The Dare (Truth or Dare Book 1)

The sight before me would be amusing, and perhaps a part of me is chuckling inside, if it wasn’t so utterly brazen . . . and bizarre.

I’m nearly a hair’s breadth from calling on security to have this woman promptly hauled off, but the ridiculous antics intrigue me enough to find out what prompted this outrageous venture.

Admittedly, her delectable ass might play a part in that decision to wait as well, I think as I pick up one of the dozens of copies of her round ass split down the middle by a shadow that appears to be a lace thong.

I shut the door behind me, closing us both into my private space. A threat to us both, but I’m decidedly in charge here.

“Holy shit,” the blonde whispers from the floor, her legs dangerously askew.

I silently walk over and shut off the copy machine, and the whirring noise quiets, tragically ending the additions to the stack of copies in the tray.

I continue my trek, first closing the window and then sitting at my desk. I sip at my too-sweet coffee as if I haven’t a care in the world. “Clean up your mess.”

The order is cold, and I swear I detect the slightest shiver through the woman’s body. I don’t dare get close enough to help her up, knowing that would be a fool’s errand and a sure-fire way to ‘have your hand caught in the cookie jar’. An American phrasing I find rather amusing.

She huffs haughtily as she flips over, much like a tortoise who’s stuck on its back. On all fours, it almost seems as though she sways her bare ass at me in one last attempt at . . . whatever game it is she’s playing.

Seduction? If so, she is woefully clumsy and dependent on her rather pleasing looks. Or perhaps she has been sent to trap me in an unseemly situation.

Sabotage? Though she wasn’t going through my desk or personal files as a corporate spy would do. I glance at the black screen of my computer.

Maybe there’s another angle I haven’t deduced yet. Best to stay wary.

I watch carefully as she stands, pointedly wiggling her skirt over her ass as she glares at me as though this whole thing is my fault. She scrambles around the room, picking up the copies.

Mindlessly, she stacks them neatly with every few additions, automatically facing them the same direction and aligning the edges as though they’re significant. The unintentional action tells me something important about her. An attention to detail her current predicament contradicts.

As she works, she mutters to herself. “So fucking stupid, Elle. You’re going to get fired, and for what?” She throws her voice high, obviously mimicking someone. “Make your mark.” In her own sultry voice, she sneers, “Whatever the hell that means.”

Her conversation of one only intrigues me more.

Having collected all the copies, save the one in my hand, she faces away from me, her back ramrod straight, and I know she’s staring at the door and considering making a run for it.

With her not looking at me, I take the opportunity to glance from the copy I possess to the ass before me. Round, full globes that I could dent with my fingertips as I squeeze her, ones that would look quite lovely with a pink tint from a smack.

I clear my throat and my mind of inappropriate thoughts. “I could call security if you’d like. We have two officers on this floor at all times.” I sound as if I couldn’t care less. Truthfully, I’m much more interested in handling this . . . whatever this is . . . myself.

I notice her shoulders tense at the mention of security, climbing a half-inch before she drops them heavily and turns around.

“No, sir. That won’t be necessary. I apologize—”

I cut off her useless apology. “Sit,” I say, gesturing to the chairs in front of my desk.

She freezes, and after a split second where I wait for her find her courage, I slam my hand on my desk, making everything bounce. The framed photo she reset on the corner falls facedown.

Her jump is a small victory. Her sitting down as requested is a larger one.

I peruse the photo in my hand like it’s a work of art, letting her watch me visually critique her sexy buttocks.

She interrupts me, apologizing again, though this time I swear she’s batting her lashes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wolfe. I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

“Your name,” I bark sharply, cutting her off.

“Elle Stryker,” she says, just as sharp. She might as well be giving me her name, rank, and serial number.

My heart stops as the name rings a bell. I blink, noticing the faint resemblance. On the surface, they’re nothing alike, him dark haired and her blonde, but there’s something about the intelligence lurking in her blue eyes. “Stryker . . . Daniel is your father?”

“Yes,” she answers automatically, but I can see the fear the admission causes.

But why fear? Because she’s been captured being Daniel’s insider, like his so-called bodyguards? Or fear that word of her inappropriateness will reach her father’s ears? Or something else?

A hundred scenarios play through my head, one of which says that Daniel was in on this whole bizarre incident to cause some sort of scandal that’d weaken my position with the company and ruin my chances of heading HQ2.

It’s pretty far-fetched, but the timing’s tight. If Daniel’s got a little core of familial operatives in the company . . .

Fury surges from my gut at the thought. Would he really stoop so low? I knew he was going to try to stop me somehow, but I thought he’d be honorable.

“Did Daniel put you up to this? Some off the wall attempt to try to smear me?” I demand. “Because if he did—”

“No!” Elle says bravely, raising her hand. She’s scared, very scared, but in her voice, I hear honesty. She shakes her head vigorously. “He would never! And if he knew I’d done this . . . he’d kill me.”

I open my lips to call her a liar but pause. She’s convincing. Is she right? But why else would she be in my office, carousing like a half-naked tart after a night at the pub?

The sincerity in her body and in her face stays my words.

“Then why?” I ask.

She drops her gaze, her first true yield.

“Have you ever been dared to do something so crazy that you know you should say no, but there’s a fire inside you begging you to do it even though you know it’s ridiculous?” The words are a tumble of syllables across her pursed lips.

I arch an eyebrow, baffled, amused, and intrigued all at once. “A dare? So if someone were to dare you to jump off my balcony into the canyon behind us, Miss Stryker, would you?” I ask.

Normally, I’d be certain I knew the answer to such a ridiculous question. With this woman, I’m not at all sure that she wouldn’t find a way to do it.

“No,” Elle says quietly, her stock rising in my eyes by the word. Playful? Yes. Prone to foolishness? Obviously. But at least she knows how to comport herself when necessary. “Unless you’re talking about base jumping, because then, I might do it. Though I’m scared of heights.” She shrugs like that would mean nothing if she were actually dared.

And her stock skyrockets.

Intelligence and guts, with a side of crazy and planned maneuverings.

Fascinating. And terrifying if this is Daniel’s daughter.

She’s good, which means he’s even better.

“So assuming I believe you, tell me about this dare,” I prompt. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes as if she’s going to tell me a bedtime story, but truthfully, I want to focus on her voice. See if there are any wavers in the lies or falters in the tale.

“My friend, Tiffany, and I work downstairs. We dare each other to do silly things to keep life interesting. Silly stuff, nothing unprofessional on the clock, and weird stuff only in our free time. It’s just a thing we’ve always done. Well, she dared me to talk to you a few times because you’re . . . well, you.”

She pauses, and I crack one eye open to find her looking me up and down. Curious. I note the thick swallow and slight up tilt of her lips as I close my eyes again, waiting for her to resume.

When she stays quiet, I open both eyes.

“So instead of speaking to me, you wallpaper my office with . . .”

I pick up the paper again, and she snarls, “I did speak to you. ‘Good morning, sir,’ and I get a grunt. ‘Nice suit,’ and not so much as a thank you, and I dropped an entire file in front of you once and you virtually stepped over me on your way to the elevator.” It’s an accusation.

How could I have never noticed her? While I admit I’m not much of a morning person, have I really been so wrapped up in my own affairs that I’ve just walked by without seeing Elle? How could I never notice this stunningly beautiful creature?

I’m not unaware of my appeal and am no stranger to women chasing me for my looks or my money.

But the timing is suspect, so very underhandedly dubious.

“So with my unintentional ignorance of your interest, you and your friend decided the next logical step was . . . this?” I flash the image of her own ass her way before turning it back to my view.

“She dared me to ‘make my mark’ in a way of my choosing. Her ideas were crazy.” Her bottom lip disappears behind her teeth for a flash.

“Hers were crazy? Do tell,” I say, interested in what could be construed as crazier than this high-school antic.

With a sigh, Elle ticks off on her hands. “Leave my panties on your desk, leave an ass print on the wood, move everything one inch, and my favorite was drawing a mustache on the self-portrait she was sure you have, but since there wasn’t one, I had to improvise. It didn’t seem right to draw on that picture.”

She points at the picture of a frizzy-haired girl I keep on my desk, a reminder of why I do what I do. “It’s my sister, Elizabeth . . . Lizzie. She’s home in London with my family.”

Elle’s eyes brighten, and I wonder who she thought Lizzie was to me.

I’m starting to believe this crazy story she’s concocted, but I’m not stupid. Just because she might have one reason to do this doesn’t mean she doesn’t have more than one. Or maybe she’s a better liar than she seems to be.

I eye her thoughtfully and she meets my gaze unflinchingly.

I turn away first, forcing myself to think of something other than her sexiness in order to calm my thoughts. I decide to stalk her, like the Wolfe I am, and maybe see if I can use this situation to my advantage. I rise from my chair, pacing about the room and feeling her eyes track my every movement. She thinks she’s watching me, but I’m observing her just as closely.

“Your father is a powerful man,” I say, keeping my voice clipped and level, a schoolmaster at lecture. “So why are you working on the ground floor when I’m sure he could get you a job elsewhere?”

“He offered me one,” Elle answers immediately, more confident than before. “I turned him down. I don’t want any favors.”

There’s something to her tone, a distaste, perhaps, and I wonder if she is as unappreciative of her father’s nepotism as I am.

Perhaps we have that in common—a desire to set our own course and lead our own successes and failures.

“Why not work for another company then?”

Elle smiles serenely, as if she expected the question. “There’s earning my way and then there’s blind stupidity. Fox is the best, I’m the best, and here, I’ll learn to be even better. It worked for my father and it’ll work for me, and best of all, he’ll have a front-row seat to see me succeed.”

Good answer. And in that self-confident smile, I get the sense that there’s something more behind her than a mere mischievous little wood sprite. And something else . . . something more with her father.

I put pieces of the puzzle together. Daniel and his daughter have a good relationship, one where he wants her close by, but she still feels the need to prove herself to him and be independent of his reach. She’s a bit wild and crazy but smart and methodical.

I grin, circling her, and I can sense her anxiety. Her breath catches, and her breasts, which have been lifting up and down in hypnotic, wave-like motions, stop, pressing out even more against her white blouse.

I swear . . . bugger me, but I think her nipples are hard right now. At the thought, my cock twitches. Bloody hell, I need to get laid. And quit staring at the photocopies of her ass.

It’s time to stop this . . . for now. I need a bit of distance to decide how best to proceed here.

“You may leave, Miss Stryker. You’ll hear from me soon.”

Elle gets up to leave but pauses at the door, looking back at me with narrowed eyes. “What are you going to do?” Her suspicion is understandable, even admirable.

I lift an eyebrow. I’ve got so many options in front of me right now. I could fire her, but something is telling me not to. I could tell her father, but I don’t want to do that either.

I could use this to my advantage.

“I don’t know yet. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Sitting down behind my desk, I pick up the final remaining copy of Elle’s picture, looking at it but not truly seeing it even though it’s gorgeous.

Even though the plain paper shows the generous curvy roundness of her sexy ass split by a swatch of lace, I see her eyes flashing with anger. I see her lips, plumped as she bit them, her nipples, hard against the cotton of her dress shirt, and her cheeks flushed in anger even as she’s the one invading my private sanctuary.

I need to think strategically here, but every thought in my head is clouded. With a growl, I grab the paper and head to my private en suite. Locking the door behind me, I undo my belt and take my cock out. I’m rock hard, already resigned to the inevitability of what I’m about to do.

I grip myself firmly, angry at my own weakness. I grasp the photo, wrinkling the edges beneath my fingertips, and jack myself, up and down fast and hard as I picture her. Ass on my copier, bent over the same machine, sprawled out on the floor with her skirt shoved up around her waist, all tempting visions that tantalize me. I let my eyes trace the skinny strip of lace on the copy paper, wishing I could see just a bit more.

It doesn’t take me long, less than a half dozen strokes to spurt long, thick ropes into the toilet as I grunt my release. I’m careful not to let a single droplet touch Elle’s picture. I don’t want it ruined.

Afterward, I wash my hands and return to my desk. I fold the picture up carefully, tucking it into my coat pocket.

With the edge off, I try to think through the unexpected happenings of today.

Daniel is going to come at this HQ2 fight with both barrels loaded like the strategic, battle-hardened business executive he is. He’s bold, brash, and in your face. Rather like his daughter, I think. But where it is delightfully refreshing and intriguing in Elle, it’s bothersome in Daniel when he’s sitting on the opposite side of the table from me, the obstacle to my getting what I want.

While I’d considered that Daniel was using Elle as a means to get at me, if that’s not the case, perhaps the better option is the reverse? To use Elle as leverage.

The question is how do I use that leverage? I could just expose her, drop a hand grenade on Daniel’s day and reputation and secure the HQ2 project while he’s picking up the pieces.

But that’s not guaranteed, is rather unsportsmanlike in our professional competition of one-upmanship, and more importantly, it’d hurt Elle. I don’t know why, exactly, but I don’t want that.

In fact, I’d fancy seeing her again.

I mean, who wallpapers an executive’s office with copies of their arse on a dare? It’s wild, and I find myself intrigued, even wanting a little bit more of that.

Maybe there’s a better way to leverage Elle Striker—for me, for her, and against Daniel.