It’s needled me now for twenty-four hours straight, the possibility that she was shopping for her date. It’s got me so pissed off by Friday afternoon that I nearly cancel the meeting she set up to go over plans for the breakroom. 

 

It’s got me so pissed off that I don’t cancel though I clearly should. 

 

She’s asked me to meet her up on the seventh floor so I can visualize everything, and she’s already there when I arrive—and leaning over the table to spread out the plans so that her ass is the first thing I see. The war inspired by Helen of Troy has always sounded ridiculous to me, until this moment. Lucie has an ass that could send several nations to war. 

 

I wonder what she’s wearing underneath it—if it’s the thing she was looking at yesterday or something more subdued—cotton panties, a plain white bra. I’d have no preference at all as long as she was willing to let me remove every last inch of it.

 

“Hi!” she calls over her shoulder, still trying to get the rolled-up plans to lay flat. I wish to god she’d just leave them alone.

 

“I’ve got it,” I say gruffly, walking up behind her and pinning the left corner of the plans down with my laptop. 

 

“You can tell me you hate them,” she says, taking a seat. “Not that you’ve ever been reticent about ripping someone’s hard work to shreds.” 

 

“Why would I be?” I ask, examining the first layout. “It’s one of the few perks of my position.” 

 

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, go ahead. At least it’ll give me a good ‘my boss is such a dick’ story when I’m talking to people.”

 

I wonder if by people she means her date. I wonder if it happened already. The question is enough to send a thread of rage through my stomach. My jaw grinds as I try to focus on the blueprint in front of me. 

 

“So, in the first option, we’d put a coffee bar here,” she says, rising again to point to that area of the plans. She bends over, her ass an inch from my face, and I see a hint of a panty line. Fuck. “And yes, they’ll be paying for the coffee, and yes, I know we’re not Google. It should completely cover its own costs. And then over here we’ll have couches and then ping pong and foosball in the far corner.” 

 

What was it she said that day when I drove her back from meeting Harrison?  “it would be a nice change to have someone try”?

 

I flinch, trying to focus. “I thought we’d agreed there’d be no designers or architects. These layouts alone probably cost half the budget I was envisioning.” 

 

She stares at me. “Caleb, I didn’t hire anyone. I’ve been working on them at home at night. I used an online design program. Doing design online is my favorite thing in the world. It was nice that it actually had a purpose for once.”

I glance back at the layouts. I’m struggling to believe she’s telling the truth, yet I know that she is. “Jesus, Lucie. You did these? Why the fuck aren’t you doing this professionally then?” 

 

She shakes her head and shoots me a half-hearted smile. “I chose the wrong major. I was still under the impression that if I couldn’t wow my father with who I am, I could wow him by becoming a titan of industry.” 

 

“Then go back to school.” 

 

“Going to school is for people who are unencumbered,” she replies, her shoulders sagging. “And I’m nothing but…cumbered. Which I don’t think is a word. Anyway, let me show you the other options.” 

 

She rises and, God help me, bends over again to shuffle a different plan atop the other. a plan that looks as good and as unnecessary as the first one, and I wonder how I could give her the money to go back to school without her knowledge. And then I think of this guy she’s going out with and whether she likes him enough to sleep with him, and I need to get the hell out of here before I ask one, or all.

 

“These are all really good, Lucie. You decide. We’ll show it to the executive committee, but you have carte blanche. As long as carte blanche doesn’t cost me much.”

 

“The nap rooms and disco will be nearly free,” she says, rising to move a book over the far corner of the plan so it stops rolling up. 

 

I glance at her thighs. I don’t think she’s wearing stockings, but it’s hard to—

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, turning back to look at me. 

 

I run a finger inside the collar of my shirt. “I was wondering if you were wearing stockings. I noticed the garter thing yesterday and…Jesus, never mind. This isn’t anything we need to discuss.”

 

Her jaw falls open. “And you wondered if I was wearing it? To work?” 

 

“Like I said, this is nothing we need to discuss. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

 

She grins over her shoulder. “Use your imagination,” she says, leaning over to move the book. 

And all my self restraint...evaporates.

 

“If you’re so insistent on your fairy tale,” I hiss, “consider not bending over in front of me while suggesting I use my imagination.” 

 

She doesn’t straighten. She doesn’t move an inch. “Or what, Caleb?” she asks.  “What will you do if I keep bending over?”

 

My chair scrapes the floor as I rise, my breath coming too fast. I should get the fuck out of this room but instead, my hand lands on her ass, slides over it as if I’m about to push her skirt up and show her exactly what could happen. 

 

I might. 

 

I grip her hips tight, pulling her against me so she can feel exactly what she’s done with her little taunt. Her gasp makes me harder still, so hard that it hurts. 

 

Jesus. What the fuck am I doing? I can’t. I know I can’t. But for a single moment I let my weight press further. I lean close. “Lucie,” I rasp, “be very careful with what you say to me. I have a lot less self-control than you think.”

 

And then I walk out of the room before she has time to change my mind.