“I’m not after your bloody attention.” I spit out the words. “If I could spoon out your dirty little eyes, I would. Go and slide back under the stone you crawled out from under. I’m just here to get a towel.”
He leans in and lands a hand on my sticky arm.
“If you need a hand scrubbing your back …Oh shit…” he jerks away, his eyes popping.
I flip around to see what has distracted him.
Danny Walker is storming towards us, his eyes blazing.
I recall Tristan saying he did a few years in the military when he was younger, and now I could see why. He was approaching like a tank, ready to go into combat with his enemies.
I catch his intense eyes.
“Mr. Walker,” Dylan stammers, retreating backward.
Danny
Ten minutes earlier.
“How do we stop it from getting to press?” I bark down the speaker-phone.
There’s hesitation on the other end.
“I’ve made all the calls I can, bro, but they want to run this article. It’s too hot to pull.”
I run my hands through my hair and scan the article again in disgust. I’ve had many smear campaigns against me these past few years, but this is beyond scandalous.
Sam Lynden. The prick that took me to the cleaners for shoving him when he was threatening his girlfriend, my own employee.
It was nothing more than a jostle. Of course, she left the company, backed his side, and they both went skipping into the sunset with a big lump of cash.
Now they are back for more. The article talks about how I was sleazing around his girlfriend, trying to force her into sleeping with me, then how I attacked him when he confronted me.
It’s a crock of lies, but the public won’t question the evidence. It fits my ruthless sleazy businessman caricature; therefore, I’m guilty by de facto.
“Danny?” Karl prompts. There are sirens in the background, and I can tell he’s on his way home from a bar. “You still there?” “Yes.”
“It’ll hit the papers tomorrow,” he says firmly. “We need to do damage control. The lawyers are prepped and ready to hit him with a libel defamation case.”
I eye my scotch glasses in the drink cabinet. No, I need to wait until at least midday.
“Fine.” I exhale hard, half-listening as he explains the plan to be executed.
I glance through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the office. I’m probably shouting so loudly; the story has already broken in the press.
What the..?
“I have to go, Karl.” I slam down the phone.
She has got to be joking.
She’s bent over her desk in tiny shorts and a tee shirt giving some guy an eyeful of her rear. Her tee shirt is sticking to her, exposing the curve of her breasts. There’s a clear outline of her nipples.
Despite my rage, my cock unhelpfully springs to life.
My company, my office, isn’t a strip club. What’s she playing at? Wearing tiny shorts so that everyone can eye fuck her?
Is that what she wants, this geezer’s eyes crawling over her skin, her curves?
Is she deliberately trying to get a rise out of me?
Is she trying to fucking seduce me?
The moron at her desk is now sliding his hand up and down her arm.
I fire open the glass door, banging it against the wall.
My fists ball up like angry stones as I pace down the centre aisle of the 4th floor.
“You, get the fuck back to your desk.” I snarl to the guy when I’m still at least 4 metres from them. My blood pressure is off the scale.
He scuttles off like the rat he is.
Her eyes grow large as I storm towards her, stopping inches away from her face.
“What are you playing at?”
Sweat is beaded everywhere on her body, between the crevices of her breasts, on her forehead, down her legs, there between her legs.
I try not to get hard.
Focus!
My eyes snap back up to her face.
“What?” She looks at me, horrified, taking a step backward.
“You flirt on your own time, not my time,” I growl down at her. “Do you think this is appropriate office attire?”
She stares at me like I’m insane.
Then she snaps.
“How dare you talk to me like that.” She hisses, pushing me in the chest.
“I’m sorry that my sweaty body brings such offense in this office. I forgot to bring my nun’s habit to Bikram yoga, you see. I’m sorry I forgot my towel and subjected poor Dylan to the torment of seeing my damp skin. I’m sorry that it caused him such distress he felt the need to offer a helping hand in the shower. I’m so sorry I’m forcing that on him.”
Her jade green eyes flicker with fury.
“In my office, you don’t walk around dressed like a stripper.” I snarl back, struggling to control my shallow breathing.
“You are calling me a stripper?” She whispers darkly. Her hands flap at her side, and I wonder if she’s going to slap me.
“I’m saying you’re dressed like one.”
Our eyes lock, neither of us backing down.
She waves her hands around the isolated office. There are a few developers with their heads down banging keys on the keyboard. Not even looking our way, despite the commotion.
That’s developers for you.
“There’s no-one even here! It’s not like I’m going to sit all day in my own sweat. I’m grabbing a toilet and running to the shower. In fact, I would be done by now if you hadn’t ambushed me.”
“What is your problem?” Her eyes thin into slits. “You think you can dictate where I work, now how I dress? Jackie wears short skirts to the office every day!” What is my problem?
My problem is I’m out of control. What was I playing at? We’re a tech company, not a library. My staff can pretty much wear whatever they want. Most developers are in jeans with holes in them and frayed tee shirts.