Play Thing. Nicola Marsh

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      CHARLOTTE LIKED TICKING off tasks in her head.

      Pack up Aunt Dee’s merchandise? Check.

      Have the boxes couriered to her flat? Check.

      Enjoy sizzling sex with random stranger? Check.

      Even now, the next morning, heat surged to her cheeks every time she thought about what she’d done in that warehouse.

      She, the queen of introverts, having two mind-blowing orgasms with a guy whose name she didn’t even know.

      It had been preposterous. Ludicrous. And so freaking incredible that she’d found herself smiling at random times last night, and several times first thing this morning.

      After he’d left and she’d got over her funk at doing something so completely illogically bizarre, she’d expected embarrassment and shame to follow her initial remorse. It hadn’t happened. Instead, she’d felt oddly empowered, like she’d taken control of her sexuality and wielded it in a way she’d never anticipated.

      Of course it hadn’t lasted and by the time she’d got home, her newfound boldness had faded and humiliation had set in.

      How could she have done that?

      Obsessing about sex with a stranger was the last thing she needed, especially when she had to meet her pain-in-the-ass boss in person for the first time in ten minutes.

      Her confidence had taken more hits than a boxer over the years and while her sexy encounter yesterday had given her a momentary boost, she’d reverted to type today, envisaging their first meeting to be more of the usual: him demanding, her deferent.

      To give herself confidence she’d dressed to impress today, wearing her version of a power suit. A deep burgundy knee-length skirt, an ivory silk blouse that tied in a bow at the neck, a fitted black jacket and low kitten heels. She’d even gone all out and straightened her hair. Not in any effort to impress Alexander bloody Bronson but to ensure she exuded self-assurance when she faced her nemesis.

      Okay, so she was being a tad overdramatic, but he’d really riled her these last few weeks, barking orders, demanding perfection and teasing her with that ridiculous nickname. Charlie. Made her sound like a boy. And hit a little too close to home because of how asexual she felt at times, languishing in her single life and wishing things could be different. That she could be different.

      Courtesy of that sexy stranger yesterday, maybe she could be.

      That was what her brain-fade in that warehouse had ultimately been about: embracing her dormant sexy side, indulging in a little excitement, seeing exactly what she was capable of if she let go a little. Because, although she craved a stable, loving guy, deep down she wanted him to rock her world in more ways than one.

      Trying not to cringe with embarrassment at the indignity of having sex with a man whose name she didn’t know, she gathered her files, checked them for the third time to ensure she’d stacked them in alphabetical order then rested her electronic tablet on the top, ready to show Mr Bronson exactly how competent she could be.

      She hadn’t seen him arrive but the receptionist assured her he’d been holed up in the old manager’s office since early this morning and hadn’t opened his door since.

      She’d be the first staff member he would interview.

      ‘Woo-hoo, lucky me,’ she muttered, glancing at the old-fashioned round clock opposite her desk. She valued punctuality so surely her new boss would be impressed if she arrived five minutes early for their meeting?

      Not giving herself time to ponder the upcoming face-to-face she’d been dreading ever since he’d told her of his arrival in Sydney, she swept up her work in her arms and headed for his office.

      The receptionist mouthed ‘good luck’ and Charlotte grimaced in response, before knocking twice on Mr Bronson’s door.

      When she heard a clipped, ‘Come in,’ she opened the door and stepped inside. He had his back to her, his butt resting on the desk while he spoke into a cell pressed to his ear.

      Her first impressions: dark wavy hair a tad too long to be conventional, broad shoulders, designer suit, nice ass.

      Wow, that guy yesterday must have really done a number on her if one of the first things she noticed about Mr Tall, Dark and Demanding was his ass.

      She closed the door and crossed the room, mentally reciting all the ways she’d like to torture him in response to how he’d tortured her over the last few weeks.

      However, all thought fled when he ended his call and turned to face her.

      Shock rendered her muscles useless and the files in her hands tumbled to the floor, along with her tablet, the numbness flooding her body soon replaced by something far more sinister.

      Soul-deep, soul-destroying mortification.

      Because the boss she had to impress to keep this job, the boss who’d made her life hell with his demands, the boss who could make or break this company, was the sexy guy who’d turned her world upside down yesterday in the warehouse.