“Honey, have you given any more thought to getting some bigger tits?”
Emma rolled her eyes and dropped her head onto her desk. Why couldn’t her mother bake cookies, knit sweaters or do any of that other Betty Crocker shit? No-o-o, she couldn’t be that lucky. Katrina Davis—or Kat, as she liked to be called—had always wanted to be the cool mom on the block. Heck, most of Emma’s childhood friends still called her mother for advice. The woman didn’t pull any punches. “God, Mom, can we please not talk about my tits today? Or lack of them?”
“Em, it’s for your own good. You’re too attractive to sit at home all the time. Men are visual creatures, so maybe a new rack is exactly what you need. Your father can’t keep his hands off mine. And you’re not getting any younger. You don’t want to wake up one day and have them fall out of bed before you do.”
“Gross, Mom. This whole conversation is really gross. I don’t want to hear anything about your sex life with Daddy. Ever. I’d like to be able to look him in the eyes just once without the constant stream of images in my head of the things you feel the need to confide to me. Maybe you should just go Catholic—then you could confess to someone with a more professional opinion.”
“Oh, Em, get over it. I’m just trying to help. You know what? I’ll even pay if I can pick them out. I’ll e-mail you some information and you can let me know what you think.”
“Mom, for the last time, I like my tits just fine!” As soon as she shouted that last bit, Emma froze at the sound of a throat clearing behind her. Please tell me that the asswipe isn’t behind me, ple-e-ease. As she swiveled slowly in her chair, she groaned. Fate definitely wasn’t on her side. Her boss, Brant Stone, stood behind her with his usual condescending smirk. She quickly said her good-byes to her mother although she could hear her still speaking as she gingerly placed the receiver back in the cradle. Determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattled, she raised a brow, asking as politely as she could manage, “Did you need something?”
“Apparently not as badly as you do, Emma.”
Oh great, here it comes, another jab at my work performance. I wonder how much jail time I would get if I choked him with the paisley tie he’s wearing. Turning her back to nonchalantly pick up her coffee cup, she said, “Pardon?”
“I am positively riveted by your plight,” he replied.
More obscure code to unravel. She spent half of her time trying to figure out what in the hell he was talking about. She knew he did it on purpose, the sneaky bastard. “I bet you are, considering you cause most of my misery.” She knew it was unprofessional as well as career suicide to talk to her boss this way, but she kept hoping he would have her transferred to another department so that he could find someone more suitable for his assistant. So far, that hadn’t happened. She had even started dropping hints, but, like every suggestion she made, he seemed to completely ignore it.
“That’s flattering, Emma, but I don’t think I can accept responsibility for your . . . shortcomings.”
Her coffee cup fell from her suddenly limp fingers and crashed to the floor. Then she plowed into him as she jumped back to avoid the hot liquid. “Shit!” The carnage continued as they both fell backward like dominoes. When she managed to get her bearings, she was horrified to realize that Brant was laid out on the floor underneath her, and her butt was nestled firmly near his crotch. Coffee stains were splattered all over his perfectly creased slacks, and it took her a moment to realize why her legs seemed so bare as they lay tangled with his. Her short skirt had blown up during their fall and was now resting well above the level considered legal in most states. Was that . . . ? No, it couldn’t be. . . .
Without thinking, she wiggled around experimentally. No way! Her boss, the spawn from hell, was not growing hard against her bottom. Oh my God, he was!
“I didn’t realize that ruining my clothing also came with a lap dance.” When she froze, he chuckled. “Oh, by all means, don’t stop now. Even someone with small tits is a turn-on when she’s grinding against your lap.”
Emma jumped up as if she were on fire. “You are such an asshole. I should file sexual harassment charges against you. I’m pretty sure there are rules in the Danvers Handbook against discussing my tits.”
Brant snorted as he rose to his feet. “I’m pretty sure there are also rules in there about talking about said tits on a company telephone on company time, and I’m even more sure there is a section about job performance.”
If she didn’t hate the man so much, she would be impressed by the way he excelled at sarcasm. She had worked for Brant Stone for about six months at the communications company Danvers International. Jason Danvers, owner of the company, had bought out the family company that was previously run by Brant and his sister, Ava. They had both come to work at Danvers in vice presidential roles after the merger.
Brant’s younger brother, Declan, also worked for Danvers, although he hadn’t been involved in the Stone family business. He had recently married Ella Webber, a receptionist on the fourth floor who had become a good friend of Emma’s. It was the most recent wedding in a string of couplings at the company. Jason had married his secretary, Claire, and the Merimon brothers, Grayson and Nick, had also settled down. Gray was married to Suzy, who handled the special events for Danvers; Nick was married to Beth, Suzy’s sister and assistant. They had recently had a new baby.
As far as romance was concerned, Danvers seemed to be the place to work if you were looking to find a significant other. So far it hadn’t helped her, though. Instead, she was stuck with a shit head for a boss and a vibrator for date night. Life sucked in that area.
When Brant snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, she stuck her tongue out at him. She simply couldn’t resist, although she did refrain from giving him the verbal slapdown he so richly deserved. She settled for muttering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He actually looked disappointed before he turned and stalked off to his office.
When her phone rang yet again, she groaned, praying it wasn’t her mother. “Brant Stone’s office.”
“You sound like someone pissed in your corn flakes.”
Emma released a sigh of relief as she heard her friend Suzy’s voice on the line. They may not have known each other for very long, but recognizing fellow smart-asses in each other, they had bonded pretty quickly. “Ugh . . . just the usual kind of morning nonsense with Mr. Sunshine. Maybe a little worse than usual.”