Finally, Mr. Ayers looked up from his screen and pinned her with those unreadable eyes of his.
“Miss Bluth,” he drawled, leaning forward to grab a packet of papers from the edge of the desk. He held them up. “These are the depositions in the Mason v. August case. I need you to go through them with a fine-toothed comb.” He stopped, looked at his expensive black gold watch, and continued, “I know it’ll probably be late by the time you’re done…”
She nodded. It was already after one o’clock, and if the thickness of the stack he handed her was any indication, it would take hours to go through the first set. By the time she finished all of them, she’d be leaving the city, taking the ninety-minute drive into Edison, and then crashing into her bed fully clothed—if she didn’t crash on the way home from falling asleep behind the wheel.
Her worry must’ve shown on her face because Mr. Ayers narrowed his eyes, sighing.
“I know it’ll be late, Miss Bluth. So, here’s what I’ll offer you.” He leaned back, not breaking eye contact. “Reserve yourself a room at the Incantata. Stay the night, and you can go home, fully-rested, in the morning. Use the company account there.”
She gasped. The Serata Incantata was a five-star boutique hotel in the heart of Manhattan. It was the it place for celebrities looking for an over-the-top elegant and yet quiet stay. She’d been there a few times, but only for company banquets. So, to actually stay in one of the $800 per night rooms…
“Mr. Ayers, I can’t ask you to do that.” It was too expensive! She’d just drive home very, very slowly, blasting classic Prince songs to get keep herself awake.
Mr. Ayers shook his head. “I’m not doing it, you are. And, besides, I think you’ve earned it after all the late nights I’ve required of you over the last several months.”
Diana sighed, her will to argue dying slowly. Late nights, eyeballs burning from all the staring at documents and computer screens, and all the nights she’d missed with her mother and sister because she was stuck at the office.
“You’re right,” she agreed, nodding, a smile creeping over her face.
He waved off her expression. “It is settled, then.” He glanced at the stack of papers he’d given her. “Get started, and once you’re done for the evening, you get a night’s stay in a luxury hotel on the company’s dime.”
Dime? More like a stack of Benjamins.
What could she say? Her boss was asking her for another late night, and in return she would get a free night at the hotel she’d only ever dreamt of staying in.
Hell, yes!
She nearly saluted before answering. “Sounds good, Mr. Ayers.” It sounded fucking amazing, actually.
In response, he snapped a quick nod. She turned to leave his office, packet of papers in hand, but his stern voice made her stop.
“Oh, and Miss Bluth. I suggest you purchase blouses that fit before you return to the office on Monday.”
Heat blasted up her neck and into her scalp, no doubt covering her face in a deep pink blush.
“I will, sir,” she replied, quickly killing the idea to explain her blouse situation. He didn’t care. She sped off toward her office, fighting the urge to burn the damn blouse the first chance she got.
Chapter 4
David checked the time on his watch and waited for the elevator to reach the lobby. The elevator smelled of peaches; sweet, but not cloying, fresh, delicious, subtle.
She smelled of peaches, too. And she was just as lushly colored as a peach…and plump in form. A perfectly juicy mouthful. She’d stepped from the elevator, distracted, laughing that sultry, husky laugh, and collided with him. He was an agile man, he could have stepped out of the way…if he’d wanted to. But something insidious made him stay his course, and he was rewarded for it. He could still remember the feel of her large breasts pressing into his chest, the experience tantalizing enough to make his shaft thicken just a bit. It had only been a moment, but it had been long enough for the vision of delectable womanhood to imprint itself on his cock. He’d barely pulled his eyes from the display of creamy flesh, peeking out from the gaps in her much-too-small blouse. Her pink lace bra, which he could see through the thin fabric, hid most of the cleavage, but left a tantalizing tease of—
Hell! What was he thinking? And why had he noticed her at all? Because she had incredibly nice tits.
Shit.
She was probably the girlfriend or wife of one of the men in the practice, which made her off-limits. And why he was thinking of her anyway, he had no idea. Certainly, she was pretty enough, with long blonde hair that looked like ribbons of silk, eyes of emerald green that glimmered as she’d stared up at him, and skin so pale it looked to be as creamy as milk, but she wasn’t his type—not that he had time to think about types. He was much too busy for anything other than a quick fucking on his own time. Which was dwindling as of late.
Thanks to Rinna. His ex-fiancée. The woman he’d been fooled into giving his ring to. The woman who cheated on him in their bed with any number
