Page 12 of Pride and Privilege

“All night, Poppy,” he murmured against her hair, her cheek, breathing in the warmth of her skin. Her eyelashes stroked over his cheek, his mouth found the corner of hers, and his stupid brain was saying things without asking for his permission. “Can you take me all night?”

His thumbs travelled a little further, found the base of her bra, tested the weight of the heavy swell waiting just above. His eyes closed as his mouth moved to hers—

She laughed.

A short, sharp gust of it.

He pulled back.

“Sorry, I just…” That nervous laugh again. He took his hands from her waist, confusion rushing into his brain, tripping over the lust. Making a fucking mess.

“What?” he asked.

She wasn’t looking at him, was looking at the floor. “I just… Have you ever watched Pretty Woman? Where she says she won’t kiss guys? That bit was suddenly in my head and—”

“Pretty Woman?”

She flashed a glance in his direction before turning to the side, arms crossed, seeming just as confused as he was. Or at least as awkward. “I can’t… I kept thinking, am I meant to get it in writing beforehand, or do we talk about it after, like, how does this whole thing work? When do I bring it up? Send an email in the morning?” Another nervous laugh, heat colouring her face.

Roscoe dragged a hand across his jaw, trying to catch up. Starting to feel very, very uneasy.

“Tell me why you’re thinking about a film with a prostitute right now.”

She didn’t look at him but grimaced, hugging her folded arms tighter. “Because that’s basically what this is, isn’t it?”

Roscoe Blackton was staring at her, and he did not look amused. He had his arms crossed, and they looked bigger and stronger than ever. And he was…glowering. Brows low. Eyes hard.

She couldn’t really blame him.

“Let’s be honest,” she continued, vainly trying to style this out even though she would much rather be currently dying. Death seemed a very good option. “Everyone knows how it works at BG.”

“Do they? How about you explain. Because I’m not sure I do.”

“Emily Malcolm! Lizzy Wilson! All the others!”

“Other what?”

“Women you’ve slept with. And then they get promoted afterwards. Or whatever else it is they want.”

“I’m not even sure who Emily Malcolm is. And I’ve never slept with Lizzy Wilson. She’s Head of Asia. She’s about fifteen years older than me. And married.”

“You went home with her one night…”

“Do you mean the night I walked her to the tube station? Because it was late, and the taxi she’d ordered hadn’t turned up?”

“But everyone said…”

“Jesus! Office gossip. Do you believe everything they say?” His expression suggested he thought she did. That she really was that stupid. He looked at her in disgust. “And you believe I…what…? Give out promotions in return for sex? Am I getting the gist of it?”

She said nothing. Regretted everything. Prayed for death.

“What does a decent blowjob earn, hm? Two days annual leave? Five percent on your bonus?”

“I don’t know! It’s just… It’s what people say. It’s how BG works.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Well I guess maybe to you! When you’re already at the top. And you don’t have to suck up—”

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