Bad for the Boss_A BWAM Office Romance Page 2

  On a more serious note, you are of course quite right. Such behaviour is unacceptable, and not at all the sort of thing we want here at Brown Cow. I would encourage you to contact HR immediately with details of the offender, if you feel comfortable doing so. We take these issues very seriously, and I would hate to think that you are being made uncomfortable in your place of work.

  Best,

  Theo

  P.S.: I know who Johnny Bravo is. Unfortunately for me, I have a much younger sister who once loved the Cartoon Network.

  He didn’t hesitate before hitting Send. Of course, experience taught him that she probably wouldn’t contact HR. Most women were far too anxious about possible repercussions to do that, and considering the way the world worked, Theo understood the reluctance.

  But if he were to help…

  All of a sudden, it seemed very important that Theo know who had bothered Jennifer Johnson.

  He drummed his fingers against the gleaming surface of his desk, filled with the kind of restless energy that usually couldn’t touch him at work. He tended to slip into a bit of a fugue state when it came to his business, working with a ferocious concentration that kept him focused throughout the day. Any excess energy he did have was usually beaten out of him at the gym.

  Annoyed with his own foolishness, Theo hit the intercom and barked out, “Martha?”

  “Yes, Mr Chamberlain?”

  “Could you contact HR about keeping employee files up to date?”

  There was a short pause. Then she replied, “Of course, Mr Chamberlain.”

  “And could you mention the photographs? We need to keep up with the staff photographs.”

  The pause was markedly longer this time. “Certainly, Mr Chamberlain.”

  “Thanks, Martha.” He let go of the button and refused to feel guilty about his request. A man had every right to look at pictures of his employees. For research purposes.

  For a few minutes, he doodled aimlessly on the back of a sales report for their recently acquired airline account. He found himself doodling faces. Women’s faces. What would she look like, Jennifer Johnson? Blonde? Brunette? Probably brunette. With glasses, maybe. She’d be little and neat and severe, with piercing grey eyes.

  His inbox dinged, and Theo leapt to open the email with embarrassing eagerness. He huffed at himself in disgust; was he, a grown man, really acting like a teenager over a few work emails? He forced himself to wait a second or two before reading the message.

  Then he devoured it like a starving man.

  Dear Mr Chamberlain,

  I definitely do not need advice on man-repellant. Johnny Bravo is a special case. Perhaps because he’s more of a flea masquerading as a man.

  Also, while I appreciate your concern, it isn’t that serious an issue. Really. Just some light-hearted banter between Priyanka and myself. But if the situation escalates, I will of course go to HR.

  Best,

  Ms Jennifer Johnson

  P.S.: I think you should be grateful to your little sister, if she is responsible for exposing you to late-nineties Cartoon Network. In fact, I’m still a fan to this day.

  She must be a great copywriter.

  But the fact that she wouldn’t go to HR was—though unsurprising—an annoyance that nagged at his conscience. The absence of a face to put to her name only added to his irritation.

  Theo thought on the matter. His sister would say that Ms Johnson needed a safe space to express herself comfortably. Perhaps… Perhaps if they continued to talk? In person, maybe?

  Yes; that was the solution. If she felt like she knew him, she’d take his concern more seriously. Maybe then she’d go to HR. Even if she simply confided in him, at least he’d be able to do something about it. The idea of his staff being harassed simply didn’t sit well with him.

  And, of course, he’d be building up a staff member’s morale. Improving his ‘interpersonal skills’. Wasn’t Rich always blathering on at him about that?

  With a sense of growing satisfaction, Theo settled down to write his reply.

  Chapter Two

  Jen stared at her computer screen in horror. As she gawped mindlessly at the jumble of pixels, a Skittle fell from her mouth and clattered onto the table.

  She glanced down. It was only an orange one. Never mind.

  “You alright, love?” Pri’s dark head popped out from behind her office door. Like an overgrown meerkat, she speared Jen with a questioning look.

  “Fine,” Jen squeaked. “I’m fine.” She shoved her hand into the grab bag of Skittles that constituted her lunch and poured a fistful into her mouth. Maybe the sugar would give her enough brainpower to handle this God-awful situation.

  “Are you sure?” Pri frowned, stepping out of her office and closing the door. “That isn’t your lunch, is it?”

  “Honestly!” Jen chewed frantically. “And no, it’s not.” Lie. “I have a sandwich.” Lie again. She’d meant to make one, but Aria had finished off all the bread.

  “Alright. Well, I’m off.”

  “See you.”

  As her manager trotted off for lunch, Jen read the email on her screen for what had to be the twentieth time.

  Dear Ms Johnson,

  I’d like to speak with you in my office. I wouldn’t want to infringe upon your lunch hour, and I’m sure you’re very busy, so feel free to pop by later on. I’ll be here well into the evening.

  Best,

  THEO.

  P.S.: While I’m sure there are many things I should be grateful to my little sister more, I will never tell her so. It is my duty as an older brother to be infuriating at all times.

  Oh, Christ.

  His little post-script was quite funny, but somehow she didn’t think there’d be many jokes when they spoke in person. Theodore Chamberlain—she wondered briefly what the ‘J’ in his email stood for—was notorious around the office for his utter lack of humour. Oh; and his razor-sharp focus, his famed anti-social tendencies, and his terrifying temper.

  And now he wanted to speak with her in his office. Holy crap.

  Jennifer read the email again and again, her mind working frantically to twist this situation into something she could handle. Pop by later on, he said. Sure, she thought to herself. Later on as in never.

  The office bustled around her as people headed out for lunch. Priyanka dumped a few more files on her desk, and a few of the smaller clients that Jen was responsible for sent in emails. She completed all her tasks, replied efficiently, and started the preliminary research for a cosmetics account Priyanka was hoping to snatch up. She finished her bag of Skittles and chewed another pen to pieces. She kept herself busy right up until the stroke of 5 P.M.

  And then, as Paige from a few desks down slung on her coat, and Ollie’s pack of rabid yuppies left in a swarm of custom suits and too much aftershave, Jen got up.

  She couldn’t put it off any longer. Time to face her doom.

  ◆◆◆

  She hadn’t replied.

  She hadn’t replied, and yet he knew that the person knocking at his door was Jennifer Johnson. He had no explanation; he just fucking knew.

  He’d developed a headache from staring at his computer screen so hard, and sometime after lunch he’d had to turn off the fluorescent lights. The warm glow of his desk lamp filled the room as he leaned back in his chair and called, “Come in.”

  The door opened, and she appeared. The woman he’d never known he wanted.

  But now she was here, and he could want nothing else.

  He’d spent all day imagining how she might look, but he’d been way off. Gloriously off. She wasn’t especially tall, and yet she seemed somehow statuesque. Perhaps it was the elegant curve of her neck, exposed by her soft, braided up-do; or maybe it was the way she moved, with a distinct poise that commanded attention. Her brown skin shone luxuriously over full, luscious features, and her body curved like a country hillside beneath her plain, grey skirt suit. She was a big girl, but that skirt was deliciously small.


  “Mr Chamberlain,” she said, stepping into the room. “I’m Jennifer. You asked to see me?” Her voice was unremarkable. It wasn’t overly loud or particularly quiet. Its tone, though hesitant, was fairly even. There was no seductive rasp to it, no champagne sparkle. It was just a woman’s voice.

  So why the fuck did it make his balls tighten?

  “Please,” he murmured. “Call me Theo.”

  She licked the plump pillow of her lower lip, nodding, and heat spread through his blood in a wave.

  “Shut the door,” he said. She hesitated, but she obeyed.

  Ordinarily, Theo would rise to greet her. But considering the way his cock had stiffened when she entered the room, he didn’t think that was a good idea, so instead he nodded at the chairs across his desk to indicate that she should sit.

  She hustled over and sank into one of the leather seats, her eyes adorably wide. Her skirt tightened across her full thighs as she crossed her ankles demurely. God, she was so fucking sweet. So sweet, and yet the sight of her had him rock-hard. Adjusting himself subtly—he hoped—beneath the table, Theo cleared his throat and tried to remember what the fuck he was doing.

  Ah. Yes. Sexual harassment. Fitting, really.

  “Jennifer,” he began, hoping he sounded reassuring. She looked terrified. “I hope you know that you’re not in any kind of trouble.”

  “Oh.” She visibly relaxed. “Well, that’s great. That’s fantastic. Um, what can I do for you, then?”

  So fucking much.

  “I was hoping you might feel comfortable enough to tell me more about the incident that sparked your email today.”

  To his surprise, her lips curved into an ironic smile. “Really? And you thought calling me up to your office would make me comfortable?” She laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry!” She said. “I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. Sorry.”

  Theo grinned. “Don’t worry. You’re right. And I confess; I’m a fan of your sarcasm.”

  “Really?” She squinted. “It’s not very corporate of me. I’m still…” She trailed off.

  “You’re still what?” He prompted.

  She ducked her head. Her smile was rueful in a way that squeezed at his heart. “I don’t know. Adjusting. I used to work at a bar.” She laughed. “Two, actually. Pub in the day. Club at night.”

  Theo felt his brows shoot up. “Really? Hm. I wouldn’t have thought you were the type.”

  “The type?”

  “You seem very…” He studied her, considering. “Delicate.”

  She snorted. “Appearances can be deceiving. But even if I was, it wouldn’t matter. Work is work.”

  “Yes,” he murmured. His fascination with this woman, which he’d been so ready to write off as a fluke, was only growing. Was she sweet, or sour?

  The answer came to him almost immediately. She was both. Maybe that was why he felt more awake right now than he had at any point in the past week.

  “Look,” she said abruptly, tearing through his reverie. “It really isn’t that big of an issue.”

  It took him a minute to figure out what she was talking about. The harassment. Ironic, considering the way that Theo’s cock was straining against his trousers beneath the table right now.

  “Jennifer,” he said, feeling like the worst kind of hypocrite. This woman was his employee, for Christ’s sake, and she couldn’t be more than 25 to boot. “I understand why you might not want to report it—“

  “Do you?” She asked sharply. “Do you really?”

  Theo held her gaze. “Yes. I do.”

  For a moment, she was still. Then she nodded. He took that as permission to continue.

  “At the very least, would you consider giving me a name? I could have a word with him. I wouldn’t mention you.” He had no idea why he was saying this. It was not company policy, and it was not appropriate, but at some point in the last few hours—and he had no idea when—the idea of this woman being harassed had gone from generally repugnant to personally infuriating. He wanted to know who ‘Johnny Bravo’ was, urgently. So that he could punch the fucker in the face.

  “Mr Chamberlain,” she began.

  “Theo.”

  Jennifer smiled at him, all sooty lashes and full lips and white, white teeth. It was the kind of smile that could make a man forget himself completely, but she deployed it with an innocence that somehow made the effect a thousand times more intense. “Theo” she corrected herself. “I promise you: I can handle it.” She leaned forward, and the buttons of her shirt strained visibly. He looked, of course he did; and then he looked up and saw the earnest gleam in her midnight eyes. And he realised two things.

  The first? This woman was trouble.

  And the second? He wanted trouble. For the first time in his life, he wanted trouble very, very badly.

  “Come on, Jennifer.”

  “Nope. I’m not telling,” She crossed her arms and set her jaw, like a kid in the headteacher’s office.

  Theo couldn’t help himself; he laughed.

  “It’s not funny!” She cried. “I mean it. I’m not saying a word.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” Another chuckle burst out. She glared. He smoothed out his smile with some effort. “Sorry! Look; I’ve stopped.”

  She squinted at him suspiciously, as though he was hiding a grin on his other face. Pulling himself together, Theo cleared his throat.

  “Alright, then. I’ll let you get on with your evening.”

  She nodded her head in thanks and then, a faint smile still on her lips, rose to leave.

  “Oh, but Jennifer?”

  “Yes?” She turned to look at him over her shoulder, forcing him to tear his gaze away from the ripe heart of her arse.

  “I’d like to see you back here tomorrow. Around this time, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Certainly,” she said with a puzzled frown. “May I ask why?”

  He smiled. “I said I’d let you get on with your evening. I didn’t say I’d let the matter go completely.”

  “Theo—“

  “Please. Humour me. Allow me one more chance to convince you.”

  She pursed her full lips, and for a brief moment Theo allowed himself to imagine how they’d feel beneath his own. Then he swatted the forbidden thought away like a fly.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll humour you.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  She didn’t reply. Just sailed right out of his office with a supermodel strut, her round hips bouncing with each step.

  And Theo was left to wonder if lack of sexual satisfaction really could drive a man to insanity. Because he’d spoken to Jennifer Johnson for all of ten minutes, but his need for her was already pushing him over the edge.

  Chapter Three

  “Mr Chamberlain will see you now,” murmured the secretary, her voice absent as she fiddled with the cloudy curls of her ginger hair.

  “Thank you, Martha,” Jennifer smiled. The smile was weak and obviously fake as hell, but she doubted the other woman would notice. She was obviously ready to pack up for the day.

  Pinballs of worry rolled around in Jen’s belly as she passed Martha’s desk on her way to Theo’s office. It was sweet, really, for him to be so insistent about this. His apparent outrage over the whole harassment issue was surprising in a man as high-powered as him. She didn’t imagine that many firms boasted partners who took a personal interest in the goings-on of their employees like this.

  But as honourable as his intentions were, the same couldn’t be said about Jen’s. Because the minute she’d laid eyes on her boss for the first time, she’d been filled with a sensation that she’d rarely experienced before.

  Arousal.

  Intense, biting, red-hot attraction.

  And it had been awkward as hell, sitting there across the desk from a powerful, wealthy, older man who probably saw her as an immature child, squeezing her knees together like some kind of pervert.

  So of course, since the universe w
as a master of torture, he’d told her to come and see him again. Of course.

  Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Jen knocked lightly on the door before stepping inside, shutting it behind her.

  “Jennifer!” He smiled. He was sitting at his desk, just as he had been yesterday, but her gaze was drawn to the small, grey sofa across the room. In front of it sat a low coffee table straining with sweet treats: crystal glasses of bonbons, trays of tarts, muffins and eclairs, and even a sliced Victoria’s Sponge, sprinkled in icing sugar like a layer of fresh snow.

  “I hope you have a sweet tooth,” he grinned, following her gaze. When he smiled, he was so handsome that it was devastating. Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, Jennifer averted her gaze.

  “Yes,” she said truthfully. “I definitely do.”

  “Great! Help yourself.” He waved her over, and she went slowly towards the feast, the whole experience beginning to feel surreal. Still, cake was cake. And she loved cake. Sinking into the surprisingly comfortable sofa, she grabbed a cute little paper plate and picked out a lemon tart. She’d start small.

  “Please,” he said, “eat.” Then he turned to his computer screen and began tapping away at some unseen document or other. Feeling slightly nonplussed, Jen gave a mental shrug and bit into the tart.

  The sharp tang of the lemon burst across her tongue while the rich, creamy texture made her toes curl. Opening eyes that she didn’t remember sliding shut, Jen looked around the table for a card or leaflet of some sort. She needed to know exactly where he’d gotten this thing, so that she could rush out and buy fifty more.

  Failing to find any clues as to the mastermind behind the best lemon tart in history—and yes, she was quite sure it deserved that title—Jen swallowed her mouthful and said, “Oh my God, where did you get these things?”

  Only it came out as more of a moan. Oops.

  Theo looked up from his monitor with a smirk, a few strands of his jet-black hair falling rakishly over his forehead. They looked like silk. His hooded eyes were just as dark, gleaming like spilled ink. This must be what people meant when they said drop dead gorgeous.