Chapter 3
CAROL
Susan marched into the kitchen, her eyes gleaming with a determined light that usually meant trouble. She snatched her purse off the counter and pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen.
"Wait! Susan, what are you doing?" I asked, a sense of dread pooling in my stomach.
"Just a second," she muttered, gesturing for me to stay put. She hurried toward the front door, her voice dropping as she stepped onto the landing. I heard the door creak open, but it never closed.
Susan had always been more than a friend; she was the sister I chose. She had this relentless need to fix things, to be the shield against the world's chaos. I sighed and decided to let her work her magic while I tackled the mess in the living room.
As I stacked the wine glasses, a wave of nostalgia hit me. I looked around my small studio—the tiny bedroom, the cramped but cozy kitchen, and my precious workshop downstairs. It wasn't much, but it was my sanctuary. The thought of losing it felt like a physical weight on my chest.
I was deep in the suds, washing the last plate, when a voice chirped behind me.
"Done!"
I jumped, nearly dropping the ceramic. "Damn it, Sue! You're like a ghost."
"A ghost with good news," she said, a wolfish smile spreading across her face.
"What now?" I asked cautiously.
"You're going to work for my father."
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "Oh, absolutely not. Susan, we've talked about this. I won't do it. Your father barely speaks to me—he probably thinks I'm a nuisance. I can't work for a man like William Reyes."
"So, you'd prefer to be homeless?" She tilted her head, hitting me right where it hurt.
"That's low," I muttered. "Of course I don't want to leave London, but..."
"But nothing. I already talked to him. At first, he was hesitant—you know how he is about his business—but then I reminded him that his current secretary is a disaster and you're a genius with a degree in Real Estate. He agreed immediately."
"Susan!" I gasped. My heart began to race. Working for him? Seeing him every day?
"And that's not all," she added, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"There's more?" I gripped the edge of the counter.
"Since you're being evicted next week... you're moving into the house. With him."
The world seemed to stop spinning. "I... I think I misheard you."
"You didn't," Susan said, leaning against the kitchen island with a challenging look. "He doesn't know I'm moving out yet, but that doesn't matter. You'll live there as long as you need to get back on your feet."
"Susan, this is insane. He's your father! He's going to be furious when he finds out you're leaving him alone with... with me."
"Actually, I think it's perfect," she said, her voice softening. "He's going to be lonely when I'm gone. You'll keep each other company. Besides, I win. You're staying."
She gave a shout of victory, rounded the island, and crushed me in a hug. "I have to go, I'm late for dinner! Remember, tomorrow at eight. 15th floor. The receptionist, Marta, is expecting you. Tell security Mr. Reyes is waiting. Bye, babe!"
She blew me a kiss and disappeared down the stairs before I could even find the words to protest. I stood frozen in the middle of my kitchen.
"This is going to be a living hell," I whispered to the empty room. "Or a very sweet temptation."
After a long, scorching shower that did nothing to cool my nerves, I retreated to my bedroom. I pulled on a pair of black lace underwear and an oversized Warren Street University t-shirt.
I made a quick tuna sandwich, but my appetite was gone. All I could think about was him. At 9:15 PM, I shot a quick text to Susan.
Me: How's the dinner going? Did you tell him?
The reply was instant.
Susan: Still at the table. It's... intense. I'll stop by the office tomorrow and give you the tea. Kisses!
I stared at the screen, the reality finally sinking in. Tomorrow, I would be William Reyes's employee. Tomorrow, I would be under his roof.
Suddenly, a different kind of hunger took over. I lay back on the bed, closing my eyes and letting the memory of our encounter in the street wash over me. I could still feel the phantom pressure of his arm around my waist, the scent of his sandalwood cologne.
My imagination, fueled by the wine and the silence, began to run wild.
I reached down, my hands grazing my sensitive skin. I imagined it wasn't my fingers, but Will's large, calloused hands sliding under my shirt. I could almost see the fire in his gray eyes—that raw, burning desire I'd caught a glimpse of earlier.
In my mind, he leaned over me, his lips trailing fire along my collarbone, biting and sucking until I let out a low moan. I arched my back, imagining the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. His tongue flicked against my skin, sending jolts of electricity through my nerves.
I was wet—aching for a touch that wasn't my own. I wanted that older man to take me, to claim me. As if reading my thoughts, the "Will" in my mind slid his hand down, his fingers finding the exact spot that drove me to the edge of sanity.
I twisted under the heat of my own touch, imagining his smirk, that half-smug, devastatingly handsome smile. He inserted two fingers, moving with a rhythm that made me cry out in the dark. He knew exactly what I needed. His thumb rubbed against my clitoris, and the world exploded.
The orgasm hit me in gentle, shimmering waves, leaving me breathless and trembling. I lay there for a long time, the echoes of my own moans fading into the night.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed me, and I fell into a deep sleep, wishing with everything I had that the fantasy would become my reality.