She’s been my assistant for a week. Yet, every day that passes only causes me to become more fascinated with her.
As an employee, she’s turned out to be one of the best hiring decisions I’ve ever made. As I’d suspected, not only does her intellect serve me well, but she also has a knack for figuring out tricky situations. More than that, she has enough confidence to be proactive in matters without needing my input. Until she started handling those details, I had no clue how much shit I was doing that should have been delegated. In that respect, she’s shone a spotlight on my shortcomings as a manager.
Every morning, we’ve established a routine of meeting at my office. She brings me coffee, along with a summary report covering overnight issues. Sometimes, she’ll even have suggestions on how to deal with a concern. Occasionally, she’ll handle problems without even involving me.
I’ve never had an assistant be so bloody fucking fantastic at assisting me.
So yes, I appreciate her more than I can say. I’m not about to lose her.
However, now that I’ve realized how capable she is and how effortlessly she operates within my world—the Blackwood world—it makes her infinitely more attractive for some reason.
Being a go-getter sets her apart from other women. She’s never going to be the type who waits for someone to take care of or rescue her. Instead, she enjoys being independent and figuring out how to do stuff herself.
She’s a rarity, which makes her even more intriguing.
It certainly doesn’t help she’s wearing the clothes I bought her. Especially when I know damn well if I were to hike her skirt up, she’d be wearing the silky unmentionables I’d bought, too. Fuck how I’d love to see that.
Just once. Well, at least once, but preferably more.
Yeah… I want her badly. But I keep telling myself I can’t go there. I don’t mix business with pleasure.
Too bad she’s not a member of The Wicked Horse. If she were the no-strings type sex clubs are made for, she might be a safe bet to dally with. She would understand sex is just sex, and once out of the club, there is nothing else to bind.
It’s also ironic I’m fantasizing about getting her in a sex club when I’m in the process of creating my own. She hasn’t been clued in, but I’m meeting with potential investors because I’m building an exclusive vacation resort that blends the luxury of the Blackwood name with a little kink by adding a sex club to the available amenities.
What would Bailey think if she knew those boring investment meetings she had to attend were to facilitate the construction of kinky hotels?
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood,” she says. And, goddamn, even the way she so formally says my name turns me on. Not for the first time, I imagine her in a collar attached to a chain, crawling across the floor toward me.
Once again, I can’t help but wonder if she’d approve or be disgusted by my plans to create a sex club resort.
“Good morning,” I reply when I reach her, taking the offered cup of coffee. She follows me into my office, seating herself in a guest chair while I move around my desk. I set the cup down, bend slightly to log in to my computer, then lower myself into my sumptuous leather executive chair. It’s big enough to accommodate Bailey, too, should she ever get the urge to crawl onto my lap.
Fuck. Get her out of your goddamn mind, Blackwood.
“I had to push your lunch appointment to one thirty,” Bailey says as she reads notes from her iPad. “Mr. Iverson’s flight is delayed.”
I study her, looking crisp and professional in a cream-colored dress with geometric block patterns done in navy blue, brown, and black. Her heels are black peep toes, and I’m even fucking turned on by her apricot-colored toenail polish.
Christ.
Not sure what compels me—the lap fantasy?—but I make a snap decision to figure out precisely what she thinks about my plans.
“Mr. Iverson is the last investor I’ll be interviewing,” I inform her. “I’d like you to block off the rest of my afternoon so you and I can discuss the project’s next steps.”
“Next steps, sir?”
Fuck… what it does when she calls me “sir.”
“Even though you’ve attended meetings, you haven’t inquired about why I need investors.”
“I didn’t feel it was my place,” she murmurs. “I thought if you wanted me to know—”
“I intend to open a unique type of resort,” I interrupt. “One which will be separate from the Blackwood empire.”
“Why wouldn’t you want it to be part of the Blackwood empire? The brand itself seems like it offers guaranteed success.”
That makes me chuckle. Nothing about building a new resort—Blackwood name or not—is ever guaranteed to be successful. But she’s not wrong… the Blackwood money would grease the wheels.
I tap my fingers on the desk, studying her. Should I reveal my true intentions for the result? Fuck it. I brace for her reaction. “I’m going to create a boutique luxury resort, which will contain a sex club as its main focus.”
At first, her expression blanks, but then her eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. I’m stunned when she merely says, “Interesting… I assume you think there’s a market for it?”
Once again, I chuckle. “Oh, there’s a huge market for it. The wealthy will pay a premium chunk of change for the privilege.”
“And you want outside investors because you cannot associate the Blackwood name with such an endeavor?” she concludes.
“My family would not be happy about it,” I concede. “In fact, I would be the silent partner in the project while my investor would be the public face.”
When she frowns, I figure this is where she’ll reveal just how progressive—or not—she’ll be in this matter. “I still don’t understand why you want to do this. I mean… as the Blackwood heir, you don’t need extra income. And if you will only be a silent partner in this project, you won’t get any recognition from it, so why even bother?”
My body relaxes. She’s focused on financial and business recognition merits, not on morality. “Let’s just say I have a personal interest.”
“A personal interest?” she repeats, brow furrowing.
“Yes, as in I personally enjoy going to sex clubs,” I say, tone challenging.
Once again, her response surprises me. It looks as if a bright light has flipped on above her head as something dawns on her. “So that’s why you don’t date and are rarely seen with women.”
I’m the shocked one now. I didn’t realize she paid that type of attention to my personal life. For some odd reason, it pleases me.
“I like no-strings-attached sexual encounters,” I reply in a crisply professional voice. I want her to believe we’re still talking about business, but, truthfully, I’d like insight into her thoughts, too. “I find it easier with how busy I am, and sex clubs offer that.”
“Makes sense,” she muses, her eyes going slightly hazy in contemplation. I’d bet a million dollars she has no idea she’s doing it, but her teeth sink into her bottom lip, nibbling at it. It’s sexy as fuck.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I murmur.