Only a select few knew about it, and that’s how he liked it to stay.
So yes, intellectual, career-minded women were what he preferred. Especially if they also enjoyed handing him the control when it came to the bedroom. Women who didn’t mind taking direction when the situation demanded also.
Marisa might enjoy taking direction…
Much to his irritation, a curl of desire licked up inside him at the thought. Which was ridiculous because a woman less likely to take direction than Marisa Clair he couldn’t imagine.
God, he really needed to stop thinking about her in conjunction with sex because now it was getting even more inappropriate than it already was.
Luke leaned forward, reading over the e-mail for the fifth time. Weirdly, it seemed to bring to mind her mouth. The lush curve of it. The red lipstick that covered it. And the burst of electricity that had gone through him as he’d kissed it.
What color underwear had she been wearing underneath that green dress of hers that night…?
No. He did not want to know. And he did not want to carry this conversation on any further.
She needed to stop this e-mailing business immediately.
Quickly, Luke typed out a reply.
Dear Marisa,
You’ve already been warned once about e-mails to relevant IT staff. Besides, the color of your underwear should not relate to the maintenance of your computer. To do so would make no sense. Please desist in the use of company e-mail for this discussion.
Sincerely,
Luke McNamara
CEO McNamara Financial and Compass Media
With any luck that would make her stop.
After he pressed send, Luke checked the time, then closed his e-mail program to prevent any further unscheduled electronic incursions.
Then he opened up the Gibson portfolio documents and tried like hell to dismiss Marisa Clair and her underwear from his mind. Because he couldn’t afford any distractions that might derail his attention from his company.
McNamara Financial gave him structure. Gave him focus. It always had.
He was the master of his condition, it wouldn’t master him.
Never, ever again.
…
Marisa put her latte down on her desk and slumped in her chair. She’d spent the whole afternoon in a meeting with Ben, which had meant a late afternoon tea—barely enough time to nip down the road to her favorite café for her usual caffeine hit.
Yet for all that she’d been busy, the day had dragged.
Ah well, not long now. Then she could get home, put on her new dress, go out with some friends to the new cocktail bar that had opened down on the waterfront. Maybe pick up a hot guy.
The thought somehow wasn’t as exciting as it used to be, and she had no idea why.
Going out on the town, partying with girlfriends, and picking up guys had been something she’d really enjoyed. At least until Christie had found Joseph. And then for some reason all that frenetic socializing and flirting and one-night-standing had started to seem a bit sad. A bit desperate.
Which was weird because settling down definitely wasn’t on her agenda. Still, she seemed to have lost her appetite for the fun stuff and that was aggravating. Mainly because it made her aware of all the other stuff in her life—or rather, the lack of other stuff in her life.
Marisa sighed, reflexively checking her e-mail. Only to find another reply from Luke.
A burst of unexpected and—it had to be said—unwelcome excitement swept through her. Which was lame, because getting excited about receiving an e-mail from him meant she must be extra, extra sad.
She glared at the screen. Dear God, “the color of your underwear should not relate to the maintenance of your computer.” Was he freaking serious? No, surely he wasn’t. No one could be that humorless.
Why would I want to dance with my phone?
Oh yeah. They could.
Her midafternoon slump seeped away.
No, she would not desist in her use of the company e-mail for this discussion. She was restless and pissed and he put the ass in pompous ass. Time to wiggle the stick up his butt.
Sitting up straight in her chair, she whipped off a reply.
Dear Luke,
I assure you that the question as to the hue of my undergarments is vital to my job. I cannot do my job without a computer, thus I need to keep said computer running at its optimal level. In order to do this, adequate communication and ensuring prompt responses from the relevant IT staff is needed. The quickest and easiest way to ensure this, I have discovered, is to make sure the relevant IT staff are kept up to date as to the color of my panties. The type of undergarment I wear also works. For example, a red thong ensures a quicker response than plain white cotton hipsters.
Yours sincerely and very seriously,
Marisa Clair
P.S. What color undies are you wearing?
She hit send. And for a minute, as the e-mail left her out-box, a small doubt wormed its way into her consciousness. Sending stupid e-mails in direct contravention of company policy to her über-boss wasn’t exactly the right way to go about ensuring a long and fulfilling career as Ben’s PA. Especially when she’d had a couple of HR warnings already.