Bedded By The Boss: The Boss's Demand / Something about the Boss... / Beguiling the Boss

His big hands slid over the wheel as he turned into her apartment complex.

“Would you like to come up for coffee?” She almost choked on the words but it felt only polite to offer. She would love for him to come up. To talk and break the chill silence that had settled over them like dew on the desert.

“I think we should both get some sleep,” he said softly. He pulled the car to a stop outside the front door. For the first time since they’d climbed into the sedan, he turned to look at her.

The faraway look in his dark eyes touched a raw place in her, summoned her. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to close the distance echoing between them even in the cramped space of the car.

She ached to be held in his arms.

He opened his mouth—to speak, or to kiss her?—but he didn’t move. And then his mouth closed, full lips settling together, as if they’d already said everything there was to say.

She wanted so badly to kiss him goodbye. To press her lips against his skin one last time, to feel the heat of his blood warm her mouth. But the rigid set of his shoulders and the high angle of his chin warned her off. No kisses were offered by either party.

“Good night, Sara.”

“Good night, Elan.” Her voice trembled a little and she thought she saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes. But perhaps it was just a reflection of her own confusion and embarrassment as she fumbled for her briefcase on the floor. She scrambled out of the car, clutching her crumpled clothes around her.

The big sedan didn’t move until she’d gone inside, so she never actually heard him drive away. But she suffered his leaving as a limb being torn from her body. If she’d felt alone before, now she felt desolate, destitute. Like Eve banished from Paradise because she couldn’t keep her hands off the tempting and dangerous fruit within.

Sara operated on automatic pilot as she parked her bicycle and walked into the office building the next morning. She knew Elan wouldn’t be there yet, since she always arrived early enough to change into professional attire and get her desk organized before the day got hectic. He didn’t usually come in until around nine.

As nine o’clock drew closer she found it impossible to concentrate on her work. Her blood thundered audibly in her head, her heart banged against her ribs, and she kept catching herself nervously drumming a pen on her desk.

Oh, God. What would they say to each other? Hi. Good morning. Can I get you anything? Like me, naked on a blanket in the moonlight?

She cringed inwardly. She was preparing a complicated report with multiple columns of figures and the numbers jumped and buzzed before her eyes like performers in a flea circus.

Each time the doors to the elevator opened she fought an urge to dive beneath her desk like a creature startled to its burrow. Just the mail clerk. The assistant from finance with some new figures. Each arrival sent her into a frenzy of panic.

When a messenger arrived with a small box wrapped in gold paper, Sara’s eyes widened. Had Elan sent her something? She leaped out of her chair to receive it, a smile rising to her lips.

“Thanks!”

She ripped open the card with trembling fingers.

“Mr. Al Mansur, thanks for all you’ve done for us in Alberta. In eager anticipation of another banner year, yours, Tony Leon, Acme Drilling Co.”

It wasn’t for her. It was for Elan. A corporate gift. Probably another set of gold-plated golf tees.

Sara sagged with misery. How pathetic that she’d so quickly assumed Elan had made a romantic gesture.

Wishful thinking.

She put the box in his office and returned to her chair to resume her anxious vigil.

But he didn’t come in.

By noon she was confused and upset. He’d missed an important meeting with a supplier, yet had not asked her to take his place in it. Apparently he’d phoned his regrets to the other attendees.

“When is he coming?” asked first one caller, then another and another.

“I’m not exactly certain,” gradually became a mumbled, “I don’t know,” as Sara’s professional demeanor slipped a little further with each admission. She maintained his schedule, made all his appointments and usually knew his movements better than he did.

She was tempted to call his home to see if he was okay. But he’d excused himself from the meeting so he was obviously alive. He’d simply chosen not to come into the office today.

Had chosen not to see her.

“When’s Mr. Al Mansur coming back from Turkey?”

“What?” Sara glanced up from her work, anxiety spiking in her gut.

The Assistant VP for Production stood in front of her desk, a pen pressed to her carefully made-up lips. “It’s just that I really need him to sign these documents. I had no idea he was leaving for Turkey today.”

“Me neither.” Despair descended in a heavy fog. He’d left the country without telling her?

“Are you okay?” The other woman’s concern wrinkled her smooth brow as she hugged her thick folder of documents to her chest.

“Sure.” The word emerged excessively loud as she tried to exude self-confidence she didn’t feel. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back,” she said more quietly. She didn’t even know which airline he’d taken. He must have bought his own ticket.

“Is he there to look over the El Barak field? The one where the wells needed deepening?”

“I expect so.” She struggled to sound as normal as possible. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from him.”

“You don’t look well. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Just a slight headache, I’ll take an aspirin for it.”

She rested her head on her desk as the door closed behind her coworker. A woman ten years older than herself and in a position of considerable authority. She was everything Sara hoped to be herself: respected, liked and admired for her quick thinking and effective teamwork.

That could have been her in a few years. If I hadn’t slept with my boss.

If only she could take an aspirin for heartache.

Elan was gone for four days. She spoke to him twice on the phone and their conversations were entirely professional. He wanted some documents e-mailed to him. He advised her of his return flight. She reported the minutes of a meeting he’d missed.

There was no mention, or even suggestion, of what had happened between them.

Sara was sure she would be terminated as soon as he returned. After all, she’d promised that if she didn’t perform as agreed—including keeping her eyes and hands off the boss—he could fire her outright. With that promise she’d slammed the door on any sexual harassment lawsuit.

She attempted to polish her résumé, but realized she couldn’t even include this job on it if she’d been here only one month. It would be obvious she’d been fired.

She wondered if she could beg him to keep her on for a few more months, just until she could find something else. She wondered if she could brazenly insist on holding her job, as she’d done on the first day.

It takes two to tango.

Even if she’d been warned from the outset that tangoing with the boss was strictly not on the agenda at Al Mansur Associates.

“Good afternoon, Sara.” Elan swept past her like a gust of wind, blowing through the doors from the elevator and into his office. His door slammed behind him before her brain fully registered his presence.