Executive Perks (4 page)

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Aaron stood at the living room windows of his penthouse, naked. A pretty dangerous thing to do in the age of YouTube even if it was midnight and the city that never sleeps was lit up fifty stories beneath him.

“Aarrrrooon…”

The voice from the bedroom didn’t move him.

“Come back to bed, lover.”

Uncharacteristically, he was in no mood to do so. He tuned Julie’s voice out.

He couldn’t put a finger on what was bugging him. Nothing was going wrong in his life. Not precisely. His company was thriving. His bank account was beyond anything a kid from the Bronx, an orphan to boot, could ever have even dreamed of.

He had just gotten a perfectly competent lay from his current girlfriend, with whom he had an unspoken open relationship that allowed him to wander whenever he was so inclined.

So what was the problem?

The problem was he was so inclined. And the woman he was inclined to wander with actually hated his guts, for good reason.

Virginia Beckett.

Her corporate princess disdain of his business methods still riled him in a way he rarely let get to him these days. Not like when he was first starting out, fresh from a dozen foster homes and out to prove he was as good as any Ivy Leaguer. Quick to take offense back then, even as he tried not to show it, he twisted the corporate knife into his targets with relish, glad to think of driving them to an extra martini or two at the yacht club in despair as to what the world was coming to with all these upstarts. Virginia Beckett would have inspired the most ruthless of responses had he met her in those early days.

But he thought he was beyond all that now. He thought he was secure enough in his own success not to let the old jibes throw him off. But they had.

Maybe because he wanted the mouth with that silver spoon in it to be sucking his cock instead.

He’d half thought when he propositioned Virginia Beckett that he was just trying to needle her. A vivid erotic dream—or two—since then had convinced him otherwise. Just remembering the one he’d had last night—waking up from a sound sleep with a boner—made his cock stiffen and he casually reached one hand down to it, closing his eyes against the sight of the city and seeing only her.

She was up against the Coke machine again, and the cafeteria was empty. In fact, miraculously, the whole building was empty.

“
I’ll just throw in that if you want to fuck while we work this out, I’m more than amenable.”

The line was the same, but this time it was Virginia who said it, not him. Still in that cool, measured voice—no breathy Marilyn Monroe tones for this woman—but she didn’t have to ask him twice.

“Okay,” he said simply.

She unfastened the waistband of his trousers quickly and slid the zipper down, taking his already-hardening cock in both her hands and stroking, firmly, surely. He balanced one hand on the vending machine, watching her milk him, arching into her hands.

She was good with it, ruthless even, and his balls grew heavy.

“Not so fast,” he cautioned. “I want to come when I’m in you.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Hell, what didn’t he want her to do?

“Strip. Take your clothes off for me.”

She dropped her hands from him to comply and, losing the hot feel of her touch on him, he worried at first that he’d made a tactical error. But then she unbuttoned the silk of her blouse and slid it off her shoulders, and he knew the price was worth it. Bountiful tits—a solid handful even for a hand as big as his—spilled out, without the inconvenience of a bra.

He doubted the uptight Miss Beckett attended meetings braless, but what the hell? This was his dream, wasn’t it?

Naked to the waist, she was all curves and smooth skin and long blonde hair.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed, and she put her hands up to her breasts, fondling, the pads of her fingertips circling her nipples slowly.

He inched the skirt of her suit up as she played with herself and slid his hand along the inside of one sleek thigh. She closed her eyes and moaned so that by the time his fingers made it to the lace of what he could feel was a thong and slid over her soft and silky pubic hair and down to her pussy, she was soaking wet. He thrust two fingers into the warmth, rhythmically fucking her as his thumb flicked against her clit.

When she held one plump, pink-tipped breast out to him, he bent down to flick his tongue against the nipple, then took it in his mouth and sucked until the rigid peak was rosy and wet from his attentions. Then he started in on the other one.

“More,” she moaned and he straightened, withdrawing his fingers. Easing the zipper of her skirt down, he slid it off and then made short work of the thong as he wedged his hot cock between legs that were opening even farther to him.

“More what? My cock? You want my cock, Virginia?”

“Yes, yes, fuck me…”

He thrust his cock up her tight, wet pussy, his hands snaking around to her bare ass, holding her in place as he fucked her, so hard he could hear the soda cans in the machine behind them rattling.

Dreams like this, sleeping or waking, always had the slight feel of a porn film to him, as if he were watching instead of participating. And the dialogue was always cheesy.

He stroked his cock.

But what the hell? It worked for him.

They were suddenly in the conference room, fucking still, but on the polished mahogany table. All their clothes had vanished and she lay beneath him, legs wide open, tits jiggling as he held her arms above her head and pounded into her, papers jostling and falling to the floor.

“Aaron, we need to start the meeting.”

Rye’s voice from the door to the conference room didn’t make him pause for a second. The slick grip of her cunt as he moved in and out wouldn’t let him go.

“I’m coming,” Virginia moaned.

“Really, Aaron. We’re all on the clock here. Aaron. Aaron…”

“Aarrronnn…”

Seeing as how he was pumping his suddenly stone-hard cock anyway, reliving last night’s dream, Julie’s continuous beckoning from the bedroom should have been welcome, or at the very least convenient.

But being shaken out of his reverie merely annoyed him.

He stopped fisting his boner.

He hadn’t been kidding. He did want to fuck Virginia Beckett. Badly. Up against a vending machine. On a conference room table. Whatever. He doubted at this point, however, that the sentiment was reciprocated.

He’d have to do something about that.

He had given her the standstill, of course, but that was primarily because he didn’t have any prospects of additional stock purchases anyway and he thought it would maybe lull her into letting down her guard. In a business sense, that is. But now, maybe he could use it for something else he wanted.

“Aaarronnn…”

He didn’t want to go back in the bedroom. He wanted…he didn’t know. Something more. He no sooner had thought it, though, than the very idea pissed him off. Jesus, he was getting soft in his old age.

What was that old song—love the one you’re with? Or fuck her anyway.

He glanced toward the bedroom. After a moment, he headed that way.

Chapter Two

Virginia blankly contemplated the panoramic view outside her office window on the following rainy Monday afternoon. She hadn’t slept that well the night before. It had been a long time since she’d had
the dream
. A frequent nighttime companion in her childhood that she had finally trained herself to not scream at when she woke up, she hadn’t had it much as an adult. Except right after her parents died, of course. But that was years ago at this point. And then out of the blue, last night she’d bolted upright in her comfortable bed at Bransport. The clammy, drenched nightgown would have told her she’d had it, even if she hadn’t remembered every frame of every scene, which she had, of course. She always did.
The dream…

The frigid air penetrated her thin cotton dress, black as befitted the occasion. Wrapping her thin arms around herself didn’t make much of a dent in the chill. She shivered.

The mammoth steel door was shut tight. Tugging on the handle wouldn’t change that. He would come back. He had to. It was just a little joke. She closed her eyes, but then opened them back up just as quickly. She was afraid to keep them closed.

She was afraid to keep them open too.

The glimpse she had caught of the near-dark room before her uncle slammed the door shut behind her confirmed what he’d told her. This was the room where they embalmed dead bodies. One was right in there with her, right on the table, covered with a sheet.

The fear almost paralyzed her. Afraid to move, she stood stock still, until her stick-like bare legs shook with the effort. A faint rustling in the corner behind her made her suck in her breath in horror. Was there something with her in the room? Something other than the lifeless corpse that either just had been or just would be drained of all its blood?

She sank to the dusty cement floor, hugging her knees in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the drain in the floor. It was there to catch the spilled blood.

The buzz made her nearly jump out of her skin. She had been back in that damned funeral home again. God, would she never put that behind her? It was silly at this point.

She leaned over and pressed the lit speaker button of the intercom on her desk, allowing her secretary’s voice to come through.

“James Minlow on line one.”

“Thank you.” Virginia picked up the line, turning away from the silent thunderstorm bellowing out onto the street below. “Hello, James.”

They exchanged amenities about her weekend at Bransport, his on the Cape, and so forth before he addressed the subject of his call. “Rye tells me that you won’t take Winston’s calls.”

Virginia hesitated before responding. Winston had continued to have the incredible gall to try to contact her directly, phoning again this morning and then having his secretary refuse to put Brendan through when Brendan at Virginia’s instruction tried to return the call for her. “That’s right.”

“I see. What’s the theory behind that strategy?”

“It’s not precisely a strategy, James. We already have the standstill. I don’t want to talk to him. It’s as simple as that.”

“Well, I’m not sure I think that’s wise. You can’t afford to alienate Winston. He has too much leverage over you, especially if we hope to convince him to sell back the stock. Cold-shouldering Winston may be a dangerous move. Call him back, Virginia, find out what he wants.”

As if she didn’t know. It was either taking over her company after all or getting her to jump into bed with him until he decided to.

“He probably just wants to get a personal thank you from you about the standstill,” Minlow continued. “He did seem a little irked that you couldn’t make it to the signing, but I assured him that you had pressing weekend plans. And I covered for you with Rye just now, saying that you were probably swamped with catching up on work after your short vacation and that you’d get back to Winston as soon as possible. So let’s keep this on a friendly footing, shall we?”

Not too friendly, she hoped.

When she hung up with Minlow, she decided that there was no use in putting this off and dialed Winston’s number, surprised that she had memorized it from the message slip before she gave it to Brendan earlier today.

Winston’s secretary put her through immediately and Aaron’s low voice came over the line. “Miss Beckett, how nice of you to return my calls.”

Was there a hint of sarcasm in Winston’s tone? Virginia couldn’t be sure.

“Not at all,” she murmured. “Is there something you want to discuss with me, Mr. Winston?” Better to just ignore that bizarre proposition and keep in mind that they were business partners in a sense, who had recently come to a satisfactory compromise of their perhaps conflicting interests.

“Yes, there is, Miss Beckett. Could you possibly meet me for dinner tonight?”

Virginia’s immediate reaction was to refuse, especially given their last explosive meeting, but she didn’t pay Minlow seven hundred dollars an hour just to ignore his advice.

“I’d prefer a meeting in my office,” she mildly substituted for a refusal.

But Winston, damn him, was adamant and Virginia found herself sitting across from him at a romantic candlelit table in a swanky French restaurant only hours after their call. He ordered a bottle of fine California white wine as soon as Virginia arrived and insisted that she take a sip of her glass before he would disclose why he had asked to meet with her.

“Miss Beckett.” He smiled indulgently, slight indentations in his cheeks she hadn’t noticed before deepening. “Virginia, I asked you here tonight because I’d like to clear the air between us. I’m sorry if I insulted you at our last meeting.”