First, Morgan.
She’s due in my office in ten minutes. It’s close to lunchtime. I don’t know if Morgan has lunch plans, but I had Chrissy go out and grab some pastries from the deli by the building. I know Morgan used to work at Starbucks, but I don’t know if she’s a coffee or tea drinker, so Chrissy makes up both and sets it up along with the pastries on the small meeting table I have in my office.
I’m replying to some outstanding emails when there’s a tap on my door. It opens before I can say anything, revealing Morgan.
My eyes drink her up. I feel like I haven’t seen her in forever—when, in reality, it was only yesterday morning.
She looks gorgeous.
Her hair is down and curled. She’s wearing a fitted black scoop-neck top, which her tits look fantastic in, with a beige-and-black calf-length skirt that has a mid-thigh split over the left leg and a thick, chunky black belt that has a gold buckle.
I love the outfits with the leg split. They make my dick especially hard.
She has fucking great legs. Long, tan, and toned.
Morgan always wore pants in college, so I never got the privilege of seeing her legs. Probably a good thing, as it would have driven me nuts, knowing she had legs like that and I’d never get to touch them because she hated my guts.
And I’ll still never get to touch them.
Sigh.
“Hi.” She smiles, clutching an iPad to her chest.
Lucky iPad, being pressed up against those beauties.
“Hey. Take a seat.” I gesture to the meeting table. “I just need to quickly finish this email.”
“Sure. No problem.”
I finish the email and press Send. Then, I get up from my desk, go over, and take a seat across from her.
“This is nice.” She nods at the food.
“I didn’t know if you had anything planned for lunch, so I had Chrissy bring something in just in case.” I shrug to give off the air of casualness. Why though, I don’t know. I shouldn’t care if she had lunch plans or not.
Then, it suddenly occurs to me that I actually know nothing about Morgan’s life outside of work.
I know she’s not married or engaged because there’s no ring, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a boyfriend. And women like her, smart and beautiful, don’t stay single for long.
It shouldn’t matter to me if she’s dating someone or not. I only want to fuck her, and I’m not going to. So, it’s a moot point.
“Just a sandwich at my desk, so this is great. Thanks.”
She smiles, and something in my chest lights up.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I feel like a teenager on his first date. Not a grown-ass man in a business meeting with his co-CEO.
She pours herself a coffee. I like that she feels comfortable enough around me to do that.
“Coffee or tea for you?” she asks me.
“Coffee all the way. I don’t drink tea. I just had Chrissy make it, as I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“I’m like you, a coffee drinker. My body goes into shock if I go at least an hour without my fix.”
“Noted.”
I watch as she pours creamer into her cup.
“You take creamer?” she asks, holding it up.
“Please.”
She pours creamer into my cup and then hands it over.
“Thanks. You get first dibs on the pastries, seeing as though you made coffee.”
Looking over the plate with them, she bites her lip, and my dick twitches in my pants.
“Their éclairs are amazing,” I tell her.
Her eyes meet mine. “And you wouldn’t mind if I had it? There’s only one.”
I pick it up, put it on a napkin, and hand it over.
The smile she gives me is dazzling. It warms my insides.
She takes a bite. Her eyes close as she makes a sound of appreciation that has my dick instantly hard.
“That is so good,” she murmurs, eyes opening as she chews.
I blink back at her. My mouth is suddenly dry. I grab my coffee and take a sip.
“Told you they were good,” I finally get out.
“Don’t tell me where Chrissy got them from; otherwise, I won’t be able to stop myself from going and getting more.”
I chuckle.
“Seriously, I’m going to have to do an extra ten minutes on the treadmill tomorrow to burn this off.”
“You work out?” I pick up a raspberry macaron and take a bite.
I look at her, and she’s staring back at me with a look in her eyes that I can’t quite decipher. She nods and puts the éclair down on the napkin. Then, she gets another and wipes her hands on it.
“Do you use the office gym?”
“No.” She curls her hand around her coffee cup and lifts it to her lips.
I watch her, confused. She was fine a second ago, but now, she’s gone quiet. I don’t know why. What I do know is that I don’t like it.
“You should use the office gym. It’s free to employees.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Her eyes go down to the table, looking at the iPad she brought with her. She picks it up. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so I’ll get to the reason I’m here.”
“Morgan,” I say.
She lifts her eyes to me.
“Did I say something to upset you?”
“No. But we should get on with this, as I know you’re busy, and I’ve another meeting with accounting to get to soon.”
“Okay.”
I pick up my coffee again and gesture for her to take the lead. She did call for this meeting after all.
“So, I have an idea about us branching out into the D-plus-sized area of the bra industry. And I know this is something you’ve probably thought of in the past, and I know the reasons you have never moved into the area, but just hear me out.”
She’s right. I did think of it and decided against it, mostly based on cost.
“I’m listening.” I put my coffee down and give her my full focus.
“Okay, so there are lingerie companies that sell luxury bras for bigger-breasted woman, D-plus sizes. And companies like ours sell luxury bras for sizes A through D. But there are no companies that sell all sizes. The luxury-branded stores for D-plus-sized women are expensive, and I know the reason for this—cost of materials. That is why we and other lingerie companies have never moved into that area, but I think there’s a way for us to do this without adding the big price tag to the D-plus sizes. No other luxury lingerie company has done this. We’d be the first and the only.”
“So, you’re saying that you have a cost-effective way for us to make D-plus-sized bras?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got my attention.”
She smiles, and I feel like I’ve won something.
“So, a few years ago, Oscars sent me to Thailand to meet with some new potential suppliers. While I was there, I was wandering around a market in San Kamphaeng, and I came across a silk supplier.”
“There are a lot of suppliers of silk in Thailand.”
That’s not me being an ass; it’s the truth. Thailand is responsible for the global distribution of around seven hundred metric tons of silk per annum.
Even though Thailand is not the world’s largest supplier of silk, they’re still pretty significant.
And the fact that she thinks finding a silk supplier in Thailand is big news kind of worries me, as she comes from a clothing background.
“I’m well aware of that.” She rolls her eyes. And I have to stifle a laugh. “And I also know of the cost the larger suppliers charge per meter. And I’m telling you that I know of a smaller supplier that will sell us silk charmeuse for fifty cents cheaper than what you’re paying our current supplier from China.”
That gets my attention. I sit up a little straighter and run the costs in my head.
“What’s the name of the supplier?” I ask her.
“Ananda.”
r /> “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Like I said, they’re a small supplier. They sell more to local companies.”
“Small would be a problem since we’d need large amounts of silk.”
“But what if we stayed with our current supplier in China for the A-to-D-sized bras and bought the silk from Ananda for the D-plus sizes? In the beginning, that size would be in smaller demand until business increased.”
“Does Oscars use them as a supplier?”
She shakes her head.
“Why not?”
“Because they weren’t interested in a small supplier. They went with a bigger supplier with a quicker turnaround time even though the cost difference was significant. But I think we can work with the turnaround time. We’re in no rush. We can place an order with Ananda and get the production moving. If the business grows for us, they can hire more staff to cope with the increasing demand, and because the product is cheaper, the cost for the D-plus bras will be the same as the A-to-D-sized bras. And, maybe going forward, if Ananda could expand their production size, then we could shift all purchases of silk charmeuse to them. But that’s a conversation for another time. Right now, I really think we can do this, Wilder. I truly do.”
Her enthusiasm is contagious. I feel it bleeding into me, giving me that thrill that can only come from a great business deal.
“What’s the quality of the product like?” I ask her.
She puts her hand in the pocket of her skirt and pulls out a piece of red silk. She hands it to me. It has a flower stitched into it. “It’s a handkerchief that Niran, the owner of Ananda, gave to me as a gift. It’s a few years old, so the quality’s not as good as it was. And don’t worry; it’s clean. I haven’t wiped my nose on it today.” She laughs softly.
I meet her eyes and laugh. “Good to know.”
I run my fingers over the material, rubbing it between my fingers. “You said this is a few years old?”
“Yes,” she replies.
“This is really good silk,” I say to her.
“I know.”
I look up at her, meeting her eyes. They’re twinkling and smiling.
And, now, I’m getting hard again. At the thought of the new business and increase in sales but mostly because of her. Just her.
“I think you have something here,” I tell her.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m impressed. You’ve come up with a great business idea, and you’ve only been here just over a week.”
“I’m awesome. What can I say?”
She gives a playful shrug, leaning back in her chair, and I chuckle.
“But, seriously, I was thinking of more cost-effective ways for bringing in materials when I was still at Oscars. I just brought that mindset here with me, and after looking at the supplier information over this past week, it just stood out to me, knowing about Ananda.”
“It’s brilliant.”
“If it works.”
“You losing confidence in your idea already?” I tip my head to the side, my lips lifting at the corners.
“No, just playing it safe until I have the deal in the bag. I don’t want to get excited about it in case it doesn’t happen.”
“I get that.” I nod, handing her the handkerchief back.
She tucks it into her pocket. “I’m guessing we need to present this idea to your mom and dad.”
“Yeah, we should run it past them. They’re technically still here in a chief officer capacity until the end of this week. And it is their company. I’ll call them and set something up.”
“Great.” She picks up her iPad, pushes her chair back, and stands. “Well, just let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”
I’m dismayed to see that she’s leaving already. I feel like I need to keep her here even if just for a little longer.
Funny how I was dodging to see her, and now that I have her here, I don’t want her to go.
“So, you’re heading to another meeting now?” I stand, too, and walk over to my desk.
“Yep. Just with accounting.”
“Tim or Justin?”
“Tim.”
“You’ll probably need another coffee then to keep you awake. The guy is boring as hell.”
She giggles, and I fucking love the sound.
“Are you supposed to talk about your employees like that?”
“No. But the guy put me to sleep in a meeting once, so it’s only fair to give you warning.”
She laughs again. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll make sure to have an industrial-strength coffee before I go in.”
She’s heading for the door. And I’m still not ready to let her go.
“So, any plans tonight?”
“Any plans tonight?”
Jesus. Could I be any more transparent?
She pauses and regards me with a tilt of her head. “Yep. I have a date with Jamie Fraser.”
Disappointment lands in my chest like rocks.
“Jamie…is he your boyfriend?”
She barks out a laugh. “I wish.” At my puzzled expression, she says, “He’s a character in a show—Outlander. I’m guessing you’ve never heard of it.”
“Nope. What’s it about?”
“Kind of hard to explain, but it’s about this woman who goes back in time to the 1700s in Scotland. And, once there, she meets Jamie Fraser. The hot Scottish warrior. It’s based on a series of books.”
“Sounds shite.”
She laughs again.
“Does your boyfriend like it?”
That stops her laughter. And I want to punch myself in the face.
“Does your boyfriend like it?”
Fucking hell, Cross. Are you back in grade school?
She’s appraising me with her eyes again. A small smile touches her lips. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She gently shakes her head.
Pressure lifts off my chest.
“Oh. Cool. Well, have fun tonight with Jamie Fraser.” I move around my desk and sit down.
She smiles, clutching the iPad to her chest. “I will. You, too. Have a good night, that is.”
She turns, and I watch her leave, the door closing behind her.
Could I have been any more obvious just then? Jesus. I’m so off my game, it’s ridiculous.
But I can’t be on my game. Not with her. She’s off-limits, no matter how much I don’t want her to be.
Morgan and I are having dinner with my mom and dad. When I called Mom to tell her that Morgan came up with a great idea for the business, she suggested a dinner meeting. I checked with Morgan to see if she was free, and she was, so we’re meeting at my parents’ favorite restaurant—Alinea.
I take a cab from my place. When I arrive, I’m the first one there. The hostess seats me, and I give the drink order—beer for me and a bottle of red for the table—to our waitress, who I’m ninety percent sure I’ve hooked up with before. When you sleep with as many women as I do, it’s hard to keep track. But she looks familiar, and the way she keeps looking at me tells me that we’ve quite likely bumped uglies in the past.
“Hey.” Morgan slips into the seat beside me, putting her clutch on the table.
I turn my eyes to look at her, and—
Holy fuck.
She’s wearing a black lace dress. Her lips are red, hair down and poker straight, falling past her shoulders.
She looks fucking gorgeous.
It’s going to be hard not to get hard tonight.
“Hey. You look nice.” Hot. Fuckable.
“Oh. Thanks. You, too.”
I’m wearing a dark red shirt, which is oddly the same color as her lips, and black pants.
“I was worried I was going to be the last one here. Traffic was a nightmare.”
“You drove?”
“Took a cab.” She smiles.
“What do you want to drink? I ordered a bottle of red for the table, but I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
“I’m not a red-wine
drinker. Gives me the worst hangovers.”
I wave our waitress over. She approaches the table wearing a smile that dips when she sees Morgan sitting beside me, but Morgan doesn’t seem to notice.
“What can I get you?” she asks Morgan.
“I’ll have a vodka, soda, and lime, please.”
Our waitress swivels on her heel and disappears off. But it’s not her I’m looking at or thinking about. It’s the woman sitting next to me.
The woman I work with.
The woman I want to fuck more than I’ve ever wanted to fuck anyone before.
“Did you mention anything about my idea to your parents?”
I shake my head. “I thought you’d want to tell them.”
She smiles at me, her eyes warming, and I get the feeling again, like I’ve won something really important.
Our waitress appears with my beer, the red wine, and Morgan’s drink.
“Thanks,” Morgan says as the drink is put in front of her.
Her attention is back on me, but my eyes never left her.
We’re staring at one another, and I feel like I should say something.
“Your lips match my shirt.”
Really, Cross? That’s the best you could come up with?
For fuck’s sake.
She laughs softly. “So they do. At least, if I get lipstick on you, it won’t show.” Then, she realizes what she said. “Not that I plan on getting my lipstick on you. I just meant…” Her face is bright red now, and I’m as amused as I am turned on. “Oh Christ. You know what I meant.” She picks up her drink and takes a big gulp.
I chuckle.
Actually, I don’t know what she meant, but I’m not going to push her on it.
Even though I am enjoying seeing her squirm.
She puts her drink down but doesn’t look at me.
I move a little closer, and in a lowered voice, I say, “If you did get lipstick on me, I wouldn’t mind.”
Her eyes whip to mine, but she doesn’t look offended. She looks…interested, and there’s a definite hint of desire in there, too. And, right now, it’s hard to remember why I can’t kiss the hell out of her.
Her breathing has gone shallow, like my own.
It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of this place along with everything else.