Out of Hours...Office Affairs: Can't Get Enough / Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss / Bound to the Greek

He needs me, she reminded herself. It’s my project, and he needs me, and he should remember that.

Except this wasn’t her style at all. She was a worker, a quiet achiever. A nonconfronter. And she was going to lose her job. She was going to be escorted from the building by mustached security guards, and she was never going to get another job in publishing. She’d get kicked out of her apartment, and her car would be repossessed, and before she knew it she’d be coming up with catchy names for bad adult movies for a living, titles such as Ordinary Peepholes and Free Willy. Although, technically, that was no different from the original even if it had a new interpretation. Maybe she’d be no good at this new career, either. Ah—Three Willy! Maybe she’d survive, then…

To her surprise, Beck suddenly laughed, pushing himself back from his desk and loosening his tie a little.

“Okay, Claire. Point taken. I apologize.”

Her vision of her career in pornography receded and she hoped she wasn’t looking as surprised as she felt. He was apologizing. Her boss was apologizing. She’d answered back and threatened him and he hadn’t had her escorted from the building. A slow feeling of elation bubbled into her blood. She felt…strong. Powerful. Valued.

All these years she’d been toeing the line and working hard and waiting to be acknowledged—and all it took was a bit of mouthing off to get some respect.

“Look, it’s a crappy situation we’ve put you in. I acknowledge that. But if you can swallow your pride for just a few months, I assure you we’ll get Jack off your back as soon as we can. And your…flexibility won’t be forgotten.”

A little drunk with her newly discovered power, she toyed with the idea of making another startling, bold statement. Something such as “I hate that tie,” or perhaps, “For God’s sake, do something about what’s left of your hair,” while she was on a roll, but she was wise enough to know when to quit.

“I’m not happy,” was what she actually said. “But I’ll do it, because I’ve put too much into Welcome Home to walk away.”

Her boss nodded.

“Understood. The board knows that magazine is all yours, Claire, don’t ever underestimate that. We consider you one of our most talented executives.”

She managed to contain the grin that was threatening to stretch her mouth wide. Respect and praise, all because she’d lost her temper.

“I trust I can leave it with you to sort things out with Jack?” her boss was saying, shuffling papers around on his desk.

She recognized the meeting was over and she stood quickly.

“I’ll take care of it,” she assured him.

Once out of Beck’s hallowed office, her focus swung around to consider Jack and his sneakery. It was a testament to how angry she was that she didn’t even think twice about getting in the elevator and taking it down to Jack’s level. She was concentrating instead on what she was going to say to him. He’d gone behind her back and tried to undermine her on her own project. She conveniently swept to one side the thought that she had been about to do the same to him. And she couldn’t even bear to think that while she’d been sitting home all night agonizing over why he hadn’t called, he’d been planning to approach Beck and get out of working with her.

She steamed out of the elevator and surveyed the open-plan office space confronting her, quickly spotting Jack’s assistant at a desk in the corner. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the fact that Jack enjoyed a corner office. One more reason to find him incredibly annoying.

Linda looked up with a smile when Claire stopped at her desk.

“I need to see Jack,” she said baldly.

Linda’s smile faded as she registered Claire’s mood, and Claire immediately felt like a jerk.

Perhaps she was taking this pushy thing a little too far….

“I mean—how are you?” she tried again, summoning a smile of her own.

“Fine. Jack’s not in right now,” Linda volunteered.

She shifted her gaze to the closed door over Linda’s shoulder.

“Is that a he’s-in-but-doesn’t-want-to-be-disturbed not in, or a real not in?” she asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“He’s in a meeting down in Sports,” Linda expanded.

“Right.” Claire stood for a moment, tapping her toe as she considered her options. She could leave a message for him, go back down to her office, get stuck into some work.

She shook her head. She could just imagine him screwing up any message she left him and tossing it in the bin as he headed out to an executive racquetball game.

“I’ll wait,” she announced suddenly. Then she pointed to Jack’s office door. “In there.”

Linda opened her mouth to protest, but Claire sailed past and into Jack’s inner sanctum. She did a quick survey of the room, aware that Linda had followed her and was standing behind her.

“Can I get you a coffee while you wait?” Linda asked politely, nothing in her tone giving away her true feelings.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said.

Linda gave a small nod and exited, closing the door behind her.

So she can warn him without me overhearing, Claire guessed. Well, tough. He’d have to come back here some time.

She glanced at the two seating options—a hard-looking chair at the front of Jack’s desk, or a squishy-looking sofa in the corner. She opted for the squishy sofa, throwing herself into it impatiently. It embraced her like an overly affectionate uncle, its cushions giving way alarmingly so that her butt sank low enough to lift her feet off the carpet.

Only Jack Brook could have a bucket-seat couch, she thought, struggling to lever herself up and out of its tenacious hold. She’d worked herself into a sweat and only managed to wriggle her hips forward, finally getting her high heels on the ground, when the door swung open and Jack entered. His blue gaze swung around like a spotlight and she felt the completeness of his scrutiny, becoming painfully aware of her flushed cheeks, the way her skirt was rucked up and the fact that the buttons at the front of her blouse were strained and gaping open because of the way her arms were levered behind her. This was not the way she’d imagined seeing him for the first time after what had happened between them. Neither had she imagined that her body would instantly go onto high alert, eager for any signal from him. Suddenly her breasts felt tight and sensitized in her bra, and she was aware of the brush of her silk shirt against her skin.

She gritted her teeth against the knowing smile dancing around Jack’s lips and pushed herself up and out of the sofa with a surge of power. It was like coming out of quicksand, and she staggered a little before finding her balance.

Jack just watched her all the while, one hip braced against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. She stood panting before him, pushing her skirt back down.

“That’s the most stupid couch in all the world,” she said, aware that any advantage she’d had was long gone.

“I like it,” he said simply.

“You would.”

She tried to regain the towering anger and feeling of self-righteousness she’d had when she arrived not two minutes ago. Unfortunately, most of her was too busy remembering what it had felt like to be pressed up against his chest, to have his hands on her skin and his tongue in her mouth. A floodgate of sense memories threatened to engulf her—the look on his face as he slid inside her; the small noise of appreciation he’d made when he’d first seen her bare breasts; the moist heat of his breath against the skin of her neck as he shuddered out his climax. She blinked, overwhelmed for a moment by a surge of desire. Fortunately for her dignity, close on the heels of those searing memories came the painful reminder of how humiliated she’d felt when he didn’t call last night.

Snap out of it, she told herself, squaring her shoulders and looking him in the eye. The effect was ruined somewhat when one of her blouse buttons popped off, performing a little somersault in the air between them before tumbling to land at his feet. The cool breeze on her torso told her that once again her underwear was on display, and she was unable to stop the flush of heat that was even now flooding her face.

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” he drawled, stooping to pick up her button.

She hated him for his casual nonchalance—if his shirt had popped open she would have been bug-eyed and slathering with lust. But he just stood there, cool as a cucumber, completely unaffected by her near nudity. The bastard.

She crossed her arms in front of her breasts but a glance down revealed that this only made them seem to pop up and out over her bra even more. Yesterday in the elevator, and now this. She wanted to die, and as quickly as possible, please.

She could feel his eyes on her, and she settled for holding the two sides of her blouse together with one clenched fist.

“I’ve just been up seeing Morgan Beck,” she announced, determined to win back the initiative.

Perhaps if she just pretended she hadn’t practically forced herself on him, it would just go away.

“Figured as much.”