Fling Read online

  Fling

  Copyright © 2016 by Jana Aston

  ISBN 978-0-9982444-0-2 (paperback)

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  Cover Design by JA Huss

  Formatting by Erik Gevers

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Book Quiz

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Epilogue

  The Complete Series

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  Dedication

  In memory of John Hughes

  One

  Sandra

  Sometimes company meetings are dull. I try not to feel that way, because I take my job at Clemens Corporation seriously, and I’m grateful to be employed. I tend to take most things seriously, but especially work.

  I’m the executive assistant to the CEO. It’s very rewarding. I’m trusted. I’m needed. Mr. Camden relies on me and I never let him down. That’s what he says. “Sandra, you never let me down.” I anticipate what he needs before he needs it. I’m entrusted with confidential information that some senior-level managers don’t even get to see. I deliver on time. I’m part of a team.

  So I try to pay attention during meetings. Even the really boring ones. I try to keep my eyes where they belong, on the presenter.

  Gabe Laurent is not presenting today. So I should stop sneaking glances at him every thirty seconds. I should stop. Luckily, he’s sitting next to my boss, Sawyer Camden. I can fake like I’m making sure Mr. Camden doesn’t need me for anything if they catch me looking their way. Which they haven’t, because I am very, very good at sneaking glances at Gabe Laurent.

  At least I’m not falling asleep. That would be worse than being caught staring at my secret crush. My coworker Preston isn’t faring as well. I nudge him under the table and his eyes pop open. He blinks and blows out a breath, then sits up straight in the seat next to mine, shuffling some papers around in front of him and jotting a note down on one of them.

  He’s faking it. I don’t need to look over to know that the note is gibberish. We’ve been working together for about a year and friends almost as long. I can guarantee he’s either drawing pictures or making a shopping list.

  We were given a survey to fill out on today’s meetings. It’s anonymous—they’re looking for honest feedback on the presentation and what we found useful or what can be improved on. I’ve filled it out completely, with examples. I’ve also outlined the entire meeting for my personal notes. Not that it needs to be done and not that anyone is going to ask for my notes, but still. It’s important to be thorough.

  Preston has rated each presenter with a star system. For some, he’s noted, Please shut up, next to the rating. I eyeball his paper now. It appears he’s ditched the assigned survey and is crafting his own, his pen flying across the paper for the first time in over an hour.

  I take another peek at Gabe. He looks a little bored himself, truthfully. We’re in the Langdon auditorium. This meeting room has stadium seating, which is ideal for presentations. There’s a state-of-the-art screen stretching across the front of the room. Seating for two hundred, in tiered rows so everyone has a great view of the screen and the presenter. The acoustics are ideal, and there’s work space in front of each chair complete with charging stations and an ergonomic chair. But the best part of this meeting space is the view of Gabe. He always sits in the front row next to Sawyer. I always pick the spot two rows behind him and over one, perfect for covert glancing. And my covert assessment is that Gabe is bored.

  I ascertain this by the casual glances at his watch, the way he rests his head on his fingertips, elbow bent on the table in front of him. He looks interested in the presentation. He looks engaged. But I’ve been studying Gabe for a long time. And I know he’s bored. He leans over and says something to my boss, who nods and grins in response.

  Gabe Laurent is ideal. My ideal, anyway. Way outta my league. And totally off limits. I mean, it’s not like he’s my boss, but he’s a boss. He’s the CFO at Clemens Corporation; he’s also my boss’ right-hand man, and his best friend. They graduated from Harvard together and then Gabe got a master’s degree in finance at Princeton while Sawyer started this company. A year later Gabe joined him and became part-owner of the company. They’ve been hugely successful, both millionaires by twenty-five. Over the next decade their success only continued to grow while they easily became the most eligible bachelors in Philadelphia, maybe the entire eastern seaboard, seemingly content to play the field and avoid settling down. I suspect my boss is ready to chuck his little black book though. A twenty-two-year-old college senior by the name of Everly Jensen has become the sole focus of his attention as of recently.

  Smart turns me on. Sometimes Gabe wears these thick-rimmed glasses, kinda nerdish. Very Clark Kent. They drive me to the brink of distraction. And I do not like to be distracted. Focus is the name of my game. Focused, reliable Sandra.

  He’s got them on today. Or he did. Currently they’re dangling from his hand, the bent earpiece of one side resting against his lip. His lips are perfect. Full. Smooth. Soft. I don’t know for certain that they’re soft, but I’m positive if I was given the opportunity to verify, I’d be correct.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts as Preston slaps the paper he’s been working on in front of me. I glance down, centering the paper on top of my own pile of papers. Then I pick them up and tap them against the desk top, ensuring they’re all even before placing the stack back down and centering it again on the workspace before me. Then I pick up my pen so I’m ready to make notes on whatever he’s passed over.

  I get two sentences in and stop, shaking my head no as I move to slide the paper back to him. He slaps his hand down, pinning the paper in front of me in a silent decree that he’s not taking the survey back. Except that his hand slap is enough to catch Gabe’s attention and Gabe’s half turned in his chair two rows ahead, his eyes landing on mine. I freeze. He smiles. I look away, dropping my eyes to the desk space before me, as if my life depends on it.

  Preston nudges the survey back over to me with a fingertip, content that he’s won this battle. I hate making a scene. It’s mortifying. And unprofessional. And I am very, very professional. Which is why I want nothing to do with Preston’s survey. He’s copied and edited the actual survey we’re taking into this:

  Thank you for attending this boring fucking meeting. Please entertain me by taking this sex quiz. I appreciate your candid responses.

  1) On a scale from 1 to 5, is there anyone in this room you’d like to have the sex with?

  2) Who is it? (This is anonymous so answer honestly!)

  3) Please share your thoughts on what positions you’re interested in.

  4) If you answered “all”, are you including anal?

  5) Does this person know that you want to have sex with him?

  Preston kicks me and I sigh, but I pick up my pen.

  1) 5

  2) Gabe Laurent

  3) All

  4) Maybe?

  5) No!!!

  “Sandra?”

  I l
ook up at my name being called to find my boss, Sawyer, at the end of the aisle. I rise and make my way over to him to see what he needs.

  “Has Wilson given you an answer yet on the dates for the Berlin launch?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  “Would you step out and give them a call?” he instructs. “Tell them we need an answer by the end of the day if they want it in time for the second fiscal quarter.”

  “Of course,” I reply, already nodding. “I’ll take care of it now.”

  “Thanks, Sandra,” he says with a nod as he moves back to his seat in the front row and I slip quietly out the auditorium door. I roll my shoulders and enjoy the silence of the hallway after being cooped up in meetings all morning. It feels good to decompress a little as I take the elevator up to my desk. I make the call, get the answers Sawyer needs, send him an update via email and then head back to the meeting just as they break for lunch.

  Preston exits the room as I reach the door, grabbing my arm and steering me back to the elevators. “Food, now,” he demands. “I’m starving.”

  “You ate two blueberry muffins during the meeting,” I point out.

  He shrugs. “I worked out this morning, I needed the fuel.”

  “You never work out in the morning. You barely make it to work on time every day.”

  “Sex, Sandra. Sex was my workout,” he says, jabbing the down button with his finger. “Liam’s trying to knock me up.”

  “Um?” I blurt out, surprised. Preston is a gay man, so it doesn’t exactly work that way.

  “We’re starting the adoption process.” Preston laughs. “But why should we be denied the fun part?” He continues without waiting for an answer. “We’re on a five-year plan. Well, a twenty-year plan, really. We want two kids before we’re forty so they’re in college before we’re sixty. Then we can travel to all the places we want to see before we get too old.”

  Wow. Preston’s only three years older than me and he’s got his whole life figured out. He met Liam at twenty-five and they married a year later in what was the best wedding ever, in his words. I wasn’t there—the event happening prior to us having met—but I have seen the wedding. It was featured on one of those wedding reality shows that I used to love watching. And he’s not wrong, it was a pretty great wedding. Anyway, Preston’s got it all figured out and I’m buying frozen single-serve meals.

  At twenty-six I’m satisfied in my job, fulfilled even, but my personal life is nowhere near satisfying. I moved to Philadelphia from Delaware two years ago when I got the job at Clemens Corporation. I was grateful to get away from home. I needed to, and Philadelphia was an ideal place to start again.

  I dove in, finding an apartment and jumping into dating life in a new city. Yet two years later I’m alone.

  Alone and secretly pining for Gabe Laurent.

  It’s stupid. He is so outta my league.

  Preston and I hit the employee cafeteria, along with everyone else. It’s free, one of the many perks of working at Clemens. We chat about the holidays and my plans to head to Delaware for Christmas Day and Preston’s plans to visit his parents in Los Angeles with Liam.

  “Are you sure you can’t come back from LA early so you don’t miss the company New Year’s Eve party?” I ask. “It won’t be the same without you.”

  “That’s true, but no. I’m not returning to this weather a day earlier than necessary.”

  I sigh good-naturedly, understanding. We finish lunch and clear our trays then head back to the auditorium for the afternoon session.

  “Wake me up if I fall asleep,” Preston tells me, dropping into his chair. “I shouldn’t have had carbs at lunch,” he adds with a yawn.

  “I’m on it,” I assure him as I straighten the papers in front of me and ready myself for the afternoon session. I look up in time to see Gabe walk through the door. It’s like I have a Spidey sense when he’s around. My eyes are always in the right place at the right time when it comes to Gabe.

  He’s wearing charcoal dress pants today and a blue sweater. It looks like cashmere. I’d kill to run my fingers over it and find out, I think as one of the interns from marketing hands him a stack of papers. The surveys from this morning’s meetings, it looks like. I glance down at my stack of papers, looking for mine. Oh, shoot, I hope mine’s in there. I worked really hard on giving thoughtful detailed answers.

  “Did they collect the surveys before lunch?” I ask Preston, glancing in his direction.

  He looks up from his phone with a shake of his head. “Nope. They probably collected them while we were at lunch.”

  “Oh, okay, good. Mine should be in there then,” I say, checking and finding it missing from my stack. I left it on top, didn’t I? I flip through my papers just to make sure it got collected. I didn’t realize they’d be going to Gabe, so I’m extra glad I was so thorough with my answers.

  Wait.

  Wait, wait, wait.

  “Preston!” I hiss in panic as my mind races. That crazy sex quiz he made up. Where did I leave that? I had it in my hand, then Sawyer asked me to make that call…

  “What?” Preston asks, setting his phone down and checking the meeting agenda to see who’s on next.

  “Where’s that quiz you made up? Do you have it?” I’m shaking as I flip through the papers before me one more time.

  “No, you never gave it back to me.”

  “I know, but you didn’t pick it up again? After I left? Are you sure?” I’m in full panic mode.

  “No, Sandy. I don’t have it,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “I wrote it on the back of my survey. They must have picked it up when they collected them.”

  I’m positive all the blood must drain from my face because Preston’s eyes widen and he sits up in his chair. “It’s fine. Your name wasn’t on it. The surveys were anonymous, remember? My name isn’t on it either.”

  I riffle through the two papers in front of Preston anyway. It’s not there. I close my eyes and consider my options. I could move back to Delaware. Join the Peace Corps.

  “Who did you name?” Preston whispers.

  I turn my head and look at him, then flick my eyes to Gabe, standing a few feet away from us in the front row about to sit down.

  “Knew it!” Preston crows, slapping a hand down on his thigh. He grins then winks at me. “He is ideal,” he says, running an appreciative glance over Gabe’s body. This isn’t anything new. Preston might be the only person who checks out Gabe’s ass more often than I do.

  “You’re married,” I remind him. “And Gabe’s your boss.” Preston is his assistant.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  We both watch as Gabe sets down the stack of papers on the workspace in front of him. I can see the papers clearly now—the surveys from earlier.

  “He might be a little much for you,” Preston says.

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I watch Gabe turn to sit. Those damn pants do fit him perfectly.

  “I’m sorry! I just meant he’s a little old for you.”

  I shrug. Gabe is a little much for me. He’s the CFO of the company I work for, my boss’ best friend, and close to a decade older than me. He’s also unbearably beautiful. I watch the way his sweater fits across his wide shoulders as he leans forward, picking up a bottle of water, and I almost manage to forget about the fact that I filled out a childish sex quiz naming the second-in-command at the company I work for as the guy I’d most like to do it with.

  “I bet he would give you the time of your life,” Preston whispers.

  I shake my head. “If I wasn’t Sawyer’s assistant Gabe wouldn’t even know my name.”

  Gabe brings the bottle to his lips and I catch myself wetting my own as he tilts the bottle back and takes a sip, the lines of his neck moving as he swallows. I shake my head to bring myself out of my Gabe trance and move my eyes down to the workspace in front of me.

  “Your name isn’t on it,” Preston reminds me in a soft whisper, patting m
y back as the IT department begins their presentation. “He’ll probably never turn that paper over anyway.” He tries again as I have gone completely mute. The afternoon speaker drones on, and for once I’m not paying any attention or taking a single note. My heart is thumping. How could I have been so unprofessional? I know Sawyer distracted me when he called me over to ask about the Berlin project, but it’s still unacceptable. I should have never let that piece of paper out of my hands.

  We spend the next hour watching Gabe flip through the surveys. I die a little each time he turns the one he’s looked at face down when he’s done with it. He’s going to see the writing on the back of Preston’s survey when he flips it over. My boss is sitting right next to him. What if he shows it to Sawyer? I will die. My stomach turns and I contemplate leaving early. But no. I can’t do that. I have work to do and Sawyer might need me for something, and despite today’s sex survey, I am a professional.

  Gabe flips the next survey over face down.

  There’s writing on the back of it.

  From two rows behind I can’t make out the words, but based on the way the handwriting fills the page, I know it’s the sex quiz.

  Gabe’s phone, lying face up on the desk in front of him, lights up, indicating an incoming call while the ringer is turned off. I’m not sure if he even looks to see who’s calling, but he taps a finger on the ignore button and picks Preston’s survey back up.

  I watch as he rubs his chin with this thumb and forefinger while scanning the paper.

  I watch as comprehension hits him, the muscle under his left temple rising as he dips his neck just slightly closer to the paper, reading.

  And then I watch as he folds the paper in half, and in half again, before rising from the chair just enough to slip it into his back pocket.

  I’m dead. This must be what being dead feels like.

  Two

  Gabe

  “What do you think of Sandra?” I ask Sawyer as I snag a signed baseball from a display case along the far wall of his office. I settle into one of the guest chairs across his desk and toss the ball over my head before catching it again.