Karma's POV
There were eighty-three vents, twenty-nine screws, five blades, and four bulbs on the ceiling fan above my bed. I rolled to my side, trying unsuccessfully to sleep at least for a few minutes but nothing. I was wide awake, too invested in what happened with Am…Miss Raudenfeld in that store to be able to sleep.
"I want you to watch. I want you to remember how much you enjoyed eating my pussy"
I can't believe I said that to her. Every time I'm with her I said and do things I don't normally do. It is like she brings out this animal side of me. And to be honest I like it. Without realizing it, my hand had traveled to my breast, absently twisting my nipple beneath my tank top. Closing my eyes, the touch of my own hands turned into hers in my memory. Hers fingers, ghosting along the undersides of my breasts, her thumbs brushing my nipples, cupping me in her palms…damn it. I let out a loud sigh and kicked a pillow off my bed. I knew exactly where this train of thought was headed. I had done this exact same thing three nights in a row and it had to stop now. With a huff I rolled over onto my stomach and closed my eyes tight, willing sleep to come. As if that ever worked.
I still remembered, with perfect clarity, the day almost a year and a half ago when Hank asked me up to his office for a talk. I'd started at RMG working as a junior assistant for Hank when I was in college. When my mother died, Hank had taken me under his wing; not so much a father figure, but certainly as a caring and warm mentor who had me to his home for dinner to keep an eye on my emotional state. He'd insisted his door would always be open for me. But on that particular morning, when he phoned my office, he sounded uncharacteristically formal, and frankly I was scared shitless.
In his office, he'd explained how her only daughter had lived in Paris for the past couple of years, working as a marketing executive for L'Oréal and she, Amy, was finally coming home, and in six months would take over the position of chief operating officer at Raudenfeld Media. Hank knew I was a year into my business degree and was looking into internship options that would give me the critical hands-on experience I needed. He insisted I complete my master's internship at RMG and that her daughter Amy would be more than thrilled to have me on her team.
Hank handed me the company-wide memo that would circulate the following week to announce Amy Raudenfeld's arrival.
Wow. That was my only thought as I looked over the paper on my way back to my office. Executive VP of product marketing at L'Oréal in Paris. Youngest nominee ever featured in the Crain's "Forty Under 40" list, published several times in the Wall Street Journal. A dual MBA from NYU-Stern School of Business and HEC Paris, where she specialized in corporate finance and global business, graduating summa cum by the age of thirty. Christ.
What was it Hank had said? Extremely driven? That was an understatement if I'd ever heard one.
I hated to admit it now, but by the time she was set to arrive, I had developed a bit of a crush on Amy Raudenfeld. I was extremely anxious about working with her, but I was also impressed with everything she'd accomplished in her relatively short life. Looking up her picture online didn't hurt either: the woman was a specimen. We communicated through e-mail leading up to her arrival, and although she seemed nice enough, she was never overly friendly.
On the big day, Amy wasn't due in until after the board meeting that afternoon, when she would be officially introduced. I had the entire day to work myself up into a ball of nerves. Being the good friend she is, Zita came upstairs to distract me. She sat in my chair and we spent over an hour discussing the merits of the Clerks movies.
Soon I was laughing so hard I had tears running down my face. I didn't notice that Zita stiffened when the outer office door opened, and I didn't notice that someone was now standing behind me. And though Zita tried to warn me with a swift hand across the throat—the universal sign for "shut the fuck up"—I ignored her.
Because, apparently, I'm an idiot.
And then," I said, giggling and holding onto my sides, "she says, 'Fuck, I had to take a fucking order off a guy I blew after junior prom once.' And then he says, 'Yeah, I've waited on your brother too.'"
Another bout of laughter hit me, and I stumbled backward a bit until I collided with something hard and warm.
"Miss Raudenfeld!" I said, recognizing her from her photographs. "I'm so sorry!"
She did not look amused.
In an attempt to ease the tension, Zita stood and extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Zita Jones, Lauren's assistant."
My new boss simply glanced at her hand without returning the gesture and raised one of her perfect eyebrows. "Don't you mean 'Miss Cooper'?"
Zita's hand slowly fell as she watched her, obviously flustered. Something about her physical presence was so intimidating she was at a loss for words. When she recovered, she stuttered, "Well . . . we are fairly casual around here. We're all on a first-name basis. This is your assistant, Karma."
She nodded to me. "Miss Ashcroft. You will refer to me as Miss Raudenfeld. And I expect you in my office in five minutes so that we may discuss proper workplace decorum." Her voice was serious when she spoke, and she nodded curtly to Zita. "Miss Jones."
Sliding her gaze to mine for another moment, she turned on her heel toward her new office and I watched in horror as the first of hers infamous door slams took place.
"What a bitch!" Zita mumbled between tight lips.
"A beautiful bitch," I replied.
Hoping to smooth things over, I went down to the café to get her a cup of coffee. I'd even asked Lauren how she took it—black. When I nervously made it back to her office door, my knock was followed by an abrupt "come in," and I willed my hands to stop shaking. I curved my lips into a friendly smile, intent on making a better impression this time, and opened the door to her talking on the phone and writing furiously on the notepad in front of him. My breath caught when I heard her smooth voice speaking in flawless French.
"Ce sera parfait. Non. Non, ce n'est pas nécessaire. Seulement quatre. Oui. Quatre. Merci, Ivan."
She ended the call but never lifted her eyes from her papers to greet me. Once I was standing in front of her desk, she addressed me in the same stern tone as before. "In the future, Miss Ashcroft, can you keep the level of gossip to a minimum? We're paying you to work, not to have a talk show with your co-worker. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
I stood speechless for a moment until she lifted her eyes to meet mine, raising an eyebrow. I shook myself out of my trance, all at once realizing the truth about Amy Raudenfeld: although she was even more breathtakingly gorgeous in person than in photos, she was not at all like I had imagined. Never judge a book by his cover I guess.
"Crystal clear, Miss," I said as I walked around her desk to set her coffee in front of her.
But just as I was about to reach her desk, my heel caught on the rug and I lunged forward. I heard a loud "Shit!" escape her lips—the coffee now nothing more than a scorching stain on her expensive suit.
"Oh my God, Miss Raudenfeld, I am so sorry!"
I rushed over to the sink in her bathroom to grab a towel and ran back, falling to my knees in front of her and attempting to wipe off the stain. In my haste, and in the midst of humiliation I didn't think could get any worse, it suddenly occurred to me that I was furiously rubbing the towel against her, well, private parts. I averted my eyes and hand, feeling a heated blush spread from my face down my neck. Can I make a bigger fool of myself right now?
"You may go now, Miss Ashcroft."
I nodded, rushing out of the office, mortified that I'd made such a horrible first impression.
Thankfully, I proved myself pretty quickly after that. There were times when she even seemed impressed with me, although she was always short and on edge. I chalked it up to her being a giant witch, but I had always wondered if there was something specific about me that rubbed her the wrong way.
Besides that towel, of course.
When I arrived at work, I bumped into Zita on my way to the elevator. We made plans to have lunch next week and said good-bye as she reached her floor. Arriving at the eighteenth floor, I noticed Miss Raufenfeld's office door was closed as usual, so I couldn't tell if she was here yet. I turned on the computer and tried to mentally prepare myself for the day. Lately, anxiety hit every time I sat in this chair.
I knew I would see her this morning; we went over the schedule for the coming week every Friday. But I never knew what kind of mood she would be in.
Although her temper had been even worse lately, her last words to me yesterday had been, "Get the garter belt too." And I had. In fact, I was wearing it now. Why? I had no idea. What in the hell had she meant by that? Did she think she was going to see it? No fucking way. Then why had I worn it? I swear to God, if she rips it . . . I stopped myself before I could finish.
Of course she wouldn't rip it. I was never going to give her the chance.
Keep telling yourself that, Ashcroft
Answering some e-mails, editing the Booker contract for intellectual property issues, and making a few hotel inquiries took my mind off the situation for a bit, and about an hour later her office door opened. Looking up, I was met with a very businesslike Miss Raudenfeld. She looked calm and completely at ease. No trace remained of the wild woman who had fucked me with her mouth in the La Perla dressing room approximately eighteen hours and thirty-six minutes ago. Not that I was counting.
"Are you ready to begin?"
"Yes, Miss."
She nodded once and turned back to her office.
Okay, so that's how this was going to play out. Fine by me. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting but was somewhat relieved that things weren't different. Things between us were getting more and more intense, and it would mean a harder crash when it all stopped and I was left to pick up the pieces of my career. I hoped we could limp through this without further disaster until I finished my degree.
I followed her into her office and took a seat. I began going over the list of tasks and appointments that needed her attention. She listened without comment, jotting things down or entering them into her computer when needed.
"There's a meeting with Red Hawk Publishing scheduled for three this afternoon. Your father and sister are also planning to attend. It will probably take up the rest of the afternoon, so your calendar has been cleared . . ." And so it went, until eventually we got to the part I'd been dreading.
"Lastly, the JT Miller Marketing Insight Conference is in San Diego next month," I said, suddenly becoming interested in what I was doodling in my calendar. The pause that followed seemed to drag forever, and I glanced up to see what was taking so long. She was staring at me, tapping a gold pen on the desk, her face completely void of any expression.
"Will you be joining me?" she asked.
"Yes." My one word created a suffocating silence in the room. I had no idea what she was thinking as we looked at each other. "It's in the terms of the scholarship that I attend. I, uh, also think it'd be good to have me there to, um, help manage your affairs."
"Make all the necessary arrangements," she said with an air of finality as she resumed typing on his computer. Assuming I had been dismissed, I stood and began walking toward the door.
"Miss Ashcroft."
I turned to look at him, and even though he didn't meet my gaze, he almost seemed nervous. Well, that was different.
"Lauren has asked me to extend an invitation to you for dinner next week."
"Oh." I felt heat bloom across my cheeks. "Well, please tell her I'll look at my schedule." I turned to leave again.
"I was told I must . . . strongly encourage you to attend."
Turning back slowly, I saw she was now staring at me, and she definitely looked uncomfortable. "And why exactly should you do that?"
"Well," she said before clearing her throat, "apparently she has someone she would like you to meet."
"Your sister is trying to set me up?" I asked walking back toward his desk and folding my arms over my chest.
"So it seems." Something in her face didn't quite fit her nonchalant answer.
"Why?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.
Her brow furrowed in obvious annoyance. "How the hell would I know? It's not like we sit around discussing you," she growled. "Maybe she's trying to win her ticket to heaven by helping you avoid a life full of cats and loneliness"
Leaning forward with my palms on her desk I glared at her. "Well, maybe she should help you by committing you in a loony bin so you will not turn into a dirty old woman who spends her time hoarding panties and stalking girls in lingerie stores."
Jumping out of her chair, she leaned toward me, her face furious. "You know, you are the most—" She was cut off as the phone rang. We stared fiercely at each other from across the desk, both of us breathing heavily. For a moment, I thought she would throw me across the desk. For another moment, I wanted her to. Still glaring at me, she reached for the phone.
"Yes," she barked sharply into the receiver, her eyes never leaving mine. "George! Hello. Yes, I have a minute."
She lowered himself back into her desk chair, and I lingered to see if she needed anything from me while she talked to Mr. Booker. She held up her index finger for me to wait before she slid it over her pen, rolling it across her desk as she listened to the call.
"You need me to stay?" I asked
She nodded once before speaking into the phone, "I don't think you'd need to be that specific at this stage, George." "Just a general outline is fine. We need to know the scope of this proposal before we can move into drafting."
I shifted where I stood. She was such an egomaniac, making me stand here like I was holding a plate of grapes and fanning her while she spoke to a colleague.
She looked up at me and did a slight double take, her eyes dropping to my skirt. When she looked back up, her lips opened slightly, as if she would ask me something were she able. And then she reached forward, pen poised between her finger and thumb, and used the tip of it to lift the hem of my skirt up my thigh.
Her eyes widened when she saw the garter.
"I understand," she murmured into the phone, letting my skirt fall. "I think we can agree that's a positive development."
Her eyes moved up my body, darkening as they traveled. My heart began to pound. When she looked at me like that, I wanted to slip onto his lap and bind her to the chair with a tie.
"No, no. Nothing so broad at this point. As I said, this is only a preliminary outline."
I slipped around her desk and sat in the chair across from her. She raised an eyebrow, interested, and then slipped the tip of the pen between her teeth, biting down.
Heat bloomed between my legs and I reached for the hem of my skirt, sliding the fabric up my thighs, exposing my skin to the cool air in her office and to the hungry eyes across the desk from me.
"Yes, I see," she said, her voice was hoarse now.
My fingertips trailed over the lines of the garters, along skin and to the satin of my underwear. Nothing—and no one—had ever made me feel as sexy as she did. It was as if she took all my thoughts of my job, my life, and my goals and said, "These are all well and good, but look at this other thing I'm offering you. It will be twisted and very dangerous but you'll crave it. You'll crave me."
And if she'd said that out loud, she would have been right.
"Yes, "she said again. "I think that's the ideal path forward."
You do, do you? I smiled at her, chewing my lip, and she gave me a devilish half smile in return. The fingers of one hand traveled higher, cupping my breast and squeezing. With my other hand, I pushed the center of my panties aside and ran two fingers across my wet skin.
Miss Raudenfeld coughed and fumbled for her water glass. "That's fine, George. We'll take that over when we receive it. We can handle that timeline."
I began moving my hand; thinking of her delicate fingers rolling the pen, those very fingers that brought me to climax some many times this past couple of days. I moved faster, my eyes falling closed and head dropping back against the chair. I tried to be quiet, biting down on my lip when a tiny moan escaped.
I looked up to see her hungry expression trained on my face as I fell and fell and fell. My climax was both overwhelming and unsatisfying: I wanted it to be her touch doing this to me instead of my own.
At some point, her call had ended, and my breath sounded too loud in the silent room. She sat across from me, sweat beading her brow, her hands gripping the arms of her desk chair as if she'd been thrown into the wind.
"What are you doing to me?" she asked quietly.
I grinned, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. "I'm pretty sure I just did that to myself."
Her brow lifted. "Indeed."
I stood, smoothing my skirt back down my thighs. "If that will be all, Miss Raudenfeld, I'll get back to work."
By the time I returned from freshening up in the restroom, I had a text message from Miss Raudenfeld informing me that she would meet me in the parking garage to head downtown. Thank God the other executives and their assistants would be going to the Red Hawk meeting. I knew from our history that if I had to sit in a limo with that woman alone for twenty minutes—especially after what I just did—there were only two possible outcomes. And only one of them ended with my panties intact.
The limo was waiting right outside, and as I made my way to it our driver smiled widely to me and opened the door. "Hey, Karma, how's work?"
"Busy, fun, never-ending. How's school?" I smiled back. Stuart was my favorite driver, and although he had a tendency to be a bit of a flirt, he always made me smile.
"If I could drop physics and still graduate with a degree in biology, I would. Too bad you aren't a scientist or you could tutor me," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
"If you two are finished, we actually have somewhere important to be. Maybe you can flirt with Miss Ashcroft on your own time." Miss Raudenfeld was apparently already inside waiting for me, and she glared at the two of us as she retreated back into the car. I grinned and rolled my eyes at Stuart before stepping inside.
Aside from Miss Raudenfeld, the car was empty. "Where are the others?" I asked, confused, as we pulled away
"They have a dinner meeting later this evening and decided to drive separately."She busied himself with her printouts.
I eyed her suspiciously. She didn't look any different. In fact, she looked sexier than hell. Her hair perfect as usual. As she absentmindedly lifted her gold pen to her lips, just as she had in her office earlier, I actually had to shift in my seat to ease my discomfort.
When she looked up, the smirk on her face let me know I had been caught ogling her. "See something you like?" she asked.
"Not back here," I replied with a smirk of my own. And just because I knew it would get to her, I purposely recrossed my legs, making sure my skirt rode up a bit more than was appropriate. Maybe she needed to remember who could win at this game. The scowl was back in an instant. Mission accomplished.
The eighteen and a half minutes left of our twenty-minute drive were spent trading dirty looks across the car while I tried to pretend I wasn't fantasizing about having her pretty head between my legs.
Needless to say, by the time we got there, I was in a bad mood.
The next three hours passed at a snail's pace. The other executives arrived and introductions were made all around. A particularly striking woman named Lila seemed to take an immediate interest in my boss. She was in her early thirties with thick red hair, luminous dark eyes, and a body to die for. And of course, the panty-dropping smile was in full force as she nearly charmed her unconscious the entire afternoon.
Asshole.
When we walked into the office at the end of the day, after an even more tense drive back, it still seemed like Miss Raudenfeld had something to say. And if she didn't do it soon, I was going to explode. When I wanted her to be quiet, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. But when I needed her to say something, she became a mute.
A sense of déjà vu and dread filled me as we made our way through the semideserted building and toward the elevator. The second those gold doors closed I wished I were anywhere but standing next to her. Was there suddenly less oxygen in here? As I glanced at her reflection in the polished doors, it was hard to tell how she felt.
When we reached the eighteenth floor, I let out a giant breath. That had to have been the longest forty-two seconds of my life. I followed her through the door, trying to keep my eyes off her as he quickly entered his own office. But to my surprise, he didn't close the door behind her. She always closed her door.
I quickly checked my messages and wrapped up a few last-minute details before I could leave for the weekend. I don't think I'd ever been in more of a hurry to get out of here. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The last time we were alone on this floor I had made a pretty quick getaway. Damn, if there was ever a time to not think about that, it would be now, in the empty office. Just me and her.
She left her office right as I was gathering my things, placing an ivory envelope on my desk and continuing to the door without pausing. What the hell was this?
Quickly opening the envelope, I saw my name on several pieces of elegant ivory paper. It was paperwork for a private credit account at La Perla, with Miss Amy Raudenfed as the account holder.
Oh no, she didn't
"What the hell is this?" I said, seething. I jumped from my chair and asked, "You got me a freaking line of credit?
Stopping midstride and hesitating slightly, she turned to face me. "After your little show today, I made a phone call and arranged for you to purchase whatever you . . . need. Of course there's no limit on the account," she stated flatly, having wiped all trace of discomfort from her face. This is why she was such a master at what he did. She had an uncanny ability to regain control of any situation. But did she honestly think he could control me?
"Ok so, just to be clear" I said, shaking my head and trying to keep some semblance of calm, "you creep arranged to buy me lingerie"
"You really love unnecessary drama don't you?" she asked tiredly, "Calm down, don't call the cops on me just yet" "I did it to replace the things that I-"she stopped, possibly rethinking her response. "The things that have been damaged. If you don't want it, don't use it, I was just being thoughtful" she hissed before turning to leave again.
"You really are one sick son of a bitch" I moved to stand in front of her, the crisp stationery now a mangled ball of paper in my clenched fist. "Do you think this is a joke? Do you think I'm your freaking doll and you can play dress up with me just for your amusement?" I didn't know who I was angrier with: her for thinking of me that way, or me for allowing this thing to start in the first place.
She scoffed, "Oh yes Miss Ashcroft, I find this absolutely hilarious."
"Take this and stick it up your ass." I shoved the ivory paper into her chest and grabbed my purse, turning and literally sprinting to the elevator. What an egotistical, womanizing ass.
Logically I knew that she hadn't meant to insult me, at least I hoped not. But this? This was exactly why you don't fuck your boss, why you definitely don't get off and give her a little show in her office.
Apparently, I missed that part of orientation.
"Miss Ashcroft!" she shouted, but I ignored her and stepped into the elevator. Come on, I said to myself as I repeatedly pushed the button for the parking garage. Her face appeared just as the doors closed and I smiled to myself as I flipped her off. Real mature, Karma.
"Shit. Shit. Shit!" I yelled into the empty elevator, practically stomping my feet. That bitch had ripped her last pair of panties.
The elevator chimed, signaling that I'd reached the garage, and, muttering to myself, I made my way to my car. The garage was dimly lit and mine was one of the only cars left on this level, but I was too furious to even give it a second thought. I'd hate to see the unlucky prick who dared mess with me right now. Just as that thought entered my mind, I heard the stairwell door burst open and Miss Raudenfeld call out from behind me.
"Jeez! Can you just fucking wait?" she shouted. It did not escape my attention that she was out of breath. I suppose sprinting down eighteen flights of stairs would do that to a person.
Unlocking my car, I jerked open the door and threw my purse onto the passenger seat. "What the hell do you want, Amy?"
"God, can you take it out of bitch mode for two seconds and listen to me?"
I spun around to face her. "Do you think I'm some kind of whore?"
A hundred different emotions flashed across her face: anger, shock, confusion, hate, and fuck me if she didn't look delicious.
Keeping a careful distance, she shook her head. "What? No!" she said, looking around the garage. "I can't believe you could think that! It was just in case that I…" she stopped, trying to organize her thoughts but finally give up. She knew she was screwed.
The rage was coursing through me so strongly that before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. The sound cracked through the empty garage. With a shocked and furious glare, she reached up and touched the spot where I had struck her.
"You maybe the boss here, but you're not the boss of me!" "You don't get to decide how this sick thing between us works, you hear me?" I screamed at her.
The silence stretched before us, the sounds of the traffic and the outside world barely registering in my consciousness. "Loud and clear Miss Ashcroft, but you know…"she began with a dark stare, taking a single step toward me, "I didn't hear YOU complaining."
Oh, that smooth fucker.
"In the conference room." Another step. "In the elevator and stairwell. In the dressing room while you me made watch how I fucked you with my mouth." And another. "When you spread your legs in my office today, I didn't hear one word of protest out of that pretty little mouth of yours.
My chest was heaving, and I could feel the cool metal of my car through the thin material of my dress. Even with my shoes, she still stood a full head above me, and when she leaned down, I could feel her warm breath against my hair. All I had to do was look up, and our mouths would meet.
"Well, I'm done" I said through clenched teeth, but each labored breath brought me a brief moment of relief as my chest grazed against hers.
"Sure you are," she whispered, shaking her head and moving even closer. She braced her hands against the car, trapping me. "Completely done."
"Well. . . maybe . . ." I said, not sure whether I meant to say it out loud.
"Maybe just one more time?" Her lips barely brushed mine.
It was too gentle, too real.
Turning my face up, I whispered against her mouth, "I don't want to want you. This thing is not good for me."
"You and me both sweetheart" she said seductively and just when I thought I would go insane, she took my lower lip roughly between her and pulled me to her. Moaning into my mouth, she deepened the kiss and pushed me forcefully against the car.
Our kisses were teasing then rough, coming together and pulling apart, hands fisting in hair and tongues sliding against each other.
"God," I moaned, wrapping my leg around her and digging my heel into her thigh.
"I know." She exhaled heavily into my mouth. Looking down at my leg and cupping my ass with her hand, she gave it a rough squeeze and murmured, "Have I told you how fucking hot those shoes are? What are you trying to do to me with those wicked little bows?"
"Well, there's another bow somewhere else but you'll need some luck finding it."
She pulled away. "Get in the fucking car," she said huskily. And I did, she didn't have to ask me twice.