Fucking him would probably change my life. Eventually I’d mistake lust for love, and I’ve been in the terrible cycle of heartbreak I’ve been trying to avoid after Carter.
I attempt to step around Beck but he grabs me by the elbow, pulling me against his body. “Ezra is going to drop me off at the office for my meeting and then will return for you. Get ready.” He looks me up and down. I look put together from the neck down, but I definitely have to get makeup on my face and do my hair before anyone in that place can see me. “Make an impression when you show up, Margo. You are the future Mrs. Sinclair after all.”
Beckham Sinclair plays fucking dirty. He leans in, grabbing both of my cheeks and eyeing me with a look that doesn’t seem as simple as lust. Not at all.
And that’s your problem, Margo, I tell myself. You’ll mistake want for something far deeper when it isn’t. It’s a dangerous flaw to have when your heart isn’t as whole as it used to be.
He lays a soft kiss to my forehead before stepping away and leaving the closet.
I’m left watching him, wondering why I just want to allow myself to sleep with him already.
I’m scared he’s right. It’ll happen eventually, and the dark glint in his eyes tell me he’ll make me beg for it. Beckham Sinclair doesn’t like his ego bruised, and I’ve done that by denying him. The best part of it all—or maybe the worst—is I’m extremely turned on by the thought of him making me beg.
From: [email protected]
Just got to the office. I’m about to be walking into a meeting. When I leave, I expect coffee waiting for me. Absolutely no hint of lavender or anything else they do on the west coast.
Don’t be late.
Beck
I drop the hot curling iron into the sink, reading his email three more times to make sure I read it right. Is that really my job now? Am I getting this dressed up to get him coffee? Sighing, I start typing a response, feeling brave with him not right in front of me.
From: [email protected]
So I’ve gone from designing penis pens to grabbing coffee? Not sure if that’s an upgrade or not.
Your glorified coffee runner,
Margo
Happy with myself, I smile, placing my phone on the counter and picking up my curling iron once again. I’ve already completed putting a small amount of makeup on. I probably had way too much fun with all of the new products I got shopping yesterday. It made putting makeup on a lot more entertaining than I usually find it. Some of the products I had no idea what to do with, or what order to use them in. Do I use cream blush after foundation but before bronzer? Does eyebrow gel go before the pencil? These are questions I’ll have to ask Emma and Winnie the next time we talk. Luckily, my dark, thick eyebrows don’t exactly need any product on them, so I swiped some gel on them and called it good. I’m positive my friends will jump at the opportunity to show me how to use the new products, both of them far more into makeup than I’ve ever been.
I’m finishing up curling the long tendrils of my dark hair when my phone pings. Triple checking I’ve turned the iron off, I place it on the hot pad for my hair tools and check the new alert. I’m biting back a smile reading Beck's response.
From: [email protected]
You’d rather do anything than design those hideous pens ever again. You know it. I know it. Let’s not pretend that was enjoyable in the slightest.
I would’ve grabbed coffee with my assistant this morning, but she was too busy having a wet dream about me. Tell me, was I licking that little cunt of yours or was I fucking it?
The object of your wet dreams,
Beck
Blush isn’t even needed for the color I feel heating my cheeks. I picture him sitting in a room full of board members or investors, whatever fancy meeting he has today, typing out such filthy thoughts. It shouldn’t make me feel so hot, but it does. Beck may be holding true to his promise by not making any physical advances toward me, but he doesn’t appear to be relenting with his words. Which could be a problem, because the dirty words rolling off his tongue feel just as good as his tongue against mine.
From: [email protected]
I’m not answering your question because the dream didn’t involve you at all. You should be working.
Your assistant who’d never dream of having a wet dream about her boss,
Margo
P.S. Can you say things like that in a company email? Seems like a potential HR problem.
My eyes travel over the still unopened boxes of makeup I have from the trip yesterday. I look for the perfect lipstick, wanting something that’ll pop on my lips but not seem like too much for a first day. Red might scream I want to fuck the boss a little too much.
I settle on a shade that’s a perfect mix between pink and nude. It glides effortlessly onto my lips, moisturizing them to perfection. The last thing I do before leaving the bathroom is spray a few spritzes of my new Baccarat 540 perfume and call it good. Grabbing my new Prada handbag from the desk in my guest room, I deem myself ready to head into work.
As I climb down the stairs to the main level, I wonder if I’ll have to contact Ezra or how I’ll go about getting to the office. If worse comes to worse, I can take a taxi to work. I faintly remember the cross-streets of the building.
I’m not left worrying on what to do next for long. I find Ezra sitting at the huge dining table, a magazine in one hand, a disposable coffee cup in the other.
“Good morning, Miss Moretti,” he says cheerfully, looking up from the magazine.
I give him a warm smile. “You really can call me Margo. I won’t tell the boss.”
This makes me chuckle. “If you insist.” He grabs the magazine and tucks it under his arm. As he reaches to grab his coffee, I catch a glimpse of the front cover.
“Is that Beck?”
Ezra and I look closely at the magazine in his grasp. I find a scowling Beck looking straight into the camera. There’s a large headline with the name of the magazine, Corporation Insider.
“He argued about doing it,” Ezra notes, my eyes reading over the headline. Apparently he was being featured for being one of the youngest to sell a company for the price he did while still maintaining a prominent spot on the board and keeping a majority of control.
“That doesn’t shock me one bit.” Ezra hands me the magazine, allowing me a better look at it. Opening it up, I flip through the pages until I find a full-page spread about him and his business. He looks angry in all of the photos. But at least this article is one ran with his permission, unlike the one that led us to our current situation.
“I didn’t know all of this about him,” I mutter, eyes taking in every word on the pages. I loved Carter for years, but he didn’t hide his entitlement. Sometimes it was a turnoff for me, but for the most part I knew he was entitled going into dating him so it wasn’t a deal breaker for me. Him fucking half my college graduating class was the issue. I’d kind of assumed that Beck was the same way, that his rich family history is what led to him starting his own company and in return selling it for an ungodly amount of money.