upset, I never look it.
