“What do you want now?” I said, taking it from her.
“Would you wear it tomorrow? I want to see how it works when you wear it all day. You know, real world experience.”
“Real world experience for your underwear?” Like a test drive?
“Rory, I have to make sure that these products work for real people. And you’re a real person, so we’ve got to give it a test run. Please?”
I could sort of see what she was talking about, but I really wished she’d find someone else to do this. Still, she’d been really good to me lately, so I’d be a bitch to say no.
“Okay, okay. I just need to figure out what to wear over it so it doesn’t show.” Anything white was out, so I went with a black shirt and tan leather skirt and my red shoes. I laid them out next to the underwear outfit that night and sighed. The things that Sloane talked me into.
The next day I had a little secret under my clothes. I felt like people knew, even though that was impossible. I wished I could forget that I was wearing it, but every time I moved the ribbons caressed my skin and I remembered, and felt like I had the word SLUTTY HARLOT stamped on my forehead. Not that what I was wearing was remotely slutty or harlotty (if that’s even a word), but I did feel a little naughty. It was definitely not office-appropriate underwear.
I was dreading seeing Lucas (Mr. Blaine, for the love of CHRIST), because I knew if anyone would figure out my little underwear secret, it would be him. He was the kind of guy who could see under your clothes whether you wanted him to or not. Like Superman.
Correction. I wanted him to see under my clothes, it just wasn’t appropriate for the workplace. Any other place was fair game . . .
“Good morning, Miss Clarke.” There was another bag on my desk, along with my coffee.
“You didn’t tell me what you liked, so I got everything again today.” Oh, hell. I was going to gain forty pounds if I didn’t tell him.
“You have to stop doing that, Mr. Blaine. I can get my own breakfast,” I said as I snatched the bag, pulled out a donut and handed him the bag back.
“Strawberry frosted donut. Noted.” He grinned and took out the cherry Danish and I swore his eyes traveled up and down my body twice and my cheeks started getting red. HE KNEW.
“You look very nice today, Miss Clarke, if I may say so without incurring a sexual harassment reprimand.” Oh, aren’t you Mr. Smooth? He said it with one of those smiles that only lifted one corner of his mouth. Yum.
“Thank you, Mr. Blaine. You look very dapper yourself.” He did, in a grey pinstriped suit with a dark purple tie. Not that many guys could pull off a purple tie, but he made it look easy. And sexy. Very sexy.
“Well, thank you for the breakfast. I’ll get yours tomorrow. Cherry Danish? Black coffee?” I said, trying to dial my bitch level back a bit.
“Perfect.” His eyes did another sweep, and I swore this guy had x-ray vision. I should start calling him Clark Kent, even though he looked nothing like Clark.
I gave him what I hoped was a composed smile as I headed into my office and closed the door.
By midmorning I was glad I had the sexy underwear on because it gave me a little more confidence when I had to deal with an ass**le on the phone who was unhappy with one of our products and DEMANDED to speak to someone in charge.
Of course, he’d not only been using it on an ancient computer, but he’d bought the wrong model and was mad that it didn’t do what he thought it should. Usually those calls got routed somewhere else, but sometimes they slipped through the cracks.
I finally got the guy off the phone and went out to get some coffee and cool down. I hated it when people got me riled up. I could usually handle myself, but that guy had just pushed my buttons.
I didn’t meet Mr. Blaine’s eyes, but I could feel him watching me. Great. Now he was going to think I was some stupid girl who couldn’t deal with a phone call.
I got my coffee and sipped it, leaning against the counter in the break room and just trying to bring myself back to normal by doing some deep breathing with my eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” I knew he was going to follow me. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I knew.
“Yeah, fine. Just taking a breather.” I didn’t open my eyes, but I could hear his suit swish as he stepped closer. Sexy sound.
“You sure about that? You looked upset. Miss Clarke.” The last part was added in a low voice and accompanied by a hand on my shoulder.
My eyes opened and he was right in front of me.
“I-I’m fine. Seriously.” Yeah, the stutter made that completely believable.
He leaned closer and I could smell his cologne. Not too much, just enough to know that he was there and that he smelled incredible. This was entirely inappropriate work behavior, but right in that second, it was kind of nice.
I’d never had someone that I could vent to at work. I’d never wanted to because I didn’t want to look weak, or like I was just a whiny princess that had gotten the job because of her Daddy.
“Okay. If you’re sure,” he said, his hand slipping down my shoulder and then moving across my stomach. I froze, even though there was no way he could know about the sexy undergarment I had on.
The second I flinched, he removed his hand, mistaking my flinch for one that meant I didn’t want him to touch me. Well, I did, but he shouldn’t. Those were two different things.
“I’m sure,” I said, sliding away from him along the counter. He smiled and leaned over.
“Let me know if you’re not later on. And I hope this isn’t sexual harassment, because you do look incredible today.” Before I could answer, he backed away, turned and was gone.
I was left to slump against the counter and wonder how long both of us could hold out before we had a repeat performance like the one in his apartment. Mr. Buzzy just wasn’t doing it for me at the moment. I needed a real man. A real man with a real penis and real hands and a real mouth that could sweetly torture me all night . . .
Keep it in your pants, Rory. Get back to work.
My fortitude was tested again later in the afternoon as I brought Mr. Blaine with me to his first meeting. It was one of those boring ones about projections and loss leaders and economic terms I’d studied in school but hadn’t bothered to keep in my brain after the test. I was forcing him to take notes for me in case I missed anything.
My thigh was practically touching his and I was trying to keep my lust bottled up for the hour and a half that I had to sit next to him in the darkened boardroom as our CFO droned on and went through chart after chart. Why did the room have to be so dark?