Work For It (Naiad Novels Book 1)

I’ve worn something for Daniel, and I hate myself a little for it.

I’m back in New York, and today, I put actual thought into my outfit for once. Instead of my usual leggings and an oversized sweater, I’m wearing a cute skirt and a top that makes my tits look great but still isn’t quite inappropriate for the office. And yes, my lingerie is red as requested…and I packed a few of my other favorite sets. A girl’s got to have options, and I wouldn’t mind if he saw them too.

I’m like a high schooler getting dolled up in hopes that I’ll bump into my crush in the hallway. It’s fucking mortifying, and yet here I am.

Despite our conversation the day he dumped a new project on me—one I’m trying to wheedle my way out of with Jim—I’ve still found myself thinking of Daniel in moments when I shouldn’t. On the train yesterday, I couldn’t stop images of what might happen this time from floating through my mind. Would we hook up in my hotel room again or go back to his place? Would it be as good as our last two encounters, or has the excitement worn off? Would it be prefaced by him insulting me again in an attempt to rile me up for more hate sex?

The fantasies always come to me quick and easy. Maybe it’s a perk of being a writer. But it’s also a pain in the ass because I tend to set myself up for failure. The idea of men is almost always better than the reality, though Daniel seems to be an exception. So far, he’s lived up to all of my expectations. Maybe because the bar is in hell.

The last two weeks have moved by at a snail’s pace. My vibrator has truly been getting the workout of its life. It’s charged and tucked away in my suitcase as a contingency plan in case nothing happens between Daniel and me, but I can’t imagine it won’t, especially since he literally said he’d change his plans for me. I won’t call it romantic, but I can admit it’s…considerate.

I’m hoping to get confirmation from him when he comes into the office. Maybe a quick is this still happening? if we brush by each other in the hall or end up in the kitchen at the same time. But when the minutes tick down and our morning meeting is set to begin and he still hasn’t stepped off the elevator, my stomach sinks.

Disappointment hits me as I get up and move closer to Ella, where she, Nikki, and Zoe are crowded around her laptop. Half our team is working from home today, as is the norm, so the Zoom meeting is full of little boxes. I lean an elbow on Ella’s shoulder and peruse the slowly loading video feeds.

And there he is. Daniel is set up at his desk at home, sipping the coffee I imagined he and I would chat over in the office kitchen. He knew I’d be here, practically made plans to see me today, but chose to work from home. Damn this hybrid work.

And like an idiot, I’m mad about it. Because, I realize now, I’ve actually been looking forward to seeing him.

Ew, gross.

The meeting starts as it always does, with a weekend catch-up, then we move on to a discussion about what each of us is working on today. I peer over Ella’s shoulder when it’s my turn, telling the group I’ll be editing chapters of Burned by the Billionaire. The story is updated daily, along with three others assigned to me. In all, I’m responsible for the production of twenty-eight chapters every week. And if I have to take on Bonded to the Baby Daddy as well, I’ll likely die from exhaustion. If Daniel deigns to show up at the office today, I will punch him in the gut for bringing this misery upon me.

He’s next up to speak. “Bunch of calls today. Closing some deals,” is his vague response.

I only know what happens in those acquisitions calls because of my own deal with Naiad. Daniel was wildly charming and said all the right things to garner my interest. It wasn’t until I read the fine print on the contract that I discovered the devil hiding behind those honeyed words. As I always do when I think about it, I fume. But then I remember the other things he can do with his tongue, and the hate dials back a notch or two.

I try to keep myself from watching his little video box on the screen and wave to the rest of my coworkers when the meeting is ending. Ella exits out of Zoom and swivels in her chair, glancing between Nikki and Zoe and me.

“Which one of you wants to help me figure out the logistics of this orgy?” Ella asks.

None of us blink.

“Is this the firefighter orgy in Fire to Flame or the chefs that run the secret sex club?” Zoe questions.

“It’s for Bone Appétit.” Ella waggles her brows. “And the chefs brought their knives.”

I put my hands up and take a step back. “That’s out of my realm.” I pride myself in my ability to write just about any consensual kink or type of sex, and I’ll never kink shame—but there are things I prefer not to venture into, even to help a friend. “Best of luck, babe.”

She sighs, then turns to Nikki and Zoe, smiling in that innocently sweet way of hers. “Do either of you know anything about pain kink?”

I snicker as I settle into a seat at another table. With my laptop set up, I dig through my bag for my earbuds and click on one of my many playlists. But before I can press play, I find myself pulling up Slack, Daniel’s name looking entirely too enticing.

I shouldn’t, but I’ve been doing a lot of things I should avoid lately. So I click on our thread of messages and start typing.

Are you coming into the office today? The second I hit send, I regret it, and I consider unsending the message before he can see it. But before I can act, he’s typing.

Wasn’t planning on it.

It’s blunt, no explanation offered. I should leave it at that, my one query satisfied. That way I won’t come off as an obsessed stalker, desperate to know his whereabouts. Which I’m totally not.

I’m not.

Oh fuck, am I?

Even if nothing happens between us this time, or ever again, I’d still like to talk face to face. Is that bad? It would be a hit to my ego, but I’d rather be shot down in person than be strung along—to be given a definitive answer as to whether this has met its end instead of waiting around to see what he does next. We haven’t made any plans, minus some vague lingerie requests and offers to change plans, but does that really mean anything?

What does it even matter? I can’t be thinking about this right now. I have too much work to do to let this consume my thoughts.

But, because the universe is conspiring against me, the first chapter I pull up includes a hot and heavy hookup in the billionaire’s office. The couple has just finished an argument that has the potential to ruin their relationship. But before either can walk away, the hero has the heroine bent over his desk and he’s pushing up her skirt and—

Heart racing, I scan the room. I can’t work in the main office space today. Not on this.

“I’m gonna go work in one of the conference rooms.” Pushing out of my chair, I shoot a smile at the still chatting girls, then unceremoniously gather my things.

“We’ll shut up soon, I promise,” Ella says, likely thinking I’m distracted by their discussion.

“Don’t worry about it.” I shake my head and flash them all a tight smile. “Have fun with your knife play.”

Then, without looking back, I hurry off before they can convince me to stay. I take refuge in one of the secluded conference rooms down the hall near the elevators. When I’m settled, I press the heels of my palms against my forehead and suck in deep breaths to clear my mind. When I feel like my skull has been sufficiently punished, I reopen my laptop and shake out my hands.

I’m here to get shit done, not worry about whether a particular man is going to show up—no matter how much I might want him to.

I’m halfway through what I need to get edited today when there’s a knock on the door of the conference room. I look up and blink a few times, trying to transport myself back to the Naiad office instead of Finsbury Tech Inc. headquarters, the setting of Burned by the Billionaire, and find Nikki popping her head around the doorframe.

“Hey, you wanna go get lunch with us in a bit?” she asks.

It takes me a second before I nod. “Yeah, give me like a half hour. I’m crazy behind on edits.”

She groans. “Don’t even talk to me about those. I’m planning on leaving early today just so I can do them from the comfort of my own bed.”

“If I work from my hotel, I’ll fall asleep in about five seconds flat,” I tell her, though I wish I could crawl into bed right now. “I’m staying here until at least six.”

“Don’t even blame you.” She pulls back from the door. “Come find us when you’re ready.”

I manage to finish out another chapter before I leave the conference room, glancing around the main office space to see if Daniel has shown up. There’s no sign of him, and I hate myself a little more for even checking.

After lunch, I head back to my little space, doing my best not to scan the office again on my way, and hunker down. Zoe and Ella come in and check on me a few times to make sure I don’t need anything—like a cup of tea, a snack, or a pep talk to get me through the rest of my work—but around four, my coworkers start to file past my door on the way to the elevators. Zoe is the last to leave around five-thirty, and invites me to dinner, but I decline. I still have too much to do if I’m going to make my weekly deadline.

I choke back the panic that bubbles up, just like it does every time I think about what my days will look like if I’m forced to take on the new project. I already spend most of my waking hours staring at Word documents, battling such bad eye strain that even taking a week off from screens wouldn’t help. I might collapse from stress if it ends up on my plate.

Shaking off the negative thoughts, I remind myself that adult life can’t always be sunshine and rainbows. I just have to keep pushing.

Once I’ve successfully shoved the self-pity away, I buckle down again and get back to edits. Down the hall, the elevator dings, but I don’t look up from my computer screen. Zoe has only been gone a few minutes, so it’s probably her coming back for something she forgot.

I only have a few more chapters to edit today, and I don’t want to slow my momentum again. Unlike Nikki, once I close my laptop and leave the office, that’s it. My only plans for the rest of the evening involve dinner and my hotel bed.

It’s the sound of the conference room door opening that finally gets my attention. And my breath catches in my throat when I drag my gaze away from my screen.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Daniel after a moment, hoping he can’t see the way my heart beats wildly in my chest. “You said you weren’t coming in.” And it’s nearly six o’clock.

“I said I wasn’t planning on it,” he replies smoothly. He drops into the seat across from me and leans back in the rolling chair.

Watching him watch me, I wait for a more in-depth explanation but get none. Typical. “Workday’s practically over,” I point out.

“I didn’t come here to work.”

Heat creeps through me at the meaning behind those words, even though I’m determined not to react. I could always argue that the whole reason for coming to the office is to work, but instead, I tilt my head to the side and stare him down.

“So you came here for me.” I don’t phrase it as a question, just a fact, taking a play from his book.

His eyes are dark, unreadable as he assesses me. “You’re being very bold.”

Hell yeah, I am. I’ve spent too much time worrying about him today, wondering if he would appear and what his expectations are. This feels like my last chance, the final opportunity to get the answer I’ve been waiting for.

“You bring that out in me,” I tell him, doubling down on the boldness.

“I’m honored.”

“You should be.”

For a long moment, we simply stare, daring one another to make the next move. It won’t be me, though. The ball is in his court. He’s the one who showed up at the end of the day, presumably just for me. If he wants something, he’ll have to take it from me.

I nearly stop breathing when he stands and stalks around the table.

I peer up at him, not about to move, lest I lose this slight upper hand. But when he dips down to brush his lips over mine, then drags them across my cheek to my ear, a shudder races through me, reminding me that I never had the power here.

“Close your eyes.”

When all I do is narrow them, Daniel repeats the words, my name a warning whisper on the end.

With one more glance up at him, I do as he says.

I wait. For what, I don’t know. Daniel’s heat dissipates, and I hear his feet move across the floor, but the scent of his cologne lingers in the air.

I remain in darkness for what feels like an eternity, even though it can’t be more than a few seconds.

What’s taking him so long?

I get my answer when his hands rest on my knees. But the only way he’d be at that angle is if—

Gasping, I open my eyes, finding myself staring at the tabletop until I push back just enough to spot him under it.

“What are you doing?” I blurt, gripping the armrests of my chair so tightly I’ll probably leave indentations.

Below me, Daniel is unfazed, his touch drifting higher up my thighs to the hem of my skirt. Suddenly, I’m thankful I ditched my itchy, annoying tights this morning, but the other part wonders if I should have kept them on.

“You know exactly what I’m doing,” he says, eyes meeting mine.

And there it is—the dare. He knows I want this, and he’s challenging me to work up the strength to turn him down.

In theory, I could. I don’t love how I’ve been subject to his whims, like he assumes I’m sitting around waiting for him to show up.

And I should turn him down. I should get up. I should scoff and walk away with a sway to my hips while telling him you can’t have me.

Except I don’t want to.

“This could get us both fired,” I whisper, but I don’t pull away. “Are there cameras in here?”

He slides his hands higher, the pace excruciatingly slow, until his fingers dip beneath my skirt. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“Daniel.”

His fingers wander toward my inner thighs, fully under my skirt now, and stroke the soft skin there, making me wetter with each swipe. “I thought you liked breaking the rules.”

I swallow hard, flustered. “Not all of them,” I hedge. Because this is a terrible idea.

“What about this one?”

My stomach clenches. Naturally, my body is more than ready to break a thousand rules if it means he’s going to make me feel so fucking good. There’s no doubt that he will.

And the image of him on his knees under the table, pushing up my skirt? This will be ingrained in my memory for the rest of my life. I’ve read about this kind of stuff—hell, I’ve written it myself—but that’s fiction. Romanticized. In real life, this shit doesn’t happen.

“Daniel,” I say softly, cupping his cheek. “You don’t have to do this.”

His only response is the curl of his fingers under the edge of the red lace of my underwear. The pair I wore just for him. I get the exact reaction I want when I lift my hips and move to the edge of the chair.

“You fucking live to torture me.” His voice is a low murmur as he pulls my panties down my legs. But there’s no mistaking the meaning, even if I can’t make out the Spanish words that follow.

I gasp and grip the edge of the table when his warm breath hits my exposed skin and he pushes my thighs farther apart. I don’t fight him. I’m still unsure we should be doing this here, even though I want it—badly. But Daniel has me splayed out in front of him in no time.

With his mouth poised just above where I want him most, he peers up at me through his thick lashes.

“Yes or no, Selene?”

“Yes,” I breathe as I drop one shaking hand and push his curls back. I want to see all of him as he does this. “Yes, please.”

I was so wrong to think I had any power over him. This man will always have me begging in no time.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “So polite,” he commends.

Before I can tell him to cut the shit, his mouth is on me and my sharp inhale echoes off the high ceiling.

While the anticipation alone was enough to leave me pulsing, the way his tongue flicks over my clit and his fingers grip my thighs send me dangerously close to screaming out my release almost instantly. Just like the night of the holiday party, he brings me to the edge before slowing, dragging me back again. It’s an up and down, a give and take, a mountain that keeps growing and dipping until there’s nowhere else to go but to the top.

“Fuck,” I moan, gripping his hair a little tighter with one hand while the other slaps down on the table. I don’t know whether I want to pull away from the building pressure or grind against his face.

I choose to pull away, to seek a reprieve, but Daniel clutches at me, and as if he’s punishing me for trying to back off, he gives my clit a harsh lave of his tongue, making me hiss. Then he’s back to that consistent pressure, bringing me higher.

I drop my head back and blow out a breath toward the ceiling, reminded that we’re still in the office. But I don’t even care. Daniel could do this to me anytime, anywhere, and I’d thank him for it. This man so easily takes the control that I do my best to hold on to tightly. If it weren’t so satisfying, it might be terrifying.

I gasp when he slips a finger inside me and crooks up gently. Knowing I can’t hold out for much longer, I relinquish my hold on his hair and place that hand on the table with my other, bracing myself as he adds another finger. This time, I can’t help but rock my hips, savoring the pressure building in me. I’m close, so fucking close…

And then he’s pushing me over the edge. The room around me falls away as deep pleasure pulses through my body. It’s so good I practically want to tell this man I love him—or at least what he manages to reduce me to.

He places featherlight kisses on the inside of my thighs as my legs tremble and my lungs heave and I float back down to earth. And somehow, when the world around me comes back into focus, he’s standing right next to me.

Daniel wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, pulling his full lower lip to the side as he does. “Let’s go,” he says. “Workday’s over.”