Business Dinner

"Good morning, sir." She stumbles into my office with a box of papers and a panicked expression. "Ms. Moore, how many times do I have to preach punctuality to you?" I ask, cocking a brow as she places the box on my desk and bows in apology. "I'm sorry, sir, I had family problems this morning," she says, pushing her dark hair behind her ears, and my eyes follow her each and every action, failing to resist her hypnosis.

Nothing new.

"So did I, but I still got here on time; that's no excuse." I watch as her black, silky hair moves delicately each time she dips her head, softly apologizing, and my lips twitch to smile at how adorable she looks, but I keep it together. Focus.

"Get me my regular in three," I instruct, and her eyes go wide at the two minutes less than usual. She rushes out the door in no time, and I let out a sharp exhale of relief. I simply shortened the time since it was the quickest solution I could think of to get her out of here.

Every time I see Monique, I feel compelled to do unthinkable things to her, and the longer we stay in the same place together, the tension becomes unbearable to the point where I can feel my barriers breaking down and an unidentified beast scuttling to get to the remarkable woman. This has been occurring too often.

Perhaps I'm just desperate considering my last relationship ended five years ago, but even so, I didn't feel anything like I do now. This is different from when I was a simple 23-year-old man dating a gorgeous woman in my class out of attraction and status. I've never felt a greater draw to a woman on a sexual and sensual level than I do to Monique.

I give myself a quick smack on the cheek in an attempt to concentrate on my task, but she returns shortly after with my coffee. She winces a little and says, "Ouch," and I see the liquid on her skin right away.

Did I mention how clumsy she can be?

"You should be more attentive, Ms. Moore." "I apologize, sir," she says as she turns to go back to her cabin, but not under my watch. “Come here.” She obeys my command, and I stand, adjusting the sleeves of my shirt while looking for my small first aid kit.

I return and tower over her petite 5'4" body by only a foot. And as I take her tiny, delicate hands into mine, I notice a red spot starting to appear. "You're a very clumsy girl, Ms. Moore." My voice suddenly gets hazy, and I feel compelled to kiss the spot, which I do. I let my lips stay there for a while because I knew that if I break away too soon, I'll end up kissing her. I just know.

We've been in this situation before, yet she always reacts the same way—with a shiver and rosy cheeks that make me feel something over and above what is appropriate.

Monique

"Be on time for our business dinner, scheduled for later," he says once he puts the first aid box away. "I'll send you the details." I nod at his words, but what's really grabbing my attention is his figure—his slender, well-built figure—standing in front of me in all of his gorgeous lavishness. Oh, I want to grab hold of his neatly ironed black jacket and give him a passionate kiss, as if our lives depended on it.

"Yes, sir," I clear my throat, dismissing my thoughts, and I try to leave the room as composedly as I can. This is difficult when you feel your boss's intensely gorgeous look on you moments after his lips make contact with your skin and a waterfall is flowing between your thighs.

Oh my.

I take a seat around my desk and begin working, which shouldn't be much today.

Mr. McIntyre calls me to his office a few hours after lunch, and when I get there, his hair is in a cute tangle, as if he'd been taking his stress out on the poor hairs. "Yes, sir?" He tilts his head upward, and our eyes make four. "Go home and get ready," he says. "Sir, I still have a few more files to finish." He frowns at me as he takes off his reading glasses from the bridge of his sharp nose, which I find so attractive.

"Leave it; you can always complete it another time." "I'll send you a chauffeur and the details in a while." I sigh, but I don't object, giving a nod before heading out.

I take a shower at home, get dressed in a blazer jacket and a dressy spaghetti strap dress, and match with black high heels. I'll have to suffer and hope that everything works out well in terms of my luck since, as much as I adore sneakers, I can't quite wear them to a business dinner.

I enter the tastefully decorated space. It has an elegant, sophisticated, cozy vibe with soft talking over an instrumental track. "Reservation with Mr. McIntyre." "Pleasant night, madam." I flash the waitress a smile as I wait to be admitted. She glances up from her tablet and says, "Right this way," directing me to his table.

My heart quickens at the sight of Ryan's form, and when our gazes lock, I feel my heart drop. Feeling my cheeks heat up, I break eye contact first and stealthily take advantage of the opportunity to check him out while the waitress speaks.

His shirt is showing a tad bit more of his chest than it would be in the office, and his hair is polished and sexily gelled back. He is gripping the brittle glass of water with his veiny hand, and for some reason, I want to become that glass.

I immediately snap out of my reverie when the waitress leaves, and he looks back at me. He seems to be evaluating me for a long time, and I start to overanalyze myself. Do I have too much or too little clothing on for the setting? Or do I not look good in this outfit? I question myself, but the minute I hear him murmur, “Gorgeous,” I instinctively relax. My lips automatically fold, and my cheeks begin to heat up.

"Okay, order something. I'll call the waitress over." I frown at his instructions. "Are the other partners not coming?" "No, they canceled at the last minute, so it's just us." I nod, blushing a little. Only us. My instinct tells me that there was never a ‘business dinner,’ but that's just the delusion talking.

When it comes to the gorgeous man in front of me, I only really let my imagination and thoughts take precedence over reality.