His Saving Grace

Chapter 4

JAMES

When three AM rolls around, I close the word doc. I’m working on and decide to check the emails I’ve been ignoring for over a week. Amidst the four hundred, or so, business correspondences I see several from my older brother, Max. They contain nothing important, just general nonsense about his day. It’s his not so subtle way of checking up on me to make sure I’m coping with the death of our father three months ago. I’m doing just fine. I have no choice since taking over his position as the head of Davidson House. I don’t have time to grieve when I have a staff of over three hundred people relying on me.

I close his emails and move on to the others. I can’t reply to Max at this time of the night. If he finds out I’ve not been sleeping lately he’ll be on me faster than a fly on s**t. I work through the others for the next couple of hours and finish by composing an email to Helen, my PA, asking her to make the necessary arrangements to bring Tuesday’s meeting forward to this afternoon.

We’ve recently acquired a new contract with one of the biggest selling magazines in Europe. Predominantly a fiction publishing house, this could be a huge game changer for us and I’m planning a complete restructure of my employees as well as extending the building and employing a team of new recruits. I expect some opposition, but my father trusted me to keep the business that’s been in our family for four generations alive, to help it grow, and the only way to do that is to take risks and diversify.

I’m grateful when I hear my seven AM alarm sound on my mobile. It means I can finally stop pacing my vast living room and get ready for work. I like being alone, life is easier that way, but when it’s coupled with phases of insomnia the nights seem longer and insanely boring.

Stepping in the shower, I take extra time to lather the soap into my heavily tattooed arms, and then shave the scruff off my face that has appeared during the night. I think I’ve passed an hour but as I walk out of the bathroom, n***d and running a towel through my dark hair, I see on the clock, and it’s only been twenty minutes.

Fuck it, I think. I will just go into work early. Heading into my bedroom, I dress quickly, fixing my father’s cufflinks in place on my white shirt before shrugging into one of my tailored black jackets. I grab my suitcase and keys on the way out of my apartment and don’t remember I haven’t eaten breakfast until I’m already in my car. I consider stopping somewhere to pick up food but decide I’m not hungry and turn on the radio instead.

A small smile teases my lips when my ears meet the sound of Maybe Tomorrow by the Stereophonics blasting through the speakers, so loud, my seat vibrates. I think back to the cute girl who sang an almost unintelligible version of it on Friday night before I f****d her. I don’t usually give my shags a second thought, but this one has stuck. There was an intensity in her stare that I can’t seem to forget, almost as if she saw deeper than what I was offering. Like, somehow, he saw the real me.

I shake my head at the ridiculous notion. She was just a random f**k in a long line of many and I need to stop reading into it. Ideally, by plunging my d**k into another eager p***y as soon as possible.

After pulling into the nearest car park, a few streets away from my building, I pull out my phone and listen to my voicemails as I walk the rest of the way.

“Oh for f**k’s sake,” I say to no one while listening to a message from Helen, telling me her daughter is sick and she can’t come into work. Thanks to the law protecting working parents, there’s nothing I can do about it except scowl at every person I walk past as I near Davidson House.

The building is all steel and glass and I walk inside without bothering to give my usual ‘Good morning,’ to the security guy on the door. I’m in a bad mood. The kind that balloons in your stomach and makes you feel nauseous from the amount of hatred you feel for the whole damn world.

I see a woman with red hair waiting by the lifts and it surprises me that I’m not the first person here. She has her back to me but she’s vaguely familiar. The lift opens and she steps inside, and when she turns around I’m pretty sure I’ve f****d her before. In my office, if I remember correctly.

I follow her inside and she offers a nervous smile before staring down at her high heels clad feet. I chew on the corner of my lip, trying to remember her name, but it’s nowhere to be found. “How are you with emails?” The question rolls off my tongue without my permission.

She looks up at me with a confused expression and my eyes zoom in on her I.D. badge. Bell Walsh. I don’t recognise the name and decide I probably wasn’t interested enough to ask when I bent her over my desk.

“Um…” she draws her eyebrows together. “I know how to email. Doesn’t everybody?”

Straightening my tie, I look straight ahead, refusing eye-contact with het. “Good. You’re my PA for the rest of the day.”

“Um…”

“Is that a problem?”

“N-no,” she stutters.

I get the feeling I’m intimidating her. I like that. It means she’ll do whatever I ask. “Be in my office in twenty minutes.”

The doors open on the marketing floor and Bell steps out without looking back. I carry on up to the top floor and make my way straight to my desk where I pull up my emails and reply to my brother. I type out an insincere apology, tell him I’ve been busy securing the new contract, and that I’ll visit him and his family soon. I’ve been saying that for two months now and it makes me sigh when I hit send, knowing I can’t put it off much longer.

Bell’s knock sounds on my door fifteen minutes later. She’s early. Again, I like that.

“Come in,” I call, proffering my hand towards the leather chair on the opposite side of my walnut desk when she enters. “Here are Helen’s access codes,” I say, sliding a brown document pouch over to him. “I need you to draw up an email and circulate it to every department head right away. You’ll find instructions from me in Helen’s inbox.”

“Okay,” she mutters, running a finger along her tight fitting skirt. She’s flustered, causing a rush of heat to gather around her fair face.

I let my eyes roam down her body and they hover over her ample breast. She must notice I'm looking at it, because she shifts nervously in her seat, her mounds jiggling while she moves. She clear her throat.

I internally smirk. Well, if she performs well today, I might just thank her with a little performance of my own later.

“Run along,” I say with a shoo of my hand. I’m a patronising bastard but I love how easy it is to make this girl blush.

Scooping the document wallet from the desk, Bell stands and scurries out of the room. My d**k is already twitching at the thought of being buried in her tight little hole as I watch her walk away, and I hope the day passes quickly so I can reward her for a good work...

...........

Several hours later my meeting plays out pretty much like I expected. I see a few anxious faces and hear some opposition from people unwilling to move departments. I need to find out where I stand legally before I can tell them to either suck it up or resign so, after dismissing my team, I tell Bell to arrange an appointment with my solicitor and a union rep.

She’s done well today. She’s impressed me repeatedly, especially with the PowerPoint presentation she created for the meeting without being asked. Her initiative definitely deserves praise, and as I hand her my Dictaphone containing letters I need typing up, I brush my hand against her a*s in a way that can be explained as accidental if I see any hint of a s****l harassment complaint flicker in her eyes.

But when she bites her lip, I take it as a green light and give her a taste of what’s to come, moulding my palm to one of her plum a*s cheek and squeezing it firmly.

My PA’s office is adjoined to mine, separated by a glass wall with vertical blinds. I’ve left them open today to keep an eye on Bell, and a little while later, I’m on the phone to HR dealing with the first of likely many complaints about today’s announcement, when, for the first time in my life, my breath catches in my throat.

“I’ll call you back,” I say into the receiver, slamming it down without waiting for a reply.

She’s here. The girl responsible for massacring one of my favourite Stereophonics tracks. The girl who didn’t utter a single word while I f**k her off against a bathroom wall. The girl I can’t get out of my damn mind. The girl whose eyes chipped the iron walls of my soul. She’s here. In Bell’s office, talking to her like she knows her.

Does she work for me? I think, just as my phone starts ringing. Bell has her phone against her ear so I suspect it’s her. “Yes?”

“I have a contract here for JD Simmons. Shall I bring it through now?”

“You have work to do. Send in your friend.” As soon as I finish speaking I wonder why I’ve said it. I want to see this woman again and it confuses me.

I watch with intrigue as Bell passes on my message and the girl I can’t forget shrugs before strolling over to the shared door between our offices, clearly unaware of who she’s about to meet. Her disinterested gaze disappears the moment she lifts her head and her eyes finally lock onto my face.

For a moment, she just stares, her jaw slightly agape, and all I can think about is driving my tongue into the gap between her lips.

“I, um, I was told to give this to you,” she says, her voice low, barely there. She hands me a folder and I hold it between my fingers, lingering for just a second, connecting me to her. “Apparently the author only deals with you.”

“What’s your name?” I ask, ignoring her as I take the file. I make a point of angling my arm so my wrist brushes against her knuckles and I feel it all the way to my d**k. My brain tells me to look at her I.D. badge but my eyes refuse to leave her face.

She’s a stunning woman; brown hair with soft highlights that I suspect come from a bottle, vivid green eyes, pouty red lips which I'm imagining tightly wrapped around me while I f**k her in the mouth.

“I assume you have one?” I press, after several seconds of silence.

“Grace Honda. You can call me Grace.”

So she does have a voice? A sarcastic one at that. Surprisingly though, it turns me the hell on. “And which department do you work in, Grace?”

“I’m an office junior down in marketing. Just started last week.” Her voice gains more confidence with every word.

“A junior? How old are you?”

“Old enough to know I don’t need to answer your questions unless they’re business related.”

It’s like we’re children in a staring contest, and as with any challenge, I accept, and I win. Eventually she gives in first and blinks, holding her eyes closed for a little longer than necessary.

“You weren’t this fiery on Friday,” I say, purposely goading her for no other reason than because I'm a jerk.

“I was drunk,” she says, her pink cheeks betraying her conviction. “That won’t happen again.”

It will. “Of course. Anything else I can help you with?” Like maybe f*****g you again.

“No. That’s it,” she says, yet she’s still standing in front of me.

“If you’re waiting for me to open the door for you, I’m not that much of a gentleman.”

She turns a whole new shade of red as she coughs into her fist and turns sharply on her heels. I stare after her until the door closes, with a smile on my face that I just can’t seem to wipe away. It’s unusual for me to be so attracted to a girl and I decide it must be because I didn’t savour her for long enough. One more night, in a bed, taking my time, will erase my fascination with her I’m sure.

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