“Way to go, Charli. Real professional.”
After cleaning up as best I could, I stuck another pod in the slot and brewed a second cup of coffee.
The flow shut off with a click and it was time to make another attempt at walking. I considered just taking off my shoes and striding through the office barefoot, but that was likely to attract attention.
I knew my new boss wouldn’t think that was professional, since he had already made such a big deal about nicknames. I would have put my sneakers back on, but I left them back in my bag in my office, and Mr. MacInnes was waiting for his coffee.
I took a breath and focused all of my energy on my feet. My parents kept me out of sports, thinking them too dangerous and me too fragile. I still did gym class and would run when I could, but I’d never had what some might call “strength training.”
I made it from the break room back to the editor’s office without so much as a wobble.
It was going to be fine.
I could do this.
I was going to make it.
It was all going to be… a disaster.
The heel of my shoe caught in the carpet, and for the third time that morning, I was on my hands and knees.
There were positives and negatives in every situation. My dad taught me to accentuate the positives. The only three I could think of at that moment were that the carpet was dark and plush, I didn’t get hurt, and I could barely see the massive coffee stain in the middle of the room.
Mr. MacInnes came out from behind his desk and picked up the mug. I glanced up at him, feeling like the tiniest creature in the world. He peered down at me. His expression was unreadable as he handed me a cloth.
“Clean it up,” he barked, the deep timbre of his voice shaking me to the core.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
I remained on my hands and knees and did my best to soak up the coffee. I was aware of the back of my skirt shifting up because of my position.
Mr. MacInnes was looking at me. I didn’t have to see him to know. I felt his eyes on my ass.
Judging by the feel of the air against my skin, my panties were practically visible under the swaying hem of my skirt. The warmth of his gaze heated my pussy, and I flushed with both embarrassment and desire.
What would it be like to have him take my virginity here and now? To have him stalk up behind me, yank down my panties, and fuck me? I’d read books like that but didn’t know if bosses screwing their assistants ever actually happened in real life.
“Elsa,” he called, and I could almost hear him rolling his eyes, “bring me some coffee, please.”
She came faster than I would have thought possible. Of course, she had. Elsa had worked with him for years and knew exactly what was expected.
“This is not my job. This is what you hired—”
Elsa fell silent, following Mr. MacInnes’s finger as he pointed to where I was on the floor.
“Got her begging already, Max?” I didn’t miss the humor in her voice. “I have to say, that was quick, even for you.”
“Thank you, Elsa,” he said, not rising to her bait.
Elsa shot me a glance on the way out of the office. It was hard to tell if she was furious or if it was a look of pity.
I honestly wanted to keep the job and would do anything Mr. McInnes ordered me to do, something I hadn’t truly realized until he told me to clean up the coffee. I’d have let him take me on the floor if he’d used that voice. His master’s voice, as I would come to understand it.
“Did I say stop?” Mr. MacInnes asked.
“No, Sir.”
“Please, continue.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I got back to cleaning, soaking up every bit of coffee I could, holding my ass up high for his pleasure. I wanted him to keep looking at me. Wanted him to ache for me the way I ached for him.
It felt good to think a man like him might desire me. That he didn’t see me as a silly child, like most guys I liked did. I might only be nineteen, but I was mature for my age and well versed in politics and current affairs.
I could hold my own intellectually, but I needed so much for him to know me as the woman I was becoming rather than the kid I had been. By tripping over my own feet twice already, I wasn’t doing a great job.
After I’d mopped up as much as I could, I got up and headed for the door. Figuring I was already out of a job, I decided the best thing to do would be to get my stuff and go home.
“Stop,” he ordered.
He didn’t shout it, didn’t bark it like I had heard before, but there was something in his tone that made me stop dead in my tracks.
“You haven’t been released.”
“I-I’m sorry, Sir,” I said, turning back to him.
I balled the coffee-soaked cloth in my hand and waited for what came next. For what seemed like an eternity, his eyes locked with mine.
“Try harder, Charlotte. If not, I’ll be forced to punish you.” He gestured toward the door and said, “You’re released.”
That was it?
No chewing me out or any kind of reprimand?
Relief washed over me.
I wasn’t fired, but I could be if I didn’t straighten up.
