Chapter 7

I turned on my heel slowly, biting my lower lip just enough to make it look suggestive. 

His eyes flicked to mine, and there it was—that confusion. Like he was trying to figure out why the hell I was still here.

Oh, I’d show him.

With deliberate slowness, I started unbuttoning my blouse, my fingers teasing the fabric as I kept my eyes locked on his.

His brows furrowed. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I can show you better than I can tell you," I purred, letting my blouse slip off my shoulders.

His eyes widened. "No, stop—stop! Just stop!" he barked, turning his face away like a damn saint.

Oh, please. He was playing hard to get—I could smell it.

"Just stop? Or don’t stop?" I teased, sauntering around his desk, closing the distance between us.

With a single finger, I tilted his chin up, forcing him to look at me. "Answer me," I murmured.

Silence.

I was now in nothing but a black lace bra and my leather mini skirt, my breasts perfectly on display, stomach taut, silver belly ring catching the light just enough to tempt. His eyes flickered downward.

I smirked.

There it was.

The way his gaze lingered—he could play all the poker-faced CEO games he wanted, but a man’s eyes? They never lied.

I slipped onto his desk, spreading my legs just enough to make my point.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t shift in his seat. Nothing.

This was the moment he was supposed to rip my panties off and ruin me against his desk.

Instead, his voice dropped to a low, unreadable tone.

"Now I see how you got your previous jobs, Miss Jones."

A slow smile played on my lips.

"Yeah," I said smoothly. "Like I said—luck."

I leaned in, voice sultry. "Now, let’s talk real business, Mr. Alessandro. What do you really want from me?"

His lips curled—just slightly. "Aside from a 4.5 GPA?" His tone was laced with amusement, but his eyes were razor-sharp. 

"Determination, skill, perseverance… hell, I was ready to hire you if I saw an ounce of potential, even as a dropout. But you?" He let out a dry laugh. "You’re just a slut."

I giggled, shameless. "Oh, I know that already. I also know you want this slut," I whispered, leaning into his ear.

I reached beneath my skirt, slipping off my lace thong in one slow, fluid motion. Then, twirling it on my index finger, I dangled it right in front of his face.

His expression darkened.

"Get that shit out of my face," he barked, knocking my hand away like I was some pesky fly.

My thong landed in the far corner of his office.

Okay, so this was going to take more work than I thought.

Most men fell at my feet before I even tried—most of my previous bosses offered me sex without me so much as batting an eyelash. 

But this man? He was acting like I was serving him tax papers, not my body on a silver platter.

Fine. Let’s see how much restraint he really had.

Flipping my wavy blonde hair behind me, I slid onto his lap, straddling him, chest pressed against his.

His scent? Intoxicating. One whiff and I was ready to sign away my soul.

He didn’t push me away. Didn’t move.

Instead, his voice came out low, unreadable. "You are fucking crazy."

"Yeah," I whispered, fingers trailing up his chest. "Crazy over you."

God, that sounded cheesy. Even I cringed.

But hey, anything to get the dick.

I leaned in, lips hovering just above his.

His next words stopped me cold.

"You still smell like vomit to me."

I froze.

My eyes went wide.

Did he—oh my God.

He knew.

He fucking knew.

Before I could react, his fingers locked around my jaw, grip tight.

"Listen to me, you brainless whore," he growled, eyes burning into mine. "This is an office, not a brothel. I don’t know if you’re blind or just mentally deranged, but I hope you can see the ring on my finger."

"I love my wife," he continued, voice dripping with venom. "This cheap little stunt of yours? It won’t work on me. Now get your stupid ass off me and get the hell out of my building."

His grip on my jaw tightened as his anger spiked.

Okay. So. Sitting topless on a man’s lap, expecting him to rip my bra off, and instead getting my jaw nearly dislocated? Yeah, not the reaction I was going for.

What was his problem? Did he have cameras in here? Was he secretly gay? Or was his dick just out of service?

He suddenly yanked my head back and released me.

I stumbled off his lap, heart hammering, breath shaky.

He adjusted his tie, picked up the file on his desk, and—just like that—acted like I didn’t exist.

Like I wasn’t just about to ride him into next week.

My jaw still throbbed.

What kind of man rejects me? What kind of self-control was this?

Men usually fought over me. They didn’t fight me off.

I served myself to him on a silver platter, and he treated me like expired leftovers.

I crossed my arms, huffing. "Why are you so fucking arrogant? You're the mentally deranged person here, not me"

He paused, turning his head. His eyes slowly dragged from my messy hair to my bare chest to my heels.

"Looking at both of us right now," he mused, "you’re the one who looks crazy. Maybe have some decency and dress properly for once?"

I scoffed. "Why? Are you getting distracted?"

He let out a breath, shaking his head. "You are so unbelievable."

I smirked, doubling down. "I’ve been horny since I stepped foot in your office, Mr. Alessandro, and I’m not leaving until you do something about it."

"Just shut up and get the fuck out of my office" he snaps. 

"Sorry, I don't like being told what to do.... unless I'm naked" I say, biting my lower lip. 

He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was resisting the urge to strangle me.

Then, he fixed me with a slow, deadpan look.

"You know," he said, voice smooth, "I don’t know what makes you so stupid… but whatever it is? It’s working."

I scowled. "Don’t you dare insult me."

He smirked. "Oh, sweetheart, I’m not insulting you. I’m simply describing you."