06. Way past appropriate

Lucien POV

The last of the suited men clasped my hand, his laugh too loud for this early in the morning. The deal was closed, and they were leaving, thinking they’d gotten exactly what they wanted, but in reality, they’d gotten what I allowed.

“Pleasure doing business,” I said smoothly, walking them to the door. Marla was there to see them out, professional smile in place.

When the door clicked shut, the office was quiet again. Just how I liked it.

I crossed to the corner, to the only living thing in this room other than myself — a stubborn little ficus that refused to die despite my travel schedule. I’d formed a habit of watering it every morning thanks to Marla's persistence. Now, I enjoyed doing it. The plant didn’t talk, didn’t scheme, didn’t pretend. It just… lived.

I tipped the watering can, letting the stream hit the soil.

Just then, Marla’s head popped back in, smiling in that way she always did when she had something she knew I’d appreciate. “She’s here.”

I didn’t look up immediately. “On time?”

“Early.” A little late then. Marla continued. “She seems… nervous. But I can tell she’ll do a very good job.”

My lips curved slightly. Of course, she will.

Tilting my head as I inspected the plant's leaves, I set the can down. “Bring her in.”

Marla’s nod was quick, efficient and her head was out in a second, the door shutting quietly behind her.

A moment later, I heard the door open followed by the soft tread of footsteps.

I looked up and there she was.

Scarlett Bennett.

My newest senior hire.

My mystery girl.

Her hair was different than that night, but I’d know the curve of her mouth anywhere. The mouth that had parted under mine, pleading, moaning.

Her eyes found me and for the briefest second, they widened.

Yes, sweetheart. It’s me.

I’d read her file yesterday and couldn’t believe my eyes.

I normally let Marla run that side of things without breathing down her neck. She knew my standards better than anyone, and I trusted her judgment. Although, it all went to her because frankly, some people weren’t worth the extra time. My extra time.

Her file had been sitting in my pending review folder for a week, and I hadn’t bothered to glance at it until last night.

Her photo was attached to the corner of the file and I’d stared it for a long time, like if I blinked, it would change.

It wasn’t much, just the headshot from her old firm, but it didn’t matter. I knew exactly what she looked like when she wasn’t in front of a camera.

Seven nights ago, she’d been in my hands. My mouth. My bed. Her moans still echoing in my head when I closed my eyes. My skin still remembering the sting of her nails down my back. I’d been forced to tend to the scratches for days.

She’d been on my mind all damn week.

Not that I couldn’t have found her. I could’ve. Easily. One phone call and I’d have her name, address, and history. But I didn’t chase.

It wasn’t my style.

After a long time stuck on her photo, I’d skimmed over her credentials. Architecture and design. PR background. A portfolio that read like someone who didn’t just know her craft but owned it.

It would’ve been impressive on anyone.

But on her? Let’s just say my interest was already beyond professional before I got to the last page.

Hell, it had been something else entirely since she’d moved on that dancefloor like sin incarnate that night. One I should’ve avoided but didn’t. I couldn’t. Not when her body had been calling out to me like a siren song.

I wasn’t a pervert, save to say, she's made me one now.

That night, I’d gone for a drink after a mad day, and she was hard to miss amid all that chaos. The only thing worth looking at, actually. Her presence was immediately magnetic and she still had the pull even now as she stood in my office, looking at me like she wasn’t sure if she should bolt out through that door or throw herself against the window behind me.

Cute.

Marla, completely oblivious, stepped forward with that polished smile of hers. “Mr. Whitmore, this is Scarlett Bennett, your new Executive Creative Director. Scarlett, this is—”

I moved back toward my desk, lowering into my chair like we weren’t in the middle of the most interesting twist I’d had in months.

Marla continued, undeterred, launching into some official rundown of Scarlett’s credentials, her interview scores. I let her talk.

I wasn’t listening.

My eyes drifted down the clean lines of Scarlett’s skirt, running over the curve of her hips, the length of her legs. She was polished for work, but my mind couldn’t stop stripping her down to her bare soft skin beneath me, taking me perfectly.

Her face was composed, but her body language was giving her away. The slight shift of weight from one heel to the other, her fingers curling against the strap of her bag like she needed something to hold onto. How her eyes flicking to the floor, then the window, anywhere but me.

She looked like she wanted to fly right out of my office.

And fuck if that didn’t make me want to keep her right here even more.

“…and she’ll be heading the Eden Heights project as discussed,” Marla finished with her usual polished tone.

“Thank you, Marla. You can leave us.”

Marla nodded. “Sure.” She turned and gave Scarlett a small smile before heading out.

The door shut with a soft click, sealing us in.

Scarlett’s gaze lingered on it for a beat too long, like she was willing Marla to walk back in and rescue her.

“Still with me, Miss Bennett?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

Her eyes flicked to mine. “I… yes. Mr. Whitmore.”

I let the corner of my mouth lift. “We’re not strangers, Scarlett. You can say my name.”

She hesitated, then gave a small, almost nervous laugh. “Um… that isn’t exactly appropriate, Mr. Whitmore.”

I nearly laughed myself. She was trying so damn hard.

“We’ve gone way past appropriate, haven’t we?”

Her face flushed instantly, her lips parting like she might argue, but nothing came out.

I leaned back, watching her fight for composure.

This was going to be fun.