Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

X avier’s been acting distant the last couple of days. He’s way more grumpy than usual, and he hasn’t once tried to call on the enemies with benefits deal we had going on. I’m struggling with whether or not I should approach him, tell him I need him to make me come. I need one of his orgasms. It’s really not fair that he made me an addict and then took away the drug.

And I would, if I were just that little bit more confident. He’s probably already found a new plaything. I knew whatever was happening between us wasn’t the forever kind of deal. I didn’t want it to be. I’m just not really ready for it to be over either.

I’m pathetic. I don’t need a man. My vibrating boyfriend is more than capable of getting me off. Just nowhere near as well as Xavier can.

I stop at Starbucks and get the devil his coffee, minus the morning muffin I’ve been picking up for him every day. If he’s not going to feed me my new addiction, then he can find someone else to feed him his freaking muffins.

My whole body is tight, stressed, as I ride the elevator up. I tap twice on Xavier’s open door before entering. He’s already at his desk, piles of books and papers spread across the top.

“Good morning. Coffee, tall, black.” Just like your soul , I repeat my internal mantra. Placing the coffee on his desk, I turn to walk out.

“Shardonnay, what the fuck are you wearing?” Xavier grunts.

My lips tip up before I spin around. I did go to a little extra effort this morning. I might not have many curves but I have some, and today I made sure my skirt was extra tight. My heels extra tall. And my pale-pink blouse just a little sheer. So I know he can see the white lace bra I have on under it.

“Clothes, Mr Christianson,” I answer him.

His eyes roam from my feet, up my legs—hovering on the split that runs up the left side of my pencil skirt—before continuing all the way to my face. “Burn them. I never want to see you wearing that.” He waves a hand over my body. “In this office. Ever again.”

Tilting my head at him, I squint my eyes. “What are you? The fashion police?” I ask, a hand cocked on my hip. I’m ready to battle. If I can’t get him to release the built-up tension within me, then I’ll take all my frustrations out on him with my words.

“No, I’m your fucking boss,” he says.

“Yeah, well, there is nothing about this outfit that goes against the company dress code, so you can either write up an official warning or get the hell over yourself.” I storm out of his office.

Who the hell does he think he is, telling me what to wear? Rule number three—no personal calls or messages at work—is about to be broken. I pull my phone out of my bag and fire off a text to Lucy.

Me:

I’m going to kill him. Tell your parents I’m sorry but the world is better off with one less asshole in it.

I’m surprised when she responds immediately; she’s not usually out of bed this early.

LuLu:

What’d he do? Also, please don’t kill him. Because if you do, I’ll have to inherit everything, and I don’t want that.

Huh, I don’t know what that’s about. Lucy’s always been so set on taking over the Christianson empire when she graduates university.

Me:

He told me to burn my outfit and never wear it to work again.

LuLu:

So don’t wear it again. Wear something even sexier. Make him hurt where it counts.

Me:

Operation give Xavier blue balls is a go!

LuLu:

Eww, I don’t want to picture my brother’s balls.

Me:

They’re unusually spectacular. It won’t work anyway. He’s already getting it somewhere else.

LuLu:

WHAT? No way.

Me:

Yes way.

LuLu:

I’m coming for lunch today. See you in a few hours.

Tucking my phone away, I fire up my computer and start sifting through the million emails in the company inbox.

The morning has passed agonisingly slowly. Xavier’s been grunting and moaning around the office all day. The other partners aren’t any better. I don’t know what’s going on, but there’re rumours around the water cooler that the firm’s being sued. I never pay much attention to rumours though.

Xavier walks past my desk and places an envelope with my name on it in front of me. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking. Opening the envelope, I see a handwritten note inside.

Dear Miss Mitchell,

Please see the enclosed memo. I revised the list of rules and regulations expected of you within the office.

Regards,

X

My eyes roll hard and I groan as I open the attachment entitled: Workplace Expectations and Guidelines.

Rule number one: Do not wear revealing or sexually appealing clothing to the office.

Rule number two: The office is now a strictly no-go zone. No matter how much I might beg you, you have to be the responsible one and turn me down.

Rule number three: You will be required for after-hours events. Ensure your schedule is as free as possible.

Rule number four: My schedule is to be cleared between the hours of one and two p.m. every day, unless I have a court hearing on the docket.

Rule number five:

Please meet me in the garage in ten minutes. We have a lunch date.

Why did he leave rule number five blank? And I already have lunch plans. I’m not cancelling for him. I send him a text to let him know that he’ll be eating alone today.

Me:

Can’t do lunch. I’m meeting Lucy. Also, I like the old rules better.

The devil boss:

Cancel your plans with Lucy. I need you to meet me in exactly eight minutes in the garage. Don’t be late.

Asshole. I have no intention of cancelling my plans. I’m not going to respond to his demands. I’m not his damned trained monkey who jumps whenever he commands it. Five minutes later, I get a message from Lucy.

LuLu:

Sorry, Shar. Something’s come up. I can’t make lunch.

Me:

That’s all right. Are you okay?

LuLu:

Yep, I’ll tell you later. We’re going out this weekend.

I toss my cell in my bag. Great, there goes my lunch plans. The desk phone rings. Maybe I’ll just stay here and work through my break. “Xavier Christianson’s office, how can I help you?” I answer. The only people who have this direct number are his clients.

“You have exactly two minutes to get that pretty little ass of yours in my car, Shardonnay.” Xavier’s voice sends goosebumps all over my body.

“Or what?” I ask.

“Shardonnay, please. Just meet me in the car,” he says, his tone more sombre.

Something’s wrong.

“I’ll be right down.” I hang up and grab my purse. I know I should stand by the whole I’m not jumping when he says so thing, but I’ve never heard Xavier speak so solemnly. He’s always either in full-asshole, bossy mode, or acting like the dirty, filthy-mouthed alpha that he is.

I make it to his car in three minutes. Opening the passenger door, I climb in. Xavier is already sitting in the driver’s side. “Put your seat belt on,” he grits out between clenched teeth.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I click my belt in place.

Xavier doesn’t answer me. He starts the ignition and drives off. Whatever is bothering him, he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’m not sure why I’m even here.

Ten minutes later, he pulls into another garage. Exiting the car, he silently takes my hand and leads me to an elevator. “Where are we?” I ask him.

“My apartment.”

“You have an apartment? Why? Your house not big enough?” I joke.

“Sometimes I don’t want to drive all the way home so I stay here.”

Right, because the thirty minutes to his house is so far out of the way. Must be nice to have more money than sense. “Why are we here, Xavier?” I press, as we enter the foyer that’s bigger than my bedroom. This isn’t just any ordinary apartment. No, it’s a penthouse, top floor. To say it’s grand would be an understatement.

My heels click on the white and grey marble floors as he pulls me through the luxurious space. I crane my neck to try to get a glimpse of the rooms as we pass. When we end up in a bedroom, any thoughts of wanting a tour leave my mind. The only thing I want to see right now is Xavier’s body.

He releases my hand and sits on the bed. “Rule number five: Strip when I say strip .”

“You have to be kidding me.” I laugh.

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Strip, Shardonnay.” His gaze pierces right through me.

“I’m not a hooker. You can't just call me up whenever you need to get off, Xavier.”

“No, you’re not. What you are…” He stands, taking the four steps needed to reach me. “Is mine.” His hands grip my blouse, tugging on the front before tearing it open. “I said strip.”

“That was a nice blouse,” I scold, but find myself removing the shreds of material from my body.

“It’s nicer on the floor. Continue,” he says, returning to the bed.

I’m telling myself I’m doing this for me, that it has nothing to do with him. I’m removing my clothes because I need the pleasure I know he’s about to give me. I’m not doing it because he’s ordering me to. Once I’m down to my matching white lace panties and bra, I go to remove my black pumps.

“Leave the heels on,” he says.

I lower my foot and reach around to unclasp my bra, my breasts falling free as I pull the straps down my arms. Xavier’s eyes are full of heat and lust. His tongue darts out and wets his lips. There’s something about the way he looks at me that gives me an extra boost of self-confidence.