CHAPTER 17

Not back here, I snapped, grinning triumphantly. I purposefully crossed my legs once more, making sure my skirt rose up a bit more than necessary, wanting to frighten him even more. Maybe he needs a refresher on who was capable of dominating this game. In an instant, the frown was back on his face. The goal was achieved.

We drove for the next eighteen and a half minutes, exchanging passionate looks across the vehicle as I battled to keep from daydreaming about his head tucked between my legs. Needless to say, I was in a bad attitude when we got there.

The next three hours passed at a very slow rate. When the other executives showed in, everyone was introduced to one another. Lila, a strikingly attractive lady, seemed to show an instant interest in my employer. She had all the qualities to attract him, including her thick red hair, alluring black eyes, and a body to die for. Throughout the whole day, he charmed her almost into a coma with his panty-dropping grin.

What an idiot.

After a difficult trip home at the end of the day, it was obvious that Mr. Ramirez was thinking about something as we entered the office. I was afraid that I might erupt if he didn't speak up quickly. I asked him to remain quiet, but he wouldn't stop talking. However, he became silent when I wanted him to speak.

As we made our way to the elevator in the mostly abandoned building, I was overcome with a sensation of déjà vu and fear. I wanted to be anywhere else other than next to him as those golden doors closed. Did the air in this room suddenly seem thinner? I tried to read his feelings as I took a glimpse at his reflection in the shiny doors.

His suit jacket draped carelessly over his arm, and he had taken his tie out of the knot. He had pulled up his dress shirt sleeves throughout the meeting to display his sinewy muscles. I made an effort not to look. With the exception of his constant jaw-clenching and his downward stare, he seemed to be in total control.

We got to the 18th floor, and I took a deep breath. The forty-two seconds seemed to last forever. I tried to look away as I followed him through the door and into his office. I was shocked to see that he had left the door open. He consistently locked his door.

I hastily checked my messages and finished off a few last-minute jobs before rushing out for the weekend. I was eager to leave the place. That wasn't totally accurate, I guess. The last time we were by ourselves on this level, I quickly left. I really shouldn't be considering it right now, particularly in this deserted workplace. Just me and him.

He came out of his office as I was gathering my things and dropped an ivory envelope on my desk before moving straight toward the door. What on earth was that? I quickly ripped open the package to see my name written on many pages of tasteful ivory paper. Therein was documentation for a La Perla private credit account with Mr. Robertt Ramirez designated as the account holder.

"He established a credit line for me?" I yelled, roiling with rage. What the heck is this? I sprang up from my chair and asked him. Have you given me a credit line?

He paused in his step and hesitated before turning to face me. "After your brief performance today, I made a call and set up a purchase for you to make for anything you... need. And of course, there's no cap on the account," he said bluntly, wiping away any hint of unease from his face. He was so good at what he did because of this. He had an amazing capacity to restore control in any circumstance. But did he really think he could rule me?

Just to be clear, you arranged to purchase my underpants, I added, shaking my head and trying to keep my cool.

He hesitated, seeming to rethink his statement before continuing, "Well, to replace the things that I—" "In order to replace the damaged items. He snarled, "If you don't want it, don't fucking use it," and then turned to walk away once again.

You are a "bitch's son," I moved in front of him, holding the freshly printed paper in my firmly closed hand and crumpling it. "Do you think this is funny? Do you really believe that I'm just a doll that you can play with and dress up? I wasn't sure whether I was more upset with him for thinking that of me or with myself for allowing this to happen in the first place.

Oh, certainly, he scoffed. This is totally amusing to me.

Take this and ram it in your ass, I said. I shoved the ivory paper into his chest before grabbing my bag and turning to go to the elevator. What a sexist, egotistical jerk.

I knew he probably didn't intend to disrespect me, at least on a sensible level. I certainly hoped not. Seriously though, this? This was the precise reason why it was a bad idea to sleep with your employer. And why it was a bad idea to put on a hot performance for him in his office.

It's obvious that I must have missed that part of orientation.

He said, "Miss Brown!" but I decided to ignore him and enter the elevator. Come on, I said softly, repeatedly tapping the parking garage button. His face emerged just as the doors shut, and I couldn't help but smirk as I flicked him off. Really grown up, Emily.

"Shit. "Shit, sh*t!" I virtually stomped my feet as I screamed into the empty elevator. My pants were destroyed by the jerk who tore his previous pair.

When I entered the garage, the elevator chimed to let me know. I walked to my vehicle while muttering to myself. I was too angry to pay any attention to the poorly lighted garage or the fact that mine was one of the few automobiles still present on this level. I'd hate to run across somebody right now who would be so stupid as to mess with me.

Mr. Ramirez's voice rang out from behind me as the stairway door slammed open just as that notion entered my head.

"Christ! He yelled, "Will you fucking wait!" while plainly struggling for air. Anyone would get that way after sprinting down eighteen flights of stairs, I figured.

I pulled open my vehicle door after unlocking it and tossed my handbag on the passenger seat. "What is the name of hell do you want, Ramirez?"

Please stop being a bitch for two seconds and pay attention to me, God.

I turned around to confront him, flaming with rage. Do you believe that I am some kind of whore?

His face flashed with a flurry of emotions, including wrath, amazement, perplexity, and hate. He also had an enticing appearance. His shirt's collar was undone, his hair was gloriously messy, and a bead of perspiration was running down the side of his jaw, which didn't help. I was going to hold onto my rage.