Plus ONE

Chapter 4

Kimbra

The water and scrubbing action works to remove the coffee stain. With a little patience and use of the hand dryer, the damp spot on my blouse fades. I don't bother with the one on my panties. I try not to think about it, him, or them.

At least the coffee stain is gone.

No matter how hard I try, I can't un-hear their vocalizations. With each step toward my desk, my erotic fantasy lessens and my fury builds. I'm not against a good o****m as a great way to start the day, but s**t. Do it in bed. Have it brought on by your favorite battery-operated boyfriend. Have it brought on by long, thick masculine fingers or better yet, a hard, large c**k.

I try not to put a face with any of those fantasies, especially one with shining green eyes.

Any of those possibilities is an acceptable way to start the day.

What isn't a great way...is to listen to your boss get off with some office slut after you had to deal with a telephone conversation with your mother.

I'm a human resources specialist. Fraternization is fine outside of the office.

Not inside.

Not in the bathroom.

It doesn't matter what time of day. s*x in the company bathroom is wrong and against company policy. It's an offense that can result in termination. Not that I can fire one of the owners. But damn, the man needs to keep it in his pants.

Last week at Gaston's, I thought maybe the rumors were false. I thought maybe Mr. Willis wasn't the player everyone made him out to be. He's sexy and smart. He was nice and listened to my sad saga. After that night, I even considered that maybe the stories women whispered around the office were only wishful thinking. After all, that night he'd sought me out and made a point to uphold Jennifer's reputation, not that I would have said anything. Nevertheless, by doing what he'd done, I'd been impressed.

Now, as I try to compose myself, I reconsider my assumption. Just because I heard second- or third-hand stories doesn't mean I want to hear his moans or growls.

Holy s**t!

That growl was so hot.

But seriously, who was she?

And then it hits me. Jennifer. Was everything he said at the bar just a cover?

That revelation makes me more upset.

Once back at my desk, I remove my coffee's lid. The sudden jerk makes the liquid slosh precariously close to the rim. Don't spill the coffee, I mentally warn myself.

I need to think about this as the HR specialist I am. Who the woman is isn't the problem. The concern is that whomever she is, she could sue his ass and this company—Buchanan and Willis. What he did places my job as well as the jobs of others on the line.

Sitting at my desk, I carefully lift the cup. With the rim at my lips, I finally take a drink of my coffee. As I do, a deep voice causes the small hairs on my neck to stand to attention.

"Miss Jones."

My breathing stops. Before I dribble on my blouse again, I carefully and cautiously move the cup away from my lips and turn toward the entrance to my cubicle. Standing there, all sexy and perhaps slightly perturbed, is Duncan Willis.

His arms cross over his wide chest, straining the seams of his suit coat. His shimmering green eyes move unashamedly down my body, beginning at my hair and leaving a trail of smoldering flames in their wake. Each inch that his gaze lowers widens the path of fire that his growl ignited in the bathroom. The heat builds as I wait for his next word. As seconds tick by, I'm ready to combust.

It's not until his gaze reaches my shoes that his grin broadens. "Nice shoes, Miss Jones. I thought I noticed them this morning...in the coffee shop."

My shoes. He noticed them? Why did I wear red? Nude or blue...so many options. How many women have on red pumps?

Undoubtedly, he not only saw them in the coffee shop, but also in the bathroom.

"Mr. Willis, it's nice of you to notice my attire."

"You're very noticeable."

As he turns to walk away, I remember to take a breath. One more second and I would have passed out or been consumed by the heat of his eyes. In either event, my head would have fallen onto my desk and probably spilled my coffee. Why not? After the way my morning had begun, anything is possible.

I turn back to my desk, and as I do, I remember the sound of his voice. Nice shoes.

My teeth grind.

He knows I know.

He wants me to know that he knows.

Well, Duncan Willis may be my boss, but I was hired here to do a job.

Any other employee and I would say something. I am bound to say something.

Steeling my shoulders, I begin to move my desk chair, when out of the corner of my eye, I see the screen of my phone light. In the message icon is a little red number—five. No wonder my wrist was vibrating.

Letting out an exaggerated breath, I swipe the screen.

Five text messages.

MOTHER: What Happened?

I hung up on you!

MOTHER: I can't reach you.

No s**t. That's the point.

MOTHER: Are you there?

My head moves back and forth. She's not great at taking a hint.

MOTHER: Call me back.

Honestly, Mom, my plate is a tad full at this moment.

MOTHER: I need to know about Timothy. Please tell me I misunderstood. Tell me that I don't have to tell your aunt that one of the place settings will go unused. You know how hard your uncle has worked for this wedding. Or tell me to call Darrin. You know how much he has always liked you? Did you notice his picture on f*******:? The hair plugs are almost not even noticeable. Call me. Between this and your father's problem, I'm about to have an episode.

No. A thousand times no. I will order a blow-up date before agreeing to spend the evening with Darrin McKinney.

"f**k!" The word slips out louder than a whisper, as I bang my head on the top of my desk. "Someone, make this all go away!"

And then it hits me. The answer to all my problems.

Well, maybe not an answer, but an idea.

My chest expands and my breasts push against my blouse as I stand. The idea that just occurred to me is ludicrous, asinine, and possibly the worst one I've ever had. But other than the possibility of losing my job—oh, and my dignity—it just might work. It might not only show Mr. Duncan Willis that I take my job seriously, but at the same time save me from sitting at the children's table or with a blow-up date at Scarlett's wedding.

I square my shoulders, take another deep breath, and turn toward Mr. Willis's office.

No longer inhabited by butterflies of lust, my tummy is now filled with bats, like those that explode out of a cave in some old Indiana Jones adventure film. "Come on, Kimbra," I tell myself. "It's now or never."

With more determination than I thought possible, I walk toward his office door. My red shoes clip the tile at a fast pace. Despite my quick steps, it's as if the journey takes longer than ever before. In reality, his office is only on the other side of the large room housing mine and seven other cubicles, and down one hallway.

I've been to his office many times. I know from experience that his office space is separated from his assistant's by a large glass wall. A switch can be thrown that changes the glass from clear to opaque, giving his space the privacy necessary to discuss employees' futures. Currently as I approach, the wall is clear. Coming to a stop in the doorway, through the pane I can see Mr. Willis sitting at his desk, his green eyes squinting as he concentrates on whatever is on his computer screen.

I walk toward his assistant's desk and half-smile.

Since it was a woman I heard in that bathroom, I know the person with Mr. Willis earlier today wasn't his assistant, Jorge. Besides, if Mr. Willis and his assistant wanted to go at it, they wouldn't need to use the company bathroom. They could just do it behind the opaque window.

It's been the location of more than a few of my fantasies.

And I'm relatively sure that Jorge isn't Duncan Willis's type, though Duncan's gender may be Jorge's.

"Jorge, I need to speak to Mr. Willis."

He looks up from his computer as his dark eyes shine from below his blond styled hair. He's wearing a camel cardigan sweater over a tight black shirt. No matter who Jorge would like to get it on with, he's always the epitome of chic and style. "Hi, Kimbra. Don't tell me you're firing people again."

My eyes widen. "The day is young."

"Oh, for such a pretty young thing, you sure can be scary."

I push my shoulders back, hoping he's right. "Mr. Willis?"

Jorge tilts his head toward the door within the glass. "Go on in. He just got here so I doubt he's busy. But I warn you, something has him a little peeved this morning."

Just got here? Peeved? Thirty minutes ago Mr. Willis was on the first floor. Maybe banging some office slut in the bathroom threw off his schedule. Or maybe he's upset that it was interrupted.

Opening the door, I clear my throat. "Mr. Willis."