Page 3 of Not Safe For Work

Marie pushed out a sharp, impatient breath. “Okay. Wednesday morning, then?”

Tuesday morning or you’re dead meat, her arched eyebrow added.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Totally doable.”

And like clockwork, Marie busting my balls in front of clients and colleagues took care of that troublesome hard-on.

Minutes later, the meeting had wrapped up. Marie and Mitchell were busy shaking hands with the clients—kissing their asses, more like—so I picked my phone up off the floor and made the quickest escape I could. I stopped for a brief conversation with Horizon Developing’s facilities director, who was really the only one I had any reason to talk to about this project, and then slipped out of the conference room.

I suddenly couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that Rick and Dion were here so often. Their near-constant presence was unusual, but then again, so was a client with that many projects going at the same time. So they were here all the time. They’d be here all the time even after today. Even after Rick Pierce and I had connected where we had no business connecting.

These meetings—which happened at least two or three times a week—were either going to get really interesting or really awkward.

At the elevator, I pressed the down button and waited.

Footsteps. Sharp, fast—definitely dress shoes, but not high heels like Marie wore.

I gulped as the steps closed in. It’s him, isn’t it? The brushed stainless finish on the elevator doors revealed nothing, not even a faint reflection to let me know if it was tall, broad-shouldered Rick or his stockier CFO, or—

He was suddenly right beside me, and no, it wasn’t the CFO.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

Without so much as a look beside me, I stepped into the elevator, and when I turned around, yep, there he was.

He flashed a faint grin. Then he joined me.

“Second floor,” I said with just a hint of my Dom voice.

Immediately, he pressed the button, followed by the parking garage for himself and the Close Doors button.

Standing beside me, facing forward, he waited until the doors had shut. Then, without turning, he said, “Does this mean your weekend is free?”

I somehow managed to choke out, “It is now.”

He glanced at me, and there was that grin again.

You’re a bratty sub, aren’t you?

I shivered. A fully compliant submissive was fun, but nothing made my mouth water like one who needed some…encouragement.

I muffled a cough. “I kind of feel like I owe you a drink after that.”

He reached into his pocket, and, just as the elevator stopped on the second floor, he handed me a card. “If you text me a time and place, I’ll be there.”

I took the card. Disbelieving and more than a little dumbstruck, I stepped off the elevator. I stared at the card, and it took a second to realize he’d handwritten his cell phone number on it. This wasn’t real, was it?

I looked up to ask if he was serious, but the elevator doors shut, and he was gone.

And I just stood there like an idiot. I had Rick Pierce’s phone number in my hand and a list of his kinks in my back pocket. He’d all but extended the invitation.

For a submissive, he was pretty forward. Not quite demanding, but certainly assertive, backing it up with those devilish looks that dared me to do something about it.

Still standing there in front of the elevator, I grinned. Yeah, I’d have a drink with Rick.

And then I’d use the weekend he’d secured me to let him know who was boss.