Page 5 of Devil In A Suit, Vol. 2

Chapter 3

My alarm goesoff at six-thirty, just like it does every morning. But today, I don’t spring out of bed. Instead I groan, hit snooze, and roll over.

I’ve been plagued with dreams of Jared all night. In the most vivid one, it was him sitting in his desk chair while I ride his nine-inch cock, him bringing me all the way to the toe-curling, screaming, moaning edge of orgasm, before telling me to get off him and leave the room, without ever saying what I’ve done wrong.

The strange dreams have left me limp and depressed

As much as I’d like to say fuck it and blow off a day of work, I know I can’t. I’m only three weeks in, just a junior copywriter. Taking a day off now would only move me to the bottom of the promotion list when the time comes, and after what’s happened with Jared, hard work is all I have left.

At least hard work I can control, unlike whatever mind games Jared King is playing with me.

I climb out of bed, waiting for the crush of embarrassment to hit me again, but as I trudge into the bathroom to shower, I find a different emotion simmering to the surface.

Anger.

If something happened between the restaurant and his apartment to make him change his mind about me, he owed it to me to at least tell me. Preferably to my face, but I would have taken an email. Even a text. I know he has my number, thanks to our lingerie conversation. But to brush me off and then replace me at his desk without a single word, leaving the dirty work to human resources, is just about the lowest thing you could do to someone you’d seen mostly naked.

I’m not pathetic.

He’s an asshole, and he doesn’t deserve me.

I march into the office at eight sharp, my heels practically driving divots into the marble floor of the lobby. I’m wearing a slim, charcoal gray pencil skirt with seaming over the back that hugs my ass like a dangerous curves sign.

I’m also wearing the bra Jared had paid for, topping it with a thin, tailored button-up that is as close to Naughty Secretary as I can get without being unprofessional. I finished off the look with the red lipstick I’d bought at Sephora, that I’ve never worn until today, because it always feels like a costume to me.

But right now I need armor, and this red lipstick feels like just the thing.

I try to lose myself in work, in the endless spreadsheets and copyediting and budget lines. But with each page turned, each mark made, each column totaled, I feel myself igniting.

I need to do something about this.

I’ve worked myself up to a pretty decent boil by the time Robert, one of the other office drones, swings by the cubicle. He waves a red file folder at me, a thick sheaf of documents clipped inside.

“This needs to go to the King,” Robert says. “You mind handing it off for me?”

The King. One of the many ridiculous nicknames they’ve given to Jared, and I make a face as Robert says it. I know that many of the men are afraid of Jared and try to avoid interacting with him.

Whereas the women usually look for any chance to have a reason to speak to him, our male counterparts often seem to genuinely squirm in his presence.

Now it’s my turn to squirm, though.

I’ve been building myself up to this point, waiting for an excuse to see Jared King and show him what he’s missing, to act as if I don’t care about him and make him regret the way he’s treated me.

But now that I’m getting a chance to do it, to actually enact my little plan, I start to fall apart.

“I’m kind of busy,” I lie. I’m losing my nerve. It’s like I’m new all over again, terrified of having to speak to the boss—although in reality, my boss is a man who’s actually had his mouth on my pussy and made me come.

Robert rolls his eyes. “Please,” he says. “He likes you, and he can’t fucking stand me.”

“What do you mean, he likes me?” I ask, on edge now.

But Robert just shrugs. “I don’t want to get the look,” he says, narrowing his eyes and staring at me in a remarkably authentic impression of Jared’s cold, forbidding stare.

I sigh and grab the folder. “Fine, I’ll take it to him.”

“I owe you one, kid,” he says, grinning, and then walks off, his shoulders seeming to broaden as if a weight’s been lifted off him.

I mutter what an idiot I am under my breath and then decide to get it over with.