He grinned back over his shoulder. “At least they’re not prison stripes, eh?”
Wishing she had a snappy comeback, she watched him sail around the corner and then turned to face her next problem of the day.
“Follow me.” Kelsey turned the corner, the woman’s heels clicking behind her on the tile of the entryway floor. She nodded toward one of the chairs by the elevator. “Have a seat please.”
“Come in,” Oliver called when she knocked. He was sitting at his desk, feet up, fingers tented, looking out the high-rise window. His profile would have satisfied a Grecian sculptor, his dark, close-cropped hair shining in the morning light, his tie loosened, jacket unbuttoned. He was clearly lost in thought.
Kelsey prayed Mrs. Lockheed wouldn’t tell him that she hadn’t been at her desk when she arrived. If there was one thing about her job she hated most, it was disappointing Oliver Pierce.
“Good.” He acknowledged her with a nod when she set the file on his desk, reaching for a yellow legal pad on his desk, tearing off the top sheet. “Here, send this out to the sales staff. Use the new interoffice message system, okay?”
“Um… Oliver… ” She crumpled the paper in her hands nervously, clearing her throat. His gaze moved over her camouflage t-shirt—far too tight—down to her skirt—far too short—to her crazy, striped tights, lingering there on the length of her legs. She’d worked for him only a short time, but she’d never seen him look at her quite like this. It made her wonder what he was thinking.
She tried again, more formal this time. “Mr. Pierce… Mrs. Lockheed is waiting to see you.”
“Fuck.” He swung his feet on the floor, putting his hands flat on his desk blotter, head down. Kelsey swallowed, waiting for him to say something. Anything. Mrs. Lockheed definitely didn’t have an appointment, and while Kelsey didn’t know exactly what her presence in the office meant, she didn’t think it could be a good sign.
Oliver raised his head, meeting her eyes, straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket. He had his game face on. It was formidable. It actually made her knees wobbly.
“Show her in.”
“Yes, sir.” She headed out, ready to do his bidding.
“Oh, and Kelsey.” His voice stopped her at the door. “If you wear something like that to work again, trust me when I say this—I will spank you.”
She stood, hand on the knob, blinking at him, breath caught in her throat. What did he say? She opened her mouth to reply, maybe even clarify. She had most certainly misheard him.
Spank me? Did he really…?
“Yes, sir.” She flushed, meeting his steady gaze and tugging at the hem of her very-short skirt.
He nodded, dismissing her, and she hurried out into the entryway where her desk—and Helena Lockheed—were waiting.
“You can go in now.” Kelsey directed the leggy, older woman, still praying that she wouldn’t say anything bad to her boss about her.
The woman didn’t respond. She just swept into Oliver’s office, exclaiming her greeting. Kelsey watched in surprise as the brunette leaned in to kiss her boss, leaving lipstick on Oliver’s cheek as he turned his head, before the door swung closed. Kelsey felt a strange sort of heat in her belly, wondering what their relationship was. Just business, surely?
Kelsey went back to her seat and busied herself at her computer, hiding behind it as she began typing the memo from the crumpled note she’d spread out on her desk. They were still working the bugs out of the new interoffice message system, and she hoped the new ID the tech guy had given her worked this time. Last week, her messages had gone floating somewhere into the ether, and the entire office hadn’t known about the upcoming audit.
But Oliver didn’t threaten to spank you for that mistake, did he?
Kelsey stared blankly at what she’d typed, her face flushing with heat at the memory of her boss’s words. Spank. Surely he hadn’t meant it literally. Spank. Maybe it was a metaphor? Oliver wouldn’t actually spank her. That would be… well, wrong. So why did the thought of it make her belly burn and her ass clench?
Sexual harassment had been covered in a whole class during her orientation, and she was pretty sure something like that would qualify. Of course it would. If casual touching and dirty jokes could be considered harassment, spanking would cross every conceivable line in the handbook!
But would you tell anyone?
What if Oliver Pierce did decide to spank her? She closed her eyes, imagining being bent over his big desk, his hands pulling up her skirt. Oh, no doubt, it would be humiliating. It would be humbling. It would most certainly be twisted and disturbing and downright perverted.