Authors: Clarissa Black
“Preston?” I asked. “Can we stop
pretending like we don’t know each other?”
He stared at me, saying nothing as a
devilish grin spread across his mouth.
I stood up and showed myself out, meeting
Ruthie on the other side of the door.
“Here are your keys, Ms. Baker,” she said
as she handed me two dangling keys on a shiny, silver keychain. I pressed the
keys into the lock and the handle turned, swinging the door open to reveal the
most beautiful office in all of Manhattan, well, except maybe for his.
PRESTON
I lingered in the doorway of my office,
watching Mirabelle as she took in the sights and smells of her new office. I
remembered those days. The way the scent of the leather chairs filled my lungs.
Running my hands along the freshly polished wooden desk. Pulling out smooth
drawer after smooth drawer. Testing the keyboard on the computer to make sure
the keys clicked just right.
She stood in the middle of the room,
hands folded and grasped behind her waist as she took in the Manhattan views
outside her window. The natural light almost seemed to illuminate her and she
seemed to radiate from within in return. She was alive and completely in her
element.
Mirabelle was the luckiest intern in all
of Manhattan. I’d never done anything like that for any other intern before,
but there was something different about her. It wasn’t because she used to be
my stepsister. I hated nepotism. That wasn’t my thing. She showed promise.
Hunger. Dedication. She wasn’t like most of the other college kids who walked
in here like they owned the joint and went crying home the moment I put them in
their place. If I had a dollar for every intern resignation that landed on my
desk after just two weeks on the job…
Mirabelle was a different story, though,
and with the right guidance, she could take over the world if she wanted to. Underneath
my cold façade, buried underneath my iron heart and caged emotion, was a man
who just wanted to be needed. Mirabelle needed me. She didn’t know it yet. But
she needed me.
“Preston,” she said with slight embarrassment,
startling me out of my moment. Her sweet, southern drawl nearly knocked me off
my feet. “How long have you been standing there?”
I cleared my throat. “Not long. How about
that view?”
She parted her full lips as if to answer,
but I slammed my office doors before she had the chance. Our interactions
needed to be limited and impersonal or else she’d never become the shining star
she was destined to be. I needed her to fear me. I needed her to walk on
eggshells around me. I needed her to want to please the hell out of me. It was
for
her own
good.
***
“Ruthie,” I said in a low voice into my
receiver. It had been hours since I’d last reconvened with her. “Send Mirabelle
in here.”
“Yes, Mr.
Woodfield
,”
she said.
I sat back in my chair, awaiting the
knock that would announce Mirabelle’s presence.
One. Two. Three. What was taking her so
long? Four. Five. Six…
I glanced down at my watch and
concentrated on the ticking second hand. I didn’t have all afternoon.
The door flung open without so much as a
knock as Mirabelle made her way towards my desk.
“Ever hear of knocking?” I asked. I kept
my eyes locked into hers, knowing that if I slipped from her gaze they’d fall upon
her narrow waist and curvaceous hips. The thought of what was under that pencil
skirt and blouse made me slightly hard, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“And what took you so long?”
“I was finishing up an email,” she said,
not even fazed by my intentional rudeness. This girl was going to be hard to
crack. Most interns would be shaking in a corner by now.
I sighed. “Next time Ruthie tells you to
get in here, I need you to drop everything. I come first. Always. Remember
that.”
“Yes,” she said. Her eyes staring into
mine. She helped herself to the seat opposite of me and whipped out her
notebook. At least three pages were scribbled with front to back notes. She was
clearly not a slacker.
“What’s that there?” I asked, peeking
down at her notebook.
“I’ve been brainstorming all afternoon,”
she said as she flipped the pages. As her big, doe eyes scanned the pages she
delicately placed the cap of her pen into her luscious mouth. She didn’t even
realize she was doing it.
“Stop that,” I said, thankful she
couldn’t see the growing bulge under my desk. I couldn’t take my eyes off her
lips.
“Oh, sorry,” she said as she gently sat
the pen down in her lap. “Bad habit of mine.”
“Anyway.” I cleared my throat. “What do
you have so far?”
“Nothing tangible yet,” she said. “Just a
bunch of thoughts I need to organize. I like to put my initial thoughts down on
paper and then sleep on it a bit. My best ideas usually come to me when I’m in
the shower the next morning.”
The thought of Mirabelle naked in the shower,
with water trickling down her smooth, baby soft skin sent a jolt of hotness
through my body. I shook my head and tried to get that thought out of my head
before I did something rash.
“I was hoping I could stay a little late
tonight,” she said. “I’ve got some more ideas I want to put on paper.”
No one ever stayed late around here
except for me. My employees, however seasoned and “professional” they liked to
think they were, were the laziest things I’d ever seen. I inherited them when I
bought out the company five years back.
Halston
, my
partner, was set to retire in six more months. Once
Halston
goes, so does the vast majority of the company. I needed new, fresh blood.
Young blood.
Young ideas to appeal to the younger generation.
I had a vision for my agency, and I was going to need a whole lot of people
just like Mirabelle to pull it off.
If I remembered anything about Mirabelle
from ten years ago, it was her obsession
with me and her
relentless need for my approval
. I rebuffed her back then. She was
annoying and clingy and always acted like she had a crush on me.
It
weirded
me out.
But we weren’t
related anymore. She was a woman now. Things had changed.
“You want to stay late?” I asked with an
incredulous chuckle. “You know interns don’t get overtime.”
“I’m aware,” she said in an
isn’t-it-obvious tone, eyebrows raised. “I really want to do well with this
account. I have so many ideas swirling around in my head and - ”
“Fine,” I said as I stood up and pushed
my chair out. I pointed to the door. “You can stay late.”
“I-is that all you wanted from me or was
there something else?” She stammered a bit, and I laughed internally at the
notion that she probably didn’t quite know what to think of me yet.
“Yes, that’s all, Mirabelle,” I said. The
truth was I’d forgotten why I wanted to talk to her again. I supposed I just
wanted to look at her again. The fact that she was off limits as an intern,
sexy as hell, confident as all get out, and smart as a whip, meant that it was
only a matter of time before I had to have her. And that could be dangerous for
both of us.
MIRABELLE
“Okay, Mr.
Woodfield
,
I’m leaving,” I heard Ruthie say as she stood in his doorway.
“Very well,” he replied in a monotone.
“See you in the morning.”
Our offices were right next to one
another’s, and judging by the sheer size
of mine and the
higher end furnishings that filled it,
someone very important once
worked in here. I’d heard him refer to it as Sapphire Hart’s old office
earlier, and I made a mental note to ask Monica about her next time I had a
chance.
The clock on the wall read five past
five. I rolled my chair back to my window and watched as people exited the
building in droves. Men and women in suits with briefcases and purses pounded
the pavement one by one and soon
shoulder to shoulder
.
I’d accompanied my mother on many
business trips to the city when I was in high school. She was an interior
designer back in Stone Mountain, Georgia, and she’d often go to the city to
shop the latest in high-end fabrics and art. The lights of the city were enough
to enrapture me the very first time I set foot on the island, and the air was
ripe with ambitious and dreams. It always felt like home, whether or not my
southern drawl fit in around there.
I scooted my chair back up and peeked out
my door to see Preston standing up in his office, peering out the window below.
It was funny that we were doing the same thing at the same time, although I
suspected he was likely keeping track of which of his employees bolted the
moment the clock struck five and which ones stayed a little extra.
He had become an interesting man who
acted far older than he was. He wasn’t older than thirty, but he acted like a
curmudgeonly middle-aged man who took life entirely too seriously. A
workaholic. A bit of a jerk too. If I could just put up with him for another
sixteen weeks, I’d have my degree and a guaranteed job at any agency I wanted.
I’d practically let him spit on me as long as he let me pass my internship. No
matter what, I vowed to myself not to let him shake my spirit. And underneath
it all, if I walked away with his approval, I’d get that validation I always
wanted from him. That feeling of wanting him to like me had never really gone
away.
My stomach rumbled a bit as I realized
I’d forgotten to each lunch that day. I’d been so immersed in the Johnston
account that the afternoon flew by without warning. I picked up my phone to
search for some local food delivery places and settled on some Italian deli up
the street.
Before my fingers had a chance to dial
the number, I sat my phone down on my desk and marched into Mr.
Woodfield’s
office.
“I’m about to order myself some dinner,”
I said as I rapped lightly on his door. His back was towards me until he spun
around at the sound of my voice. “Would you like something?”
He eyes studied me up and down, instantly
making me uncomfortable, but I was sure he didn’t realize he was doing it. I’d
only been around him for a day, but sometimes it felt like he was undressing me
with his eyes. He probably thought I didn’t notice, but I noticed it all. I
just pretended not to.
I flashed a sweet smile to try to make up
for the nasty thoughts that were floating around in my head about him and
prayed he couldn’t sense how crazy attracted I still was to him. I couldn’t
deny the fact that he was smoking hot. His dark hair was so perfectly combed,
thick, and lush. His peaches and cream complexion was flawless. His square jaw,
the way it flexed when he was deep in thought, was the epitome of manly. His
frozen blue eyes burned into mine anytime we were in the same room together,
and those full, flushed lips of his were begging to be kissed.
Stop
it, Mirabelle. He’s basically your stepbrother! And now he’s your boss!
“Are you hungry?” I asked him after he’d
ignored my question. He was still staring at me. “I thought I’d get something
from the Italian deli up the street. I’m going to order here in a minute, so…”
“Um, sure,” he said after he’d thought
about it a little too long. He grabbed a piece of paper and began scribbling
something down before hanging his hand out for me to retrieve it.
“I’ll let you know when it’s here,” I
said as I took his order and went back to my office. His handwriting was
impeccable, a little too neat, which totally went with his Type A personality,
and judging by his very specific order,
capicola
ham
and prosciutto with buffalo mozzarella and sundried tomatoes on ancient grains
wheat bread, he was a man who knew exactly what he wanted.