I jump to my feet. This is all Emmett Lasker’s fault!
The projections I gave him earlier were fine. Wharton doesn’t hand out MBAs just because you have a pretty smile. I deserve
an explanation. And Emmett’s going to give me one now!
I march toward his office. The gap between the bottom of the door and the floor is lit. He’s probably in there panting, worn out from counting all the money he has. GrantEm is a venture capital firm. There could’ve been a major jackpot payout where the firm made its money back a thousand times over since he tossed this redo in my lap.
Now my resentment is boiling over. He has the pleasure of rolling around in a pile of cash like Scrooge McDuck. But me? I’m just a peon with an expensive degree I still need to pay for. And that payment seems to include giving up sleep and sanity, largely due to my boss.
It’s time Emmett knows those two are a big no-no. The hell with suffering for another eight weeks!
I burst into his office. If he can make me work late, he has to deal with me confronting him about it. Furious words are loaded and ready, like bullets in a machine gun. But before I can fire them off—
“Amy…”
I freeze. That…didn’t sounds like a reprimand. It sounded like a…moan. And not just any moan. A sexual moan. The kind you make when you’re in a haze of lust.
It takes a while for my sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated brain to process the scene.
Emmett, reclining on a couch. His dick in his hand.
I just walked in on my boss’s midnight masturbation.
Chapter Five
Amy
The angry words in my head get jammed. I open and close my mouth, but not even a croak comes out.
Emmett’s penis is huge. The biggest I’ve ever seen. And thick. Veins stand out, pulsing in his grip.
I drag my eyes up. He’s fully clothed and properly covered, except for the crotch area. He’s looking straight at me. No sign of embarrassment or oh-shit-I-got-caught panic.
Okay, I have to be dreaming. I know I’m exhausted. Maybe my latest Excel model did get saved. Maybe I emailed it to Emmett and had my wine and bath, and now I’m having a lucid dream.
Except… Why would it be about Emmett’s penis?
God, I need to see a therapist.
My gaze drops again. Emmett is still erect. Really erect, showing off a daunting length and girth. But that isn’t all. His penis is so well shaped that it could serve as a dildo mold. If Emmett sent unsolicited dick pics, women wouldn’t complain. Hell, if Michelangelo had had Emmett as his model, David would be the proud owner of a much better-looking penis.
“Oh my God, could you put that thing away?” My words come out squeaky.
He pins me with a level look. “Why? It’s my office.”
“Yeah, but they’re my eyes!”
“Which currently seem to be glued to a certain magnificent part of my anatomy.”
I wrench my eyes off the member in question and direct my gaze to the ceiling. “Well, I’m not looking at it now.” My face is so hot I feel like my makeup is melting.
“Too late. I still feel violated.”
Violated? I lower my gaze again.
His hand is still wrapped around his dick, although it’s not moving anymore. He’s looking at me balefully. No, not balefully. I squint at him. It’s hard to think clearly when my emotions are churning, the gears in my head are stuck in the sludge of six—or was it seven?—coffees and way too much sugar. After a moment, I decide he’s gazing at me shamelessly. With a hint of God-I’m-hot arrogance.
“Usually that’s reserved for the woman who’s getting flashed.” My brain is trying to sort out something he said that doesn’t quite add up. It’s material enough that I should worry.