12. Is This A Seduction?

Chapter 12

Is This A Seduction?

MEGAN

T here's another new bartender when I arrive at work. I suppose they brought him in to replace one of the part-timers who left to move to New York. I had no idea he was coming, but I'm learning that if I'm going to survive in this new position, I will have to learn how to go with the flow.

"Gage Clayton." He shakes my hand, a quiet smile on his lips. "I transferred from the Chicago location."

The shift hasn't started yet, so I ask a question that I feel I should have already known the answer to.

"There are other locations?"

"It's not quite up and running yet."

"So Mr. Middleton brought you here instead? I already have a new bartender."

"And now you have another."

Gage is an attractive man with sandy blonde hair and gentle brown eyes. He reminds me of a younger Brad Pitt, and I know for a fact that the servers are going to be swooning over him.

"You look a little put off," he tells me as I watch him rearrange bottles behind the bar as if he's had the job for years.

"Sorry," I shake my head. "Mr. Middleton didn't tell me anything about you, and I just hired a bartender the other day. I'm going to have to ask him what's going on. I hope you don't mind."

"Sure, go ahead," Gage beams at me. He's so friendly that it's impossible to dislike him... or trust him. Ugh, I've become so jaded.

As I make my way to Mr. Middleton's office, I struggle with the buttons of my new silk blouse. For a two-hundred-dollar shirt, I don't know why they keep slipping open. I hiss in frustration when they don't shut, and I layer the cloth over them before knocking on the door.

"Come in."

When I enter, my boss is leaning against the edge of the desk, his tie lying on the couch, his sleeves rolled up to expose strongly muscled forearms with one definitive tattoo on the left one. It reads: PRESSURE.

My mouth goes dry at the sight.

After silently gawking for God knows how long, he finally murmurs, "Miss Taylor, you should stop looking at me like that."

There's something dark in his voice, almost hungry, and I snap back to reality.

"What? Oh, I wasn't looking at anything. I just came here to ask you something."

"It's funny how just a few weeks ago, you didn't even know I was in this office, and now you're just dropping by whenever you please, huh?"

He's holding a file in his hand, and I see his eyes raking over me from top to bottom. When he sets down the file and moves from around the desk, I freeze. How am I supposed to say anything in response when he's stalking toward me like this? His movements are controlled and deliberate, like the stealth of a great predator.

The whole atmosphere suddenly shifts, and my heart is pounding as he approaches me. Get a grip , a small voice screams at me from inside my head, but I can't move.

He's right in front of me now, and when his large, firm hand slides around my waist, near the top of where my brand-new pencil skirt begins, my eyes squeeze shut.

Then I hear something rip, and my eyes shoot open.

There is dark amusement in those grey eyes of his as he holds up a tag. "You forgot to take this off."

My lips part in shock, but he doesn't move back, standing so close to me that I can smell his expensive cologne. I don't know what to do. I want to move back, but my body won't let me. It's as if I'm stuck in a frozen solid state.

I've never felt this way around anyone, not even Ricky, but this older man who exudes danger and wealth and everything forbidden makes me want to do things that no nice girl should ever think of. Because if he told me to drop to my knees this very instant, I definitely would, and I wouldn't give a shit if he was recording it.

"I told you not to look at me like that," he practically growls.

"Like what?" I ask, hoarsely, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

The look in his eyes holds dark promises that make me suddenly damp between my legs.

His hand comes up, and he caresses my cheek with one finger before trailing it down all the way to my chin and tilting my head up, firmly, "Like you want me to splay you over my desk and fuck you until you scream."

The soft, needy whimper that escapes my lips is unintentional and Mr. Middleton's eyes become a furnace. My whole body is burning with need and confusion and desire are running rampant within me. I need to get a hold of myself, but I can't seem to think straight.

"I have rules though, Miss Taylor," he breathes, and yet his eyes are drawn to my mouth. "I won't break them for you."

His words are firm, but his body language is confusing me. He continues to hold me in place with his piercing gaze, almost as if he's daring me to be the one to break his rules first.

So let me go, I scream internally.

Turn your back, I say to myself.

Walk away.

But it's as if he is taking great delight in my torture. He moves closer until my body is pressed against his. Along with a delicious amount of desire moving through my body, there are also red, loud alarm bells ringing in my head.

DANGER!

As I gain my resolve and try to move away, the front of my shirt pulls open, and half of my chest is on display for Mr. Middleton to see. His eyes dart toward my breasts before he drawls, "Now, this wouldn't be an attempt to seduce me, would it?"

His taunting words are like a bucket of cold water thrown on me, and reality slaps me in the face. What the hell am I doing?

I step back, my hand instinctively seizing the parted top and pulling it together.

"I came to ask you...I wasn't trying to..."

I feel like a fool when I can't get the words out. My head is swimming in a mixture of emotions, and none of them are good. I'm angry, horny, and embarrassed. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Forget it," I hiss. "I just came to. Never mind, it doesn't matter."

My body is trembling as I rush towards the door. This whole day has been one hellish blunder after another: my day at school, the shopping excursion, and the overpriced dinner. All of this special treatment was probably all a game to him. An opportunity to bag the mouthy, inexperienced college girl. A ruse, like Ricky, and like every other fucking thing in my life. And I almost fell for it... again.

I've barely reached the door when a hand on my shoulder whirls me around and slams me against the wooden structure, making me gasp.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he growls.

His expression is tight, his eyes narrowed, and then he snakes his hand behind my head, grabs a fistful of hair, and yanks it back before he slams his mouth down on mine.

There is nothing sweet or tender about the way he kisses me. It's hot and dark and hungry. It's delivered with total dominance and wanton desire, and my body melts like butter as he forces his tongue into my mouth. It's almost as if he's punishing me...but in the best way possible.

A guttural moan escapes my lips as he presses his hard body against mine, and I can barely register the painful throb in my nipples as they harden into tight points. He's not gentle by any means, taking and taking my mouth until my head is dizzy and filled with just him.

He licks the inside of my mouth in a filthy manner and I want to open my legs and beg him to stuff his dick inside me because I desperately need some relief. I want to be used by him. I feel like I've been aching for him ever since we locked eyes that night at Table 21.

My scattered thoughts make no sense as they're filled with illicit desires and fantasies, all meshing into one. His other hand is sliding across my stomach, mapping out my waist, trailing heat on the covered skin.

Fuck me hard is what I really want to scream, but I only manage to utter his name in the breathiest of voices. "Mr. Middleton." I'm hoping he understands what I'm asking. What I need.

It's the hard knock on the door that has him going still and when he pulls away, his hand releasing my hair, I feel limp. I'm only standing with his support right now. My legs are like noodles, and my brain is complete mush.

"Hunter?"

Mr. Middleton hisses and then growls, "I'm busy!"

"You called me, asshole!"

The angry response of someone who has the audacity to insult my boss has me slipping back into my senses. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror affixed to a wall on the opposite side of the room and can't believe what I see. I look like someone who almost got her common sense completely fucked out of her.

My curls are all over the place.

My cheeks are flushed.

My chest is bare.

My dignity lost.

"Oh, God," I whisper, horrified at my behavior. "What did I do?"

"Do you have someone in there with you?" The same man's suspicious voice asks.

"Go away, Vaughn. I'm not going to tell you again!" Mr. Middleton roars, and I still myself.

I hear something unfavorable mumbled on the other side of the door before the footsteps fade away.

When it's just the two of us again, he takes a step toward me, and I immediately lift a hand to stop him in his tracks.

"No, that can never happen again."

He arches a brow, "I don't think you're-"

"I'm not going to be your little plaything," I say, suddenly furious with myself for my stupidity. "I should have known that you aren't different from any other guy out here. All these nice things that you were doing weren't because you suddenly wanted to take care of your employee. You just wanted to get in my pants."

Mr. Middleton's face grows cold.

"I assure you that if I want to fuck a woman, I won't go in such a roundabout way to do it. There's never been a lack of women to warm my bed."

The crushing sense of humiliation is familiar to me, and my hands clench into fists.

"Then go find one of them. I'm not going to be somebody's source of amusement anymore. I have more self-respect than that." His eyes turn into slits, and his jaw ticks, but I don't care if he's angry. "I'm not going to be some toy for you to play around with until you get bored, sir."

"You're making it sound as if I was the only participant in this," he says in a tone laced with venom. "You couldn't keep your hands off me. You kissed me back."

"That's what you're going to make me feel bad about?" My laugh is filled with bitterness. "That I kissed you back? You're an attractive older man. Why not?"

"Older?" he scoffs, shaking his head.

"I'm not blind, and I'm not delusional. I'm attracted to you, but this is where it stops. You had your fun, but you also supposedly have your rules. If this is why you promoted me to a manager, then I quit. I'll work somewhere else. I need this job but don't need it that badly."

"You're so extreme." His lips press together into a thin line. "Stop overreacting. It was just a kiss. It doesn't mean anything. You're a young, impressionable girl, and I don't have a habit of bringing inexperienced women to my bed. Trust me, nothing was going to happen beyond that kiss. You think too highly of yourself, Miss Taylor; you're not that special."

My nails dig into my skin, but I barely feel it. The coldness that seeps into me as I'm put in my place quite effectively, my pride and self-worth crushed under deliberately ruthless words, is like a wake-up call.

Of course, he thinks I'm worthless, too.

Just another piece of meat, a body to fuck or use.

Nausea curdles my stomach, my hands go limp, and my fists uncurl.

"It's good you know that I'm nothing special," I say quietly, my entire being numb. "Next time, don't touch me."

Emotional flashes of my past are overlapping with the present and the faces of my father and stepmother are darting through my thoughts, replacing Mr. Middleton's. I can hear their voices.

You're nothing more than trash.

"I'm going to go back on the floor now," I say in a monotone voice.

I've retreated into myself. I can see Mr. Middleton. I can hear his voice as he says something, but it's a droning sound.

Can't hurt me if I can't hear you or feel you.

I turn around and walk out.

I don't know what I came here for.

I've forgotten.

It's the familiar taunts in my head that are echoing louder and louder.

Filthy, useless bitch.

Why won't you just fucking die?

Nobody wants you. You're a waste of space.

I hear something behind me as I cross the hallway, but I don't register the sound until a sudden hand on my shoulder stops me. I look up to see Parker's confused face.

"Where are you going?"

I stare up, blankly. "What?"

He studies me, his brow furrowed. "Megan, what's wrong?"

"I'm going home," I say numbly.

His voice is distorted in my head, "But your shift just started."

"But I'm going home."

I shake off his hand, wanting to eliminate this cold feeling inside. Maybe once I get warm, the taunts in my head will die down. I thought I was past all of this. I haven't felt like this in a long time.

I use the other exit and walk out. It's now a chilly LA evening outside, especially in my silk blouse, but I don't truly feel it, so I keep walking in the direction of my home.

You're not special.

I know that I reply silently to myself.

I mindlessly walk past my normal bus stop, mainly because I don't want to stop moving. This is probably not one of my best ideas. I'm not really sure what time it is, but it's dark, and the road I'm on is an empty stretch. It's the heavy footsteps behind me that slowly cause me to become self-aware, my mind fighting against the torrent of memories.

Then, the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

The footsteps are rapidly approaching me, but before I can turn around and react, something heavy comes crashing down on the back of my head, and after a flash of blinding white pain, there's only darkness.

Utter darkness.