“History has a way of repeating itself,” she whispers as her dark eyes drop to my lips.
I get a vision of her naked and on top of me in my chair, and I inhale sharply as my cock begins to thump. “History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it,” I say.
“Quoting Winston Churchill now, Mr. Miles?” she breathes.
I smirk, amused by her intelligence. “You must look at the facts because they look at you.”
“I never worry about action, but only inaction,” she fires back without hesitation.
“Exactly, so as a fellow Churchill tragic, I demand you have dinner with me tonight.”
She smiles and stands. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m washing my hair.”
“Why would you want to wash it when you could be getting it dirty?”
She shrugs casually. “I’m just not interested in you. You’re not my type.”
I stare at her as her words roll around in my head. Ouch.
I purse my lips as my eyes hold hers. That’s the first time I’ve ever been flat-out rejected. “Very well; your loss.”
“Maybe.” She turns to leave. “Nice to see you again, though. You must be very proud of your achievements.”
I rise and open the door in a rush. She looks up at me, and I clench my hand at my side to stop myself from touching her. “Goodbye, Emily.”
“Goodbye,” she breathes as the air swirls between us. “Thanks for giving me a job.” She smiles.
I nod once. It’s not the only job I have for you.
She turns and walks out and into the elevator, and I slam the door and storm back into my office.
I’m not her type . . . since when?
I hold the remote up to the security television screen and turn it back on. “Get me the fortieth floor,” I ask the voice control.
It flickers, and then a picture comes up with the fortieth floor. I watch as she steps out of the elevator. “Follow her.”
The camera follows her as she walks up the aisle and then to her seat at her desk.
“Camera above that area,” I command.
The screen flickers, and she comes into view. The office is empty, and she takes out her phone and begins to scroll. She crosses her legs, and I sit forward as her thigh becomes visible through the split. I watch her as arousal swirls between my legs.
So . . . fucking hot.
She’s looking something up. “Zoom in,” I command.
The camera zooms in, and I squint as I try to read what she’s googling.
Jameson Miles.
I sit back and smile. Bingo.
Chapter 4
Emily
“What about this one?” Aaron smiles. “Hot firefighter rescues kitten from a drain.”
I shrug. “I’ll do that story for sure.”
He smirks. “Me too.”
“What are you guys doing over the weekend?” Molly asks as she works.
“Nothing,” Aaron replies. “Hopefully seeing Paul.”
“Me neither.” I sigh.
Molly looks up. “I thought you were going home to see your boyfriend?”
I shrug. “Well, I was supposed to, but I’ve spoken to him for four minutes in total in ten days, and he hasn’t called me once.” I swivel on my chair as I consider my depressing situation.
“God, you need to dump him and move on to Ricardo.”
I roll my eyes. Ricardo works on this floor, and for the last few days he’s been loitering around my desk and making idle chitchat.
“He’s into you,” Molly mutters. “He’s hanging around your desk like a fly.”
“It’s a shame.” I smirk as I watch him talk to someone at their desk. “He’s actually very good looking.” Ricardo’s Italian and has the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing perfected to a tee. Unfortunately, his personality isn’t half as pretty as his face. He’s either making fun of someone or talking about himself in the third person.
“Yuck.” Aaron widens his eyes in disgust. “What would you even talk to him about?”
“You wouldn’t talk to him—you’d stick a ball gag in and fuck him stupid,” Ava says as she watches him. “I bet he’s hung like a horse,” she whispers.
We all burst out laughing. “What are you doing this weekend?” I ask Ava.
“She’ll be chasing rich boys,” Aaron says.
“Damn right.”
My eyes flick to her. “What does that even mean?”
“I hang out at clubs where the men have money.”
“Why?” I frown.
“I am not ending up with a broke loser.”
My mouth falls open in horror. “So . . . you would marry a guy just for money?”
“No.” She shrugs. “Maybe.” She looks up. “Oh no, here he comes,” she whispers.
Ricardo comes over and sits on the corner of my desk. The floor manager has gone home for the day, so he’s not even bothering to pretend to work anymore.
“Hey there.” He smiles.
“Hi,” I reply flatly. Please go away—you’re embarrassing.
“Ricardo wanted to come and check on his favorite coworker.”
I stare at the stupid human being in front of me. “Why do you speak about yourself in the third person?” I ask.
Aaron snickers as he pretends not to listen.
“Ricardo wonders why you never come to his desk to see him.”
“Emily likes to get her work done,” I mutter flatly.
“Oh.” He laughs as he points at me. “Ricardo likes your style, Emily.”
I begin to work, and he stays sitting on the corner of my desk while he rambles, hardly coming up for air. Every now and then the four of us exchange looks, unable to believe what a tool this guy is.
From the corner of my eye I see the elevator doors open, and then I see somebody run back to their workstation. Huh? I look up to see Jameson Miles striding down the carpeted corridor toward my desk. His jaw is clenched, and he is glaring at Ricardo.
People are standing up in their cubicles to see who it is, and when they see him, they immediately drop into their chairs in fear.
What the hell is he doing here?
I watch in slow motion as he comes to a halt in front of my desk. Ricardo glances over and then nearly swallows his tongue and stands immediately. “Mr. Miles,” he stammers. “Hello, sir.”
“What are you doing?” Mr. Miles growls.
“I was training our new employee,” he splutters. “This is Emily,” he says, introducing me.
Aaron’s eyes meet mine in horror.
“I am well aware of who Emily Foster is and how often you frequent this desk. This is your first and final warning,” he growls. “Get back to work, and do not let me catch you here again.”
The blood drains from Ricardo’s face. “Yes, sir,” he whispers.
Mr. Miles glares at him and clenches his jaw in anger. “Go. Now.”
Ricardo practically runs back to his desk, and I stare at the gorgeous creature in front of me.
Gray suit, white shirt, paisley tie. He really is the epitome of suit porn.
“Emily, I need to see you in my office. Now,” he snaps before he turns and strides back toward the elevator, not bothering to wait for my reply.