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In His Office: A Billionaire Boss Romance by Sara Fields – Sample

Chapter One

Morgan Davis

“For fuck’s sake, when was the last time you got laid?” Zara teased me, her eyes twinkling mischievously over the rim of her iced latte. She lifted her eyebrows up and down a few times very suggestively, and my mouth dropped wide open in disbelief.

I felt my cheeks heat up, a warm flush spreading across my face faster than a blazing wildfire. “Zara! You can’t just ask that out loud in a coffee shop,” I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on our conversation. She always had a flare for the dramatic, and she never passed up an opportunity to make me blush.

It was like her superpower.

For whatever reason, she thought it built character. I disagreed, but that didn’t save me from moments like these. Still, I loved her. She was my best friend and had been through it all with me, from one break up to the next, to my forever impending single-dom.

“Oh please, Morgan,” she waved off my concern with a flick of her perfectly manicured hand, “we live in Seattle, not a fucking nunnery. Besides, don’t think I don’t see how you’re dodging the question. Now kindly answer, please and thank you.”

I sighed, stirring my coffee absentmindedly. “You know I’ve been too swamped with work. And after the whole debacle with Mr. No-Long-Distance-Asshat, I’m not exactly rushing to jump back into the dating pool.”

Zara rolled her eyes dramatically. “You mean after Mr. ‘I-can’t-handle-a-few-thousand-miles’ bailed on you the day he was supposed to fly out? Girl, that was ages ago. Okay. Maybe only two weeks ago, but you need to jump back on the horse. Or, you know, someone who resembles one. Or maybe you just need a hard ride… Whatever. You know what I mean.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Your metaphors need a little work. And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Zara leaned in, her expression suddenly turning serious. “Morgan, come on, you moved across the country to start your company, Davis Media Relations, and that’s no small feat. You’ve built something amazing here. But this,” she gestured at me with a flourish, “isn’t living. You work so fucking hard. You need fun, excitement, maybe a steamy fling or two or ten. You know, you really deserve it.”

A part of me hated that I thought she was right. She’d spent all morning pestering me to drag myself away from work for brunch because we hadn’t seen each other in ages. I had been swamped with my most recent client. PR disasters didn’t wait for anybody. I’d had a bit of a clusterfuck going on since Thursday, and it showed no signs of letting up.

Even now, I was worried about it.

I bit my lip, mulling over her words in my head. “I know, I know. It’s just hard to think about dating. Every time I do, I just remember how he called, literally as his flight was boarding, just to say he couldn’t do long-distance, and he wasn’t coming after all. It felt like such a slap in the face, especially after all the planning and the build-up with the stupid ring and the three years I wasted on his dick face.”

Zara reached across the table, squeezing my hand. “I know it hurts, but that’s all the more reason to move on. You need someone who appreciates how incredible you are, someone who won’t get cold feet just because of a little—okay, a lot of—distance.”

I smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude for my friend. She always knew what to say to make me feel better.

“Thanks, Zara. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I said, and I meant every word.

She grinned, releasing my hand. “Probably turn into a hermit and adopt six more cats. But don’t worry, I won’t let that happen. Now, let’s talk strategy. There’s a whole city of potentials out there, and we’re going to find you someone who’s worthy of the amazing Morgan Davis.”

I laughed, the sound mingling with the clatter of cups and the soft hum of conversation all around us. A man close by heard me laugh and looked my way, but I didn’t pay him any mind. I was too much in my head to care.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to put my ex-fiancé in the past and see what Seattle truly had to offer.

“After all, what’s the worst that could happen?” I didn’t know why I said that out loud… Maybe because I was an idiot.

Those were famous last words, weren’t they…? Anytime anyone said that in the movies, something bad always happened, but that wasn’t real life, right?

Zara cleared her throat and leveled me with a knowing look. I immediately got a bad feeling about whatever she was about to say. I opened my mouth to instantly renege on what I’d said, but she beat me to the punch first.

“I’m thinking immediate action is required, and I have the perfect solution. You and I are going out tonight, and before you even think of protesting, I’m not taking no for an answer.” Zara wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Fuck…

I raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and apprehension swirling inside me. This could either go really well, or really, really badly.

Probably really badly…

“Zara, I don’t know. The last time you said that, I got so tipsy that I ended up on stage at a karaoke bar singing ‘I Will Survive’ in front of a crowd of poor, unsuspecting strangers.”

“And you killed it,” Zara shot back with a grin. “Besides, tonight will be different. Think less public humiliation, more scouting for potential Mr. Right… or at least Mr. Dick-Me-Down-Right-Now.”

I couldn’t suppress a giggle. “I’m not sure my singing or my love life needs that kind of exposure again.”

“Girl, you need to trust me. As your officially-appointed wing woman, it’s my duty to ensure you get some quality dick to compensate for Mr. Captain-Can’t-Commit’s unfortunate snubbing of your fabulous little ass.”

I choked on my tea, coughing a little. “Zara! I can’t take you anywhere!”

She was right though. I did have a nice ass. It was one of my finest assets.

I crack myself up sometimes.

“It’s true though. And you know I’m all about the truth,” she said with a dramatic flourish. “Besides, think of it as celebrating your independence. You’re a successful, stunning bombshell of a woman in the prime of her life. It’s time to enjoy the perks that come with it. And most importantly, get that D.”

I shook my head, still chuckling. “Only you would turn a break-up into a ‘celebrate your independence’ party.”

“That’s because only I can see the silver lining, or in your case, the hot guys in every bar. Come on, Morgan. What do you say? Let’s paint the town red!”

I hesitated, the comfort of my planned quiet evening reading a book with a bottle of wine battling with the temptation of a night out with Zara. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and a part of me knew she might be right.

Maybe a night out would be fun…

“Alright, Zara. You win. Let’s go out tonight. But…” I added, raising a finger for emphasis, “no karaoke bars and no setting me up with guys who have more greasy hair gel than brain cells.”

Zara clapped her hands in delight. “Deal! I promise, no karaoke and only the classiest of gentlemen for my girl. And who knows? Maybe tonight’s the night you meet someone who makes Mr. I-can’t-commit-because-I-have-a-small-dick a distant memory.”

“Oh my god, you’re terrible,” I replied, shaking my head, but chuckling anyway. I took a sip of my coffee, delighting in the sweet and creamy taste, and shook my head, leveling her with a knowing look.

“You love me,” she quipped, beaming in my direction.

“I do,” I smiled. And I meant it.

Okay, maybe this wasn’t too bad. I could survive this.

We met at the elegant Vino Veritas, a chic wine bar known for its extensive selection and sophisticated clientele. The atmosphere was buzzing with the soft hum of conversation, underscored by the subtle notes of a jazz piano playing in the background.

It was actually pretty nice.

Perched on high stools at the bar, we each held a glass of wine—Zara with her bold Shiraz and me with a more reserved Chardonnay. I took a sip of wine and looked around the softly lit space, enjoying every bit of the overall ambience more than I thought I would.

She leaned in, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk on the hunt.

“Okay, let’s see what we have here,” Zara murmured, her gaze landing on a man in a sharp suit at the far end of the bar. “Hmm, over there—that’s Mr. GQ Smooth. Looks like he stepped right out of a fashion magazine, but probably spends more time in front of a mirror than any woman I know. Hard pass.”

I giggled, sipping my wine as I followed her gaze. “Not bad, but definitely looks high maintenance.”

Zara’s eyes twinkled as she spotted another prospect. “Yeah. Definitely hard pass. And there, by the window. That’s Mr. Tech Bro. Wearing a hoodie in a wine bar, really? Probably has more money in Bitcoin than sense. Hard pass times two.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, “What about him?” I nodded towards a man who seemed engrossed in his phone at a secluded table.

“Oh, that’s Mr. Swipe Right,” Zara said, with a dismissive wave. “Too busy swiping through dating apps to notice the real world around him. Hard pass times infinity.”

For a few minutes, the two of us just sipped our wine, looking around at all the possible contenders for Mr. Right.

Suddenly, Zara nudged me, her expression turning more serious. “Okay, but seriously, Morgan. Look at the guy who just walked in. Tall, dark, and handsome alert.”

Following her gaze, I saw a man, confidently poised, his eyes scanning the room. He had an air of quiet sophistication about him. He wasn’t just attractive; he was actually intriguing.

“Wow, he’s…” I started, finding myself at a loss for words.

“Mr. Potentially Perfect?” Zara offered with a smirk. “Come on, this is your big chance. Go talk to him!”

I hesitated, feeling a familiar flutter of nervousness. “I don’t know, Zara. What if…”

Zara interrupted, her voice firm yet encouraging. “No ‘what ifs’. Remember, ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ Go for it, girl. I’ll be right here cheering you on.”

“Fineeeee… If you insist,” I muttered, and Zara winked in my direction.

Taking a deep breath, I mustered my courage from somewhere deep down inside me. I could do this. Pulling back my shoulders and lifting my chin, I slid off my stool, smoothed down my dress, and took a tentative step towards the stranger.

With as much confidence as I could muster, I walked up to the man, my heart pounding in my chest. He looked up from his drink, his smile broadening as I approached.

“Hi,” I managed to say, trying to sound more self-assured than I felt.

“Hello,” he replied, his voice warm. “Can I help you with something?”

Taking a deep breath, I introduced myself. “I’m Morgan. I just… thought I’d come over and say hi.”

He chuckled, a sound that was both friendly and disarming. “Well, hi, Morgan. I’m Ethan. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me?” I asked, trying not to paint my hope into every syllable of my voice.

“No disrespect, sweetheart, but you’re not exactly my type…” he answered, his face looking a bit uneasy.

“Your type?”

“My type is… well… men,” he said, flinching a little as he spoke.

“Oh, my bad! Enjoy your night then!” I squeaked, my cheeks flaming with heat.

Quickly, I retreated back to Zara, a wilted smile on my face.

“What happened?” she asked, her eyebrows raising with curiosity.

“So, Mr. Potentially Perfect is indeed perfect,” I began, catching Zara’s expectant gaze, “but for another man.”

Zara’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she let out a hearty laugh. “You’re kidding! My gaydar must be officially on the fritz!”

“Hey, there’s always the next guy,” I said, scanning the room. My eyes landed on someone who seemed promising. “What about him?” I nodded towards a man who appeared to be alone, nursing a drink at a nearby table.

Zara squinted, assessing the new prospect. “Hmm, Mr. Mysterious Solo? Why not? Go for it, Morgan.”

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, I approached the man, hoping this interaction would go better than the last. “Hi, I’m Morgan,” I said with a friendly smile.

The man looked up, his expression unreadable. “Hello,” he replied curtly, not offering his name in return.

Undeterred, I tried to start a conversation, asking about his drink choice. His responses were short, his demeanor cold. It quickly became clear he wasn’t interested in chatting. After a few awkward attempts at conversation, I excused myself and returned to Zara, feeling a bit deflated.

“Let me guess,” Zara said, seeing my expression, “Mr. Mysterious Solo was more Mr. Ice-Cold Hermit?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I sighed, taking a sip of my wine.

“You know what we need? A change of scenery. This wine bar is classy, but it’s not doing us any favors tonight. How about we hit a nightclub and go dancing instead?”

I hesitated for a moment, the comfort of the wine bar’s mellow atmosphere appealing to my more introverted side, but then, the image of us letting loose on a dance floor and forgetting my failed attempts at flirtation seemed like the perfect remedy to close out the night.

“You know what? You’re right,” I said, finding a newfound enthusiasm bubbling within me. “Let’s do it. Let’s go dancing!”

Zara’s face lit up. “That’s the spirit! There’s this new place I’ve been dying to check out. Supposedly, they have the best DJ in town and a dance floor that’s out of this world.”

“Who knows,” I said, embracing the unpredictability of the night, “maybe my luck will turn around.”

Zara laughed, linking her arm through mine as we walked. “With your killer dance moves? It’s practically guaranteed. And even if we don’t meet Mr. Get-Laid-Tonight, we’re going to have a blast.”

The walk to the nightclub was blissfully short, which I was exceedingly thankful for due to the heels Zara had put me in tonight. She was always on the leading edge of fashion and had insisted on dressing me in a little red dress that hugged my every curve. It was, without a doubt, the shortest dress I’d ever worn. I had to keep pulling it down with every step.

When we passed through security and went inside, the club was pulsing with energy. Colorful vibrant lights cut through the darkness, and the rhythmic thud of the bass vibrated through the floor.

Zara and I made our way through the crowd, the excitement of the dance floor infectious as we found a spot amidst the vast sea of partygoers.

Actually, this might be fun.

We moved to the music, letting the rhythmic beats take over our bodies. The freedom of dancing felt exhilarating, and for a moment, all my worries seemed to fade away.

Just as I was getting into the groove, I felt someone press up behind me. Startled, I turned to see a guy with a little too much enthusiasm and not enough sense of personal space attempting to dance with me. He ground his hard cock into my lower back, and I froze.

Before I could react, Zara was by my side, her expression a mix of protectiveness and annoyance. “Hey, Mr. Grindy-Man, back off!” she shouted over the music, pulling me away from him. She turned to me, her eyes softening. “You okay, Morgan?”

I nodded, still shaking off the unwanted contact with a shiver. I looked around, suddenly seeing the loads of men leering in my direction, and I suddenly wanted the comfort of home, a good book, another glass of wine and my two kitties, Sherlock and Holmes, cuddled beside me in bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for that. I just… I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

Zara’s face fell slightly, her concern evident. “I get it. Let’s get out of here.”

As we made our way through the dance floor and out of the nightclub, the cool night air felt like freedom. I couldn’t wait to go home.

Zara slipped her arm through mine, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry tonight turned out to be such a bust. I just wanted us to have a good time.”

I squeezed her arm, grateful for her friendship. “It’s not your fault. I’m glad we went out. It was… an experience. I had fun… with you anyway.”

“Adventure or not, we’ll find you a Mr. I-can-commit-and-I-actually-have-a-big-dick before you know it,” Zara winked.

I literally groaned out loud.

“I hate you,” I muttered, not really meaning it, but saying it anyway.

“No, you don’t. You already told me you loved me. No take back-sies,” she quipped, and I shook my head.

She was absolutely right.

Chapter Two

Hunter Blackwater

This was fucking bullshit. I didn’t have time for this.

Right now, I should be overseeing the final testing phase of our latest nanotech prototype, a project that could revolutionize medical diagnostics, instead of bailing my uncle out of prison yet again, but here I was, walking through the sterile, echoing corridors of a men’s prison. It was a world apart from the cutting-edge labs and sleek boardrooms I was accustomed to.

I was only here because I fucking had to be.

The visitor’s section was as bleak as the last time I’d had to do this. The row of partitions was sad, with peeling grey paint on the walls and dreary off-white-colored phones. Sitting there on the other side of the glass partition was Uncle Vincent.

Right now, his face was the last one I fucking wanted to see.

Our relationship was nothing short of turbulent. Every time he came back into my life, I needed to clean up his mess. Over and over again, but I told myself that this was the last time.

I remembered the first time like it was yesterday.

He’d been running an illegal gambling operation. According to him, it was supposed to be foolproof, or so he’d said, but when he got busted by an undercover cop, I’d found myself scrambling to control the damage before it ruined my company name. It was a fucking disaster, and it hadn’t stopped there.

Next came the money laundering fiasco, with its tangled web of offshore accounts and criminal tax evasion charges. It had taken everything I’d had to get it thrown out on a technicality.

And after all that, there was still the international smuggling ring that I’d had to contend with. Vincent had gotten caught up in something far bigger than he’d anticipated. It had taken every contact I had, every favor I could call in, to negotiate a reduced sentence for him and to get him out on bail early for “good behavior”.

And now here I was, doing the same fucking thing for him. He’d only made it thirty days out of prison before fucking up again.

I really didn’t need any of this today.

I picked up the phone, watching as he did the same. For a moment, the two of us were silent.

“Didn’t expect you to show your face here again.” His voice crackled through the line, tinged with what sounded like extremely reluctant respect.

“Uncle Vincent,” I replied, trying to mask my impatience. “I would rather be anywhere but here. But you’re the only family I have left, so I felt obligated to come.”

He scoffed. “You’re not here for me. Fuck that. It’s more like you’re trying to keep the Blackwater family name and your precious little company from being dragged through the mud again.”

I felt a surge of frustration.

“You know I’ve worked hard to distance myself from all this… mafia business of yours. Getting yourself involved in wars with the likes of the Marconi and the Fiorini families is not helping one fucking bit,” I snapped.

Vincent’s expression hardened. “Those Marconi bastards had it coming. And the Fiorinis? They’ve been stepping on our toes for years.”

I sighed. “That’s exactly why I separated myself from this world. I made a choice to pursue a legitimate business. I wanted to break away from these endless, destructive cycles. My company is about creating a future, not clinging to a past filled with guns and violence.”

There was a long pause between us, the tension heavy. Vincent’s eyes, once fiery, seemed to dim slightly. “You think you’re better than this, better than me?”

I leaned forward, my voice low and laced with a finality that even Vincent couldn’t ignore. “Goddammit, Vincent. What do I have to do? I should just let them throw you in jail for the rest of your fucking life. Now you’ve dragged me into this mob war along with you, and I’ve had to call in every favor in the whole fucking book. I’ve got hardly anyone left that I can call.”

Vincent’s eyes met mine, a flicker of desperation hidden behind his usual bravado.

I wanted to leave him there to rot, but I couldn’t do it. My father would have expected me to help family.

‘Blood is blood’, he would have said.

So, I’d give my uncle one last chance.

I cleared my throat before continuing, trying to steel myself for what I had to do. “So here’s the deal. Your first choice is this. You can try to beat this on your own, but don’t you dare bring my name into it. If you do, I’ll have you killed, and that’s not a threat; it’s a fucking promise. Choice number two—I find some loophole, or some technicality, and I pull all the strings I have left. But then you disappear. Leave the country, change your identity, do whatever you want. But don’t ever come back. Because if you do, I’ll kill you myself. You got me?”

There was a heavy silence as my words hung in the air between us. His green eyes bored into mine, steady and unyielding, but glimmering with a twinge of fear.

He was taking me seriously.

Fucking good.

Finally, Vincent spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just get me out.”

I stood up, feeling a mix of hesitant relief and deep-seated frustration swirling deep in my belly. “I’ll make the arrangements. But remember, once you’re out, you’re on your own. This is the last time, Vincent. The last fucking time I clean up your mess. Next time, it’s on you.”

“Got it, boss,” he said, and I hung up the phone. There was nothing left to say. We’d reached a breaking point, and there was no coming back.

I turned around and walked out.

As expected, my stock prices were tanking.

I needed to fix this, and fast.

I called in my PR representative, Elaine, a seasoned professional in her fifties whose expertise had steered my company through rough waters before. She entered the office, her expression a mix of concern and resolve.

“Elaine, thanks for coming on such short notice,” I started, getting straight to the point. “The situation with Vincent is blowing up. We need a strategy to stabilize our stock and reassure our investors. I’ve pulled the necessary favors to deal with the legal side, but now, it’s a PR nightmare.”

Elaine listened, her brow furrowed. When I finished, she let out a long breath. “Hunter, you know I’ve been around the block a few times, and I’ve seen my fair share of crises. But this… this is a different beast.”

I leaned forward, eager for her insight. “What do you suggest? You’ve always had a way of spinning things in our favor. You have to have something…”

She shook her head, a wry smile touching her lips. “Be thankful I’m around, but this time, I’m not your solution. You need a fresh face for this, someone young, someone who can connect with the public and the media in a way I can’t. The narrative needs to be about moving forward and not looking back. My being the spokesperson won’t deliver that message effectively, not anymore.”

I paused, considering her words. She hadn’t steered me in the wrong direction before, but this felt a little out of my element. That being said, I trusted her.

“You really think a new, younger PR face is the answer?”

Elaine nodded. “Absolutely. It’s time for a change in strategy. The public loves a redemption story, a tale of turning over a new leaf. You need someone who can embody that narrative.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Alright, I trust your judgment. Find me someone who fits that bill.”

Elaine stood up, her demeanor all business. “I’ll start looking for the right person. In the meantime, keep a low profile. Let me handle the media for now. We’ll turn this around, Hunter, but it’s going to be a team effort.”

She was right; sometimes the best way to face a crisis was to embrace change head-on. It was time to find someone who could represent the new face of my company, someone who could help us navigate through this shitstorm.

“I’ll hire whatever name you suggest,” I replied.

“It’s more like which PR firm will be willing to work with you.”

“That bad?” I cringed.

“Yes, Hunter, this is that bad,” she responded firmly. “Your uncle’s mess has spilled over, and now it’s tarnishing your reputation by association. We need a firm that’s not just capable, but also willing to take on a challenge of this magnitude.”

I nodded slowly, digesting her words.

“Just get me a name,” I said softly.

“Don’t worry, I will,” she offered with a grim smile.

Chapter Three

Morgan

I was in way over my head.

I already felt ridiculous. Zara had insisted that I wear my best set of lingerie, a matching black bra and panty set that was partially see through in places. I felt scandalous and I hadn’t even gotten fully dressed yet.

I didn’t understand why. Something about being a power bitch, but I simply felt like a little slut going to a business meeting with this underneath my clothes.

“Morgan, you need to look absolutely stunning,” Zara asserted, holding up a sleek, form-fitting outfit. “This isn’t just any client meeting. Who knows, you might be walking into your very own Mr. Grey scenario.”

She waggled her eyebrows again, and I couldn’t help but blush and roll my eyes.

“Zara, this is a professional interview, not some ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ fantasy. I seriously doubt my new client will bear any resemblance to Christian Grey, even though it would be nice…”

“Oh, come on,” Zara teased, her eyes twinkling. “Rich, mysterious client, high-pressure business setting—it’s like the perfect backdrop for a billionaire office romance.”

As I took the dress from her—a deep navy number that was bound to accentuate my every curve—I had to admit, it was a bit more daring than my usual style. But Zara had a knack for pushing me out of my comfort zone, and perhaps today of all days, that wasn’t such a bad thing. With an important client on the horizon, maybe a dash of Zara’s bold confidence was exactly what I needed.

I slipped into the dress despite every alarm bell in my head telling me not to.

Get out of your comfort zone, Morgan… Live a little. You can do this!

“You really think I should wear this?” I murmured, glancing down at the skirt and fingering the bottom hem, my indecision probably written all over my face.

“Yeah, you beautiful bitch. You look fucking amazing. You’ll definitely look the part for Mr. Bend-Me-Over-the-Desk-Right-Now,” she winked, and I couldn’t stop myself from gasping out loud, her forwardness catching me by surprise once again.

“It’s not exactly the professional image I’m going for, Zara,” I laughed lightly, shaking my head.

“It’s not just about looking professional, Morgan. It’s about feeling powerful and confident, like you can slay the world with nothing but the heels on your feet. This outfit does that,” she said, her tone shifting to a more serious one. “And who knows, a bit of sexy never hurt in the business world, and you know that…”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, a smile playing on my lips as I looked at myself in the mirror. The clothing did make me feel different—more daring, more assertive. Maybe she was onto something…

“Maybe? Honey, of course I’m right,” Zara replied with a confident nod. “You’re going to walk into that meeting and own it. And this client? They won’t know what hit them.”

Her words bolstered my confidence. I needed this win, not just for my company, but for myself. After a recent string of PR nightmares that my company had to deal with, I couldn’t help but feel a bit steamrolled by circumstances beyond my control.

First, there had been the high-profile tech startup that imploded spectacularly due to the founder’s scandalous, and very adulterous, personal life—something I couldn’t have predicted or even remotely begun to manage, even if I hadn’t been blindsided by it.

Then came the environmental non-profit organization, Earth Guardians Alliance, honestly a dream client, that got caught in a fraudulent funding scheme, tainting everyone associated with them, including my firm, which really fucking sucked.

And who could forget the fiasco with Wendy Newton, the celebrity chef whose wild drug fueled sex tape from a few years ago had come out of the woodwork right when she was supposed to start a new show centered around family cooking?

Each of these completely separate circumstances had damaged my firm’s reputation, despite my team’s best efforts and our proven track record of serving only the best.

I needed a win, and I needed it badly.

“Alright, let’s do this. I’ll take on Mr. Potential Client and this meeting with everything I’ve got.”

Zara beamed, clearly pleased. “That’s the spirit! Now go out there and knock ‘em dead. And remember, no matter what happens, I’m here, always in your corner, especially if you get laid while you’re at it.”

I chuckled at Zara’s incorrigible attitude. “Thanks, Zara. And I’ll keep the getting laid part under advisement,” I said with a playful roll of my eyes.

Zara gave me a sly grin. “Just saying, if this Mr. Potential Client turns out to be your Christian Grey, I expect full details. You know, for… research purposes.”

I laughed, feeling a bit more relaxed. “I’ll be sure to take notes, then. But I think I’ll focus on the business aspect first. As intriguing as a whirlwind romance may sound, I’m pretty sure this is going to be more about balance sheets than red rooms.”

“Oh, come on, where’s the fun in that?” Zara teased. “Remember how Ana first met Christian? A simple interview, and bam! Life changed. You’re walking into an interview with the wealthy, mysterious Hunter Blackwater. The parallels are uncanny.”

I adjusted the skirt one last time, trying to mirror Ana’s unassuming confidence. “Well, if he starts asking me about my reading habits or helicopter rides, I’ll know we’ve veered off script.”

Zara’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she followed me to the door. “Just remember, if he starts offering you a tour of his very own ‘playroom’, don’t be too shocked, Little Miss Prude.”

I burst out laughing, a mix of amusement and disbelief coloring my voice. “Zara! I’m pretty sure that’s not on the agenda for a PR business meeting.”

“You never know, Morgan,” she winked playfully. “Life can be surprisingly kinky. Just be sure to negotiate your terms like a boss, Ana Steele style.”

“You’re awful,” I moaned.

“I know. You love it.”

“You know, he has a reputation,” I began.

Hunter Blackwater was a playboy. I’d done my research on him. Not only did he have a reputation for being a ladies’ man, but there were suggestions of affairs at the office, that he tangled business with pleasure on a regular basis.

So, Zara wasn’t exactly wrong…

“You neglected to tell me that little detail before,” she said with a huff, throwing her hair over her shoulder in mock anger.

I sighed. “Apparently, he’s known for… well, getting involved with people he works with. Romantically involved.”

Zara raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Oh? Mr. Potential Client is a bit of a playboy then? This plot just keeps thickening.”

I shook my head, determined. “This is not a romance novel, Zara. I’m not going to walk in there, be instantly attracted to him, and jeopardize this whole opportunity. I need him as a client.”

“Who said anything about instant attraction?” Zara teased. “Maybe he’ll be the one unable to resist your charm.”

“You know I need this deal. My company needs it. I can’t afford to get sidetracked by… well, you know.”

“His dick?” Zara suggested.

“It’s strictly professional. I’m going in there to secure a client, not a date.”

Zara grinned. “Sure thing. That’s definitely what I meant. Go show Mr. Playboy Businessman what Morgan Davis is all about. And if he tries any funny business, well just do what I would do. Him.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a bit more at ease with her vibrant energy around me. “Thanks, Zara. For everything.”

She gave me a quick hug. “Anytime, girl. Now go conquer the business world. And remember, say yes to playrooms!”

“No playrooms,” I sputtered with a giggle.

With a final smile, I grabbed my phone and my laptop bag and stepped out of our apartment. I took a deep breath and lifted my chin.

I could do this.

I would do this.

I didn’t know if I could do this.

The image of Mr. Hunter Blackwater was staring right at me from the wall. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, his youth belying the magnitude of his success. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, seemed to probe right into my soul. His hair was a dark, mussed tangle that suggested he didn’t fuss over his appearance, yet it somehow still worked perfectly. His features were sharp and angular, like they were carved out of marble. His slightly crooked nose, maybe broken once and never properly set, gave him a rugged look that was strangely compelling.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in my stomach as I looked down at my cell phone in my hand and checked the time. The secretary was typing away at her desk, occasionally glancing my way with a polite, professional smile. Every second that ticked by in this high-rise office seemed to stretch on, intensifying my anxiety and making my heart beat like a drum in my chest.

Why was I so nervous?

I was good at my job, great even. But sitting here, waiting to meet the mysterious Hunter Blackwater, the man behind the name that had become synonymous with tech innovation and business acumen—it was daunting. The rumors about his personal life, his so-called ‘reputation’, didn’t help either. I needed to keep my mind focused on the business at hand, not get distracted by idle gossip, or his striking appearance, or if my pussy would get wet in his presence.

I fidgeted with the hem of my skirt. Now it felt a tad too tight for something like this. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was out of my depth. This meeting was crucial, not just for my firm, but for me personally. It was a chance to prove that I could bounce back, that a few bad breaks wouldn’t destroy me.

I needed to do this.

“Ms. Davis?” the secretary called out, snapping me out of my reverie. “Mr. Blackwater will see you now.”

Fifty Shades might be right.

I took one last moment to gather my composure and walked towards the office door, my short professional heels clicking assertively against the sleek hardwood floor. As I entered his office, the first thing that struck me was the meticulous organization and the clean, modern aesthetic of the space. Every item seemed to have its place, from the neatly stacked papers to the minimalist art adorning the walls. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the expansive room in a warm glow.

It was homey in a way.

Hunter Blackwater was seated behind a large, immaculate wooden desk, his attention fixed on the screen in front of him. As I approached, he looked up, and for a moment I was caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. His blue eyes, even more piercing in person, seemed to hold a depth that was both intriguing and disconcerting, and for a second, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

There was a flash of surprise that crossed his features, but then it was gone, almost like I hadn’t seen it in the first place.

With an air of professionalism, he stood up, his presence commanding yet not overbearing. His dark hair was as mussed as in his painting, giving him a slightly disheveled look that contrasted sharply with the pristine environment of his office. His angular features were more pronounced up close, and I swallowed hard, letting my gaze fall on his finely tailored suit. The fabric had a subtle sheen in the sunlight, hinting at its quality, and it complemented the understated elegance of everything that was him.

He was so handsome in person, even more so than his painting.

Scratch that.

He was fucking hot.

“Ms. Davis, I presume?” His voice was deep, resonating with a confidence that seemed to fill the room. It rolled down my spine like a cool drink of water, and I had to remind myself to keep my head in the game.

“Yes, Mr. Blackwater. Morgan Davis,” I replied, extending my hand. His grip was firm, the brief contact sending an unexpected jolt of electricity through me, and I swallowed back my own gasp of surprise.

Why?

Why was I like this?

This is a business meeting. Not a goddamn date.

“Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I lowered myself down into the grey armchair, the leather creaking as I settled into place. He remained standing. I wasn’t sure if it was a power play or not.

It certainly felt like it.

I cleared my throat, placed my phone face down on his desk, and nodded once as if that signified the start of a meeting. His eyebrows rose a bit, but he held his ground.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Blackwater. I appreciate the opportunity to discuss how Davis Media Relations can support your company’s PR needs,” I began, my voice strong and steady.

He nodded, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as if he sensed my effort to remain composed. His eyes roved down my body for a long moment, almost as if he was drinking me in, and then his gaze snapped back up to meet mine.

“I’ve heard about your firm, Ms. Davis. You’ve built quite a reputation for innovative strategies, even in the face of… challenging situations, or so my secretary tells me.”

“I believe in facing challenges head-on, Mr. Blackwater,” I responded, my voice steady. “Every situation, no matter how difficult, is an opportunity to learn and grow. My firm has not only the experience but also the resilience to manage complex PR scenarios effectively. My history speaks for itself.”

“Indeed,” he answered, his gaze speculative, and I found it a bit unnerving. I swallowed hard and pulled my shoulders back, banking on the confidence I felt in this outfit and from Zara’s pep talk to get me through the rest of this meeting.

I’m going to need it.

“So, Mr. Blackwater, let’s talk specifics. What are your primary concerns regarding your company’s public image right now?” I asked, leaning forward slightly, my tone professional yet assertive. He finally sat down in his chair and leaned back, folding his hands in his lap with a heavy sigh.

I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he regarded me with those piercing blue eyes. For a moment, we just stared at each other, and then he finally began to speak.

“The main issue is managing the fallout from the rumors about my family’s past, most specifically my uncle. It’s crucial that we redirect the focus to my company’s innovations and corporate responsibility.”

I nodded, understanding the delicacy of the situation. I’d done my research before walking into this interview. I already knew the charges surrounding his uncle and the black stain it was painting over Hunter’s nanotech company.

It needed work, but I was confident that I could get the job done.

“Of course. We specialize in crisis management and image rebranding. However, it’s essential to be transparent in these cases. The public appreciates honesty.”

He leaned back in his chair, a hint of a challenge in his eyes, and my clit throbbed hard. I tried my best to ignore it, but it was growing increasingly difficult.

“Transparency is important, but so is steering the narrative. We can’t let the past dictate our future.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at his response. “Steering the narrative, yes, but not at the expense of authenticity. People see right through that.” I cocked my head, leveling him with a steady glare of my own.

Hunter’s smile matched mine. “I appreciate your candor, Ms. Davis. But in this game, I think we both know that perception is reality. We need to shape the world’s perception carefully, especially around my uncle’s activities…”

“I’ll craft my approach with that in mind,” I said, my voice clipped.

It felt like he was challenging me, and my body was heating up by the second.

The tension between us thickened.

Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze never leaving mine. “Ms. Davis, while I respect your approach, I believe in a more… direct form of action. We can’t afford to be too cautious in this situation.”

Matching his posture, I leaned in as well, my voice firm. “Direct action is fine, Mr. Blackwater, but without a carefully curated and crafted strategy, it’s just recklessness. My firm’s approach may be cautious, but it’s also calculated. I demand only the best for my clients.”

A smirk played on his lips. “Calculated risks, I assume? I’m all for that. But sometimes, you need to take the bull by the horns and direct it where to go yourself.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling the heat of his challenge. “And other times, you need to lure the bull into a trap with a clever ruse. It’s not always about brute force, Mr. Blackwater. Sometimes finesse is key.”

“It certainly has its merits,” he replied.

He was testing me, and it was starting to get on my nerves, but that wasn’t all. The rest of my body was pumping with heat, so much so that a droplet of sweat was rolling down the length of my spine. I lifted my chin, trying my best to ignore it.

Even worse, I could feel my nipples hardening underneath the lined cups of my bra, and I hoped that it was thick enough to hide them. When his gaze glanced down, my cheeks flamed knowingly, and I turned my head, the tension between us palpable.

But the most terrible part of all was that I could feel that my panties were soaked. This back and forth between us was almost more than I could bear.

It was as if we were both butting heads, fighting to be the alpha, and neither of us seemed to be coming out on top.

Something about him was setting me on edge. I didn’t know what it was, but I most certainly didn’t like it.

Or maybe I did.

I wasn’t sure.

“Perhaps your business might even improve with an approach like mine,” he offered, the boldness in his voice unmistakable.

Too bold…

“From my research, you seem to have a very… hands-on approach with those you work with, Mr. Blackwater,” I remarked, a slight edge to my voice. I was treading dangerous ground, and a part of me didn’t care. I couldn’t help myself.

I wasn’t going to be another one of his conquests.

“One has to be involved in all aspects of one’s business to ensure success,” he replied smoothly. “I assume you operate similarly with your firm?”

“Absolutely,” I shot back, meeting his intensity with equal fervor. “I don’t shy away from getting my hands dirty. Whatever it takes to get the job done.”

“Good,” he mused.

He held my gaze, the air between us charged. “Then let’s shape a narrative that works for both of us. What’s your plan for my company?”

He steepled his hands, and I couldn’t help but notice their large size. Immediately, I licked my lips, wondering how those nice big hands would feel cupping my ass as he pressed me up against the wall and drove his length into my wet heat.

Oh my god. Stop thinking like Zara! You’re Morgan Davis, and you run your own PR firm. You can do this.

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat, forcing myself to refocus on the task at hand. For a second, it was difficult, but I eventually got a hold of my wayward thoughts.

It certainly wasn’t easy though.

“First, we need to address the current public perception head-on. No beating around the bush. We acknowledge the past but pivot to the future. Your company’s innovations, its contributions to technology, and corporate social responsibility—that’s the story we need to tell.”

Hunter nodded, seemingly impressed. “Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”

Despite his reluctant approval, I couldn’t shake the competitive edge to our interaction. “I wouldn’t suggest it if I hadn’t thought it through,” I replied, a touch of defiance in my voice.

“I have to admit, Ms. Davis, I like a woman with a sharp tongue, but I have a much better use for that pretty mouth,” he said softly, his gaze locked with mine.

“I’m not another one of your sluts,” I countered before I thought it through.

His gaze turned molten, almost like I’d awakened the beast inside him and now he’d come alive.

The air between us seemed to crackle, charged with an unspoken, almost primal energy. It was as if our verbal sparring had ignited something more, a fiery undercurrent that threatened to blow at any given moment.

I didn’t know if I wanted it to blow or not.

I could feel the heat rising on my cheeks, my heartbeat quickening. His presence was overwhelming, enveloping the room like a tangible force, and I swallowed back a heavy gasp.

“Your ideas are intriguing, Ms. Davis,” he said, cutting through the tension between us, his voice a low rumble that resonated within me. “I’m looking forward to seeing how you execute them.”

I struggled to maintain my composure, my rage at his comment boiling through me like a sudden storm. “Execution is key, Mr. Blackwater. And I assure you, my team and I are more than capable.”

The intensity in his eyes didn’t waver. “I have no doubt about that,” he replied, a hint of something unspoken lingering in his words.

As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, it was an effort to tear my gaze away from his.

“Thank you for your time,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he responded, standing up as I did. His movements were fluid, predatory, as if every step was calculated to keep me within his sphere. He grabbed my hand and shook it firmly.

The moment he touched me, I almost forgot how to breath.

The fire that blazed up and down my arm from little more than his handshake was nothing short of breathtaking, and when he finally let go, the burning tingle lingered seemingly forever, a reminder of the intensity still crackling between us.

What had just happened? Did I still have a client after this?

I replayed the meeting in my mind, trying to pinpoint the exact moment it had shifted. Hunter’s challenging remarks, his intense gaze, the way our ideas clashed and danced together—it was something I’d never experienced with a client before. I couldn’t ignore the way that he was looking at me right now either, like a predator that had just found his prey… It had stirred up something I couldn’t quite name.

Maybe something I didn’t want to name…

Taking a deep breath, I pulled my hand away. In an instant, I missed his touch. I wanted to reach back out and feel it, but I didn’t dare.

“Mr. Blackwater,” I concluded.

“Miss Davis,” he echoed.

Without another word, I turned on my heel, grabbed my laptop bag, and stormed out.

As soon as the door closed behind me, I swore under my breath.

Fuck.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to get a rich new client, one that would save my PR firm from an early death, and now I didn’t even know if I still had a working relationship.

Also, why the fuck was I aroused right now? I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I shouldn’t have imagined those big hands running all over my body, shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, yet I couldn’t make it stop.

Images of my back against the wall, of his bare ass flexing as he thrust into me, over and over until I screamed his name.

Jesus Christ. What was wrong with me?

I was impossible.

This was all Zara’s fault. She’d put Mr. Fifty Shades in my head, and now it was stuck so firmly in there that it might as well be permanent.

Maybe I needed to go home, rub one out, and start to tackle this PR nightmare in the hopes that I hadn’t fucked up the whole interview and lost myself the client of a lifetime.

I hadn’t, had I?

I needed to go back, right?

But…

I couldn’t shake the feeling of hesitation that spiraled through me at the thought of facing him again. I licked my lips, unable to stop myself from squealing a bit with rage and something else I didn’t care to admit to.

Desire.

My pussy throbbed hard at the thought of being in the same room with him again. I didn’t know if I was ready yet.

The two of us were on a collision course, and sooner or later, we were going to crash.

Maybe it would be better to just cool down and tackle this tomorrow with a clear head. I needed a glass of wine, a good book, and my vibrator before I dealt with Mr. Blackwater again.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

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