Page 76 of For the Plot
His tie is still absent. His shirt is open one button further than usual. God, he looks good like this. A little unbuttoned. A little human.
I angle the camera down, let the neckline of my dress slip just a little farther, and snap a photo. The angle gives a close-up shot of soft cleavage, flushed skin, and the chain around my neck dipping right between my breasts.
Then I send it to him. The buzz of his phone makes him glance down. And freeze. There’s the briefest pause in his voice, not enough for anyone else to notice but I do. I see it.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t play into the game. Just ends the call with a vague, “We’ll circle back next week.”
Then, calmly, he sets his phone face down on the seat beside him, grabs his laptop, and stands.
“You going somewhere?” I ask, voice lilting, teasing.
“To work,” he says. “Unless you’d like me to fuck you in this seat with the pilot and flight crew ten feet away,” he says, clearly annoyed as he gestures toward one of the flight attendants who most certainly heard him.
My pulse spikes but his tone isn’t inviting or playful and he’s already walking away, disappearing into the small bedroom tucked at the rear of the plane. I stare after him, heat rushing up my neck, skin prickling with irritation and desire. I should be mad. I should be humiliated.
But instead, my thighs are pressed tight together and I can’t stop smirking. I can’t help but love the fact that I am clearlyunder his skin. I sit back in my seat, sip the still-hot coffee from earlier, and exhale slowly through my nose.
Okay, this might not actually be that bad of a game after all.
Chapter 16
Reece
Skye’s been in and out of my office all morning.
Once to hand me the updated investor notes. Again to clarify calendar conflicts I don’t remember asking her to fix. Twice for printing issues she could’ve emailed about. And just now to drop off my coffee, even though I haven’t touched the last one.
She’s everywhere. And I hate how much I like it.
A week has passed since Boston. Since her skin was on mine. Since her mouth was hot and wet against mine, her slick cunt squeezing my cock. Since I told myself we’d go back to normal. That we could.
But Skye doesn’t need to chase. She doesn’t even need to flirt. She just walks. Moves. Breathes. And I unravel like a man who’s never had control to begin with.
I watch her now through the glass wall of my office as she leans over the admin station, one hand braced on the desk as she scrolls through the company directory. Her skirt pulls tight against her ass, and her heels click softly as she shifts her weight. She’s humming.
She doesn’t even glance in my direction. But she knows. She knows exactly what she’s doing. My fingers tighten on the edge of my desk.
I turn away and open my email, forcing myself to focus on the pile of things I’ve ignored all week. M&A schedules, board approvals, legal briefings. All of it easier than sitting in the same vicinity with her and pretending my mind isn’t wrecked by the memory of her legs around my waist and the feel of her warm body against mine.
My thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock. “Come in.”
She steps inside without hesitation, holding a folder. “The updated onboarding outline. I flagged the part you wanted added. Also…” She trails off, eyes flicking to my tie. “You’ve got a piece of lint on your shirt. Just here.”
She gestures to her own chest, then lightly presses two fingers just above my sternum. I go still. Her touch is brief. Soft but deliberate. She doesn’t pull them back right away, leaving her fingers there for a second too long. Her eyes lock on mine. And then she smiles.
“There. All fixed.”
She turns and walks out, hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm that’s going to kill me. I push away from my desk before I do something stupid. I glance around to make sure she’s cleared the area. The elevator is waiting when I step into the hall, thank God. A few minutes alone to cool off. I need to get the fuck out of this building.
But of course,of course, when the doors open, she’s already inside. Alone. Holding a manila envelope and sipping from her iced coffee like she’s completely unbothered by my presence.
“Going down?” she asks, one brow lifted.
On you? I’d love to, I want to say but stop myself. I hesitate for half a second too long, then step inside. The doors shut.
She presses the envelope against her hip and leans against the mirrored wall, smirking at me through the reflection. Her perfume drifts in my direction, subtle and familiar. I could pick her scent out of a lineup.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says softly, without looking over.
