Promise Me Forever: Manhattan Ruthless

The next day at work is a lot less intense, mainly because Drake—Mr. James, I remind myself—is in meetings all morning. He was double-booked for one and triple-booked for another, and one of my first tasks as his assistant was untangling his schedule. He’s fresh from Chicago and seems to be in demand, with constant requests coming in from new and existing clients. I can tell I’m going to have my work cut out for me managing his schedule, but I enjoy a challenge.

Kimmy wasn’t lying. I do love organizing things—anything from a spice rack to a busy managing partner—and more to the point, I’m good at it. It feels nice to be working somewhere that skill is valued.

I’ve been fielding calls for him all morning, and it will take me a while to catch up on who’s who. I will eventually understand exactly which calls need to be put through immediately and which can wait. I’ll know how he likes his coffee and what he enjoys for lunch and the numbers of his favorite restaurants. I’ll know everything about him, because that’s how a good secretary makes her boss’s life run smoothly.

Of course, I already know a few extra things that a secretary typically wouldn’t know about her boss. Like how big his cock is and the way his hands feel on my ass and how his tongue tastes against mine. None of that will help me with work, though, so I need to bury that knowledge so deep inside me that even Indiana Jones couldn’t dig it up.

I make my way down to the break room, which is located in the basement of the building. There’s a much fancier version on my level, where clients can wait for meetings and senior partners and their staff can access barista-quality coffee and artisan baked goods. It’s swanky and beautifully decorated and makes me feel like I’m going to stain or break something.

Down here, the staff room is a little more real, and I feel a lot more comfortable spending my breaks with the guys from the mail room and the ladies who do payroll than I do the managing partners. For a start, it’s a Drake James–free zone, which means it’s a refuge from the man. I’m guessing I’ll need that at some point.

I pour myself a coffee and decide to grab a snack. I’ve yet to master the art of eating at regular times, and my sugar levels will plummet sometime in the next hour. I join the small group of people milling around by the bakery bar and grin when I see one poppy-seed bagel left in the basket. My favorite. I reach out to take it at exactly the same time as the man standing next to me, and our hands bump.

We both pull back and do that awkward dance strangers do when they’re trying to cover up being embarrassed. “Please,” he says, gesturing at the bagel, “be my guest. I hate poppy seeds anyway.”

“Really?” I ask, looking up at him. He’s tall and lean, with a mop of sandy hair and sparkling blue eyes. “Why were you reaching for it then?”

“So I could throw it in the trash. Eliminate its evil from the world. Protect the universe from contamination. Usual stuff.”

“You’re carrying out a one-man war against poppy-seed bagels?”

“I am,” he says, puffing up his chest like an action hero. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it. I’m Jacob, by the way. I work in accounting. I always hate adding that bit, because now I know whenever you think of me, I’ll be ‘Jacob from accounting’ in your head.”

“What makes you think I’ll be thinking of you at all?”

“Foolish hope? And please—do have the bagel.”

I laugh and acquiesce. It’s only a bagel. I add it to my plate along with a small tub of cream cheese, and he joins me at a table.

“Are you new here?” he asks, sipping his coffee and looking on as I spread the cream cheese.

“I am.” I slice the bagel in half and offer it to him, and he accepts it with a warm smile. “I only started yesterday. I’m Mr. James’s secretary.”

“Oooh, fancy. So why are you down here with the plebs when you could be hobnobbing upstairs?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I prefer the plebs.”

Grinning, he holds his hand up for a high five. “Power to the people!”

I slap his hand and laugh.

“Which Mr. James do you work for? Not that I’ve met either of them, being a humble accounting clerk, but you do hear stuff. Like how much Nathan has mellowed since he got married and had a kid.”

Ah, I think, chewing a delicious bite of my bagel. That explains a lot—like why he had the reputation for being an asshole but in reality seems like a tough but nice man. “I work for the other Mr. James. Drake.”

“Right. Well, nobody really knows him very well yet, though the ladies all seem to agree he’s a catch. If you like that kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

He leans closer and grins at me, looking like a naughty kid about to get caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Oh, you know … Tall, dark, handsome, and loaded. Disgusting, right?”

“Absolutely. But speaking of my boss, I really should get back to it. He’s been in meetings all morning, and I probably have a pile of work waiting for me. It was nice meeting you, Jacob. Good luck in the Bagel Wars.”

He gives me a military-style salute, and I’m still smiling as I ride the elevator back up to my floor. Hey, maybe I’ve made a friend, or at the very least someone to chat with over snacks.

I have a spring in my step as I stroll along the corridor toward our office. Everything feels brighter, a little more hopeful. A few people nod at me, and nobody seems quite as intimidating as they did yesterday.

I swapped out my black wrap dress for a sleek skirt that hugs my figure a little more closely and spent an age trying to see my own ass in the mirror this morning, concerned that it looked enormous. I’ve paired it with a cream silk pussybow blouse, and together they make me feel less dowdy and more like I belong here. Nobody needs to know that I got both from a really cool thrift store in Queens, and it’s not like anyone can tell by looking. Maybe after I get my first paycheck, I can treat myself to something new.

“Miss Ryder.” The deep voice from behind me interrupts my pleasant thoughts and brings me to a halt. The way he says my name reminds me of our night together and how he commanded me to walk toward him. I suck in a deep breath and transform my face into neutral as I turn to greet him.

“Mr. James. How did your morning go?”

“A lot better than it would have gone if I’d tried to be in three places at once, so thanks for untangling that mess. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course. Let me grab my notepad.”

“You won’t need it,” he replies firmly, falling into step beside me and leading me to his office. “It’s not that kind of meeting.”

I nod and swallow down my nerves. I hate this crazy uncertainty, hate living in fear. Has he reconsidered? Is this all too messy? Is he going to fire me after all? Is that a different cologne, one that smells even better? Jeez, Amelia. Keep it together.

He opens the door and gestures for me to go in first. I’m aware that my skirt is form-fitting and wonder if his eyes are on my ass. Maybe I need to start coming to work in a caftan.

“Please, sit. I’ve finally figured out the damn coffee machine. Would you like one?”

Is he trying to butter me up before he gives me the bad news? “No, thank you. But I’m glad you’ve solved the mystery. Your brother implied that you’d be hell to work with if you didn’t get your caffeine fix.”

He snorts with laughter as the machine hisses into life. “He’s not wrong. But I’ve had plenty of coffee already this morning, so don’t worry, I’m not going to bite your head off.”

He did a little biting on the night of the wedding. Nothing too rough—gentle nips and nuzzles. Enough for me to know I liked the feel of his teeth on my skin. I cross my legs and squeeze them together, trying to quell the sudden throbbing between my thighs. He sits down behind his desk, and as our eyes meet, I have the terrible feeling that he can read my mind and my body.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, leaving it in thick furrows. “Look, Miss Ryder, I just wanted to check in. Yesterday was a shock … for both of us. If this all feels like too much, I completely understand.”

“Are you going to fire me?” I blurt out, barely waiting for him to finish speaking. It’s difficult enough being so attracted to him, but I can learn to deal with that; however, this constant yo-yo of emotions about my job security? That I can’t deal with. Seeing him every day and wondering what his mood is, whether my position is safe, feeling like my future is at his mercy. It’s too much.

“What?” he says, looking confused. “No! No, we’re not going to fire you. You—we—did nothing wrong. I spoke to my brother about it⁠—”

“You did what?”

“I told Nathan. I had to. This goes beyond you and me. It involves the firm. I needed him to know and to get his opinion.”

“Right. And did you tell Linda from HR as well?”

“Christ, no. I’d rather pour acid on my dick than talk to her about my sex life.”

I burst out laughing at the intensity in his voice, and it breaks the tension between us. “Yeah, I know what you mean. And of course you told Nathan. He’s your brother and your colleague. I just … I suppose I’m embarrassed. It doesn’t feel great, knowing the bosses are discussing my sex life.”

He places his coffee cup on his desk, his throat working as he swallows. “I assure you that we didn’t discuss any of the intimate details.”

Heat races up my chest and neck as I recall those details … vividly. “I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m some kind of”—I lower my voice to a whisper—“slut.”

He shakes his head. “For a start, that’s a terrible word for someone who is simply pursuing her sexual desires, and secondly, neither Nathan nor I would ever think of a woman that way. What happened between you and me doesn’t make either of us see you like that. Nathan does not think any less highly of you than he did when he hired you. I assure you.”

“What about you, though? Does he think less highly of you now?” I say, risking a joke. His eyes flash, and for a second I think I’ve gone too far.

He shrugs and says, “Well, he already knows I’m a slut. Always have been, always will be. But that’s none of your business, in exactly the same way that what you do in your private life is none of mine. Can we at least agree on that?”

I nod firmly. “Yes. Definitely,” I say, but I suspect I’m lying. Truthfully, I hate the thought of him being a slut with anybody but me, but that is so many layers of crazy that all I can do with it is pack it away and ignore it.

“Good. I want this to work. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re good at this job, and I definitely need the help. I don’t want you to worry about being fired, because that’s not going to happen. I’m not quite at that level of asshole, whatever you might think of me.”

I meet his eyes, and my core clenches hard at what I see there. So intense. So brooding. So … hungry?

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, Mr. James. Like you said, it was a shock. It feels weird that you know so much about me—not just the, um, the bedroom stuff—but about my life. I told you things I probably wouldn’t have told my boss, and I guess that makes me feel vulnerable.”

He nods. “I understand. That goes both ways. I opened up to you too. We were both operating on the basis that we’d never see each other again. That didn’t work out so well.”

“It didn’t. Fate was against us.”

“Fate,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his expression distant, “can be an absolute bitch. Now, could I ask you to call Graham Swanson? I need to rearrange tomorrow’s meeting with him.”

I nod, eager to get the conversation back on a professional footing. I feel much more comfortable there, and maybe I’ll stop imagining him bending me over his desk and telling me what a good girl I am.