Page 51 of The Bad Girl
Chapter 19
Nadine
As I ride the Elevator of Shame, the full weight of what I did last night crushes me. Now, I have two consecutive nights of bad decisions I have to deal with.
In a moment, the door will open, and I’ll step into the office of Maxwell Stryder, the man I eye-fucked while strip teasing and sent half-naked pictures to—and…well, he told me he wanted to eat my sweet pussy and fuck me on the desk I work at each day. How I’ll ever get anything done on that desk again is beyond me.
Sure, it was roleplaying, but to me, it felt real. I honestly thought he wanted to fuck me, as hilarious as that sounds because he’s Maxwell Stryder, heir to InStryde, who regularly fucks model-types.
He probably thought I was an amateur and laughed the entire time.
But it sure didn’t seem like he was laughing. And his eyes were all hunger at the club. And that cock of his—
I shove the image from my mind because the last thing I want to do is make a mess in my panties, but I know full well I’ll be revisiting it later when I’m alone.
I look down at the valley between my breasts that are fully on display and hope I don’t have to suffer clients today. I had briefly considered switching out the orange tunic for something a little safer to wear over the linen trousers, but the last thing I need is Stacey reaming me out and going to the racks to pick out something even worse—which she’d totally do.
The elevator door opens, and to my great dismay, Prince Harry is waiting for me.
“Getting in a little late, aren’t we?” he says down his upturned nose.
It’s 7:05, and Harry has no room to talk considering he regularly strolls into the office around 12:30, if he strolls in at all.
I set my bag down and continue to the coffee maker, not granting him so much as a second glance.
“Look at you now, showing your cleavage. What game are you playing now, Nadine?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve been dressing up all week, and that orange number you have on drapes to your bellybutton. Don’t act like you’re not angling for something.”
I turn to face him, slapping my hand down on the counter. “What am I angling for, Harry? Tell me?”
His eyes narrow, and I can see he hasn’t thought this all the way through. “Are you dating that Stacey chick from PR?”
“When have I ever let on that I was gay.”
“You haven’t, and frankly, it’s an insult to lesbian women, but she was up here the last two days, and the alternative is that you’re dressing up for Maxwell or myself, and I know you, Nadine—you’re no boss fucker.”
My jaw gapes open in surprise. “Why does this outfit have to mean that I want to fuck anyone?”
The irony about it is that this outfit is the exact result of me wanting to fuck someone.
“I know you, Naddy. You don’t just go around throwing big tit vibes everywhere you walk. They’re out for a reason!”
And now, I realize my folly: I haven’t involved Harry in my bid to snag Tom, because I didn’t want to suffer his snide remarks, but that only led to his imagination running wild, and now he thinks I’m a wannabe lesbian because I could never be a boss fucker.
“I’m going to level with you because you’re right. I’m dressing this way for a reason. But you have to level with me too.”
He arcs a brow.
“You’ve been coming in early every day this week. It would be one thing if it were just one day, but four days straight? It’s causing me chaos. What’s going on?”
I see an unmistakable glint of fear in his eyes and wonder what I’ve hit upon. Prince Harry lives his life on his own terms, refusing to conform or adhere to any particular standard set forth by anyone. Even Maxwell has a hard time getting him to do the most basic elements of his job. The thought that something could have him afraid makes me wonder if I should have been paying more attention to him.
“It’s okay, Harry. I’m not going to use it against you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says in a rather nasty tone, “and I quite prefer you use my formal title.”
