The Boss's Little Girl

Muscle Memory

Without fail, my red hair keeps falling into my eyes even with my thick glasses acting as a shield. Hunched over my small desk in the basement of one of the biggest skyscrapers in the city, I sit in the dim light trying to edit my latest attempt at a romance novel- it's my ninth. Not that I've done anything with any of them besides let them collect the proverbial dust on my hard drive. It's just, being a chubby girl, I need to live vicariously through my imagination since I'm not living anywhere else.

As I'm editing the hottest- most unrealistic for a girl like me- sex scene, my office phone startles me. As if I was caught in the act of coitus on my sorry excuse for a desk I jump and blush almost the same shade as my hair. Real attractive, Harper.

"Harper Reid, tech what's up?" While I'm very aware that I was given a script to say as I answer the phone, I'm not going to rattle off the company slogan when the call is from our internal network.

"Ms. Reid, you're needed on the CEO's floor. Please try not to doddle." Before I can comment on hoity females condescending tone, the line is dead and I'm left to pack up my gear and head to the 38th floor.

As the elevator dinges with every rise of elevation, I'm left with a warm tingle in the pit of my stomach. The CEO's floor- Gray Davis's floor. Gray is the most beautiful man I've ever seen and the unbridled male lead of many of my novels. He may also be my nightly inspiration when de-stressing from the day in the comfort of my bedroom. So sue me- I masterbate to my boss on a nightly basis. You would too if you could see him. He's the perfect combination of upper class good looks with alpha male muscles and a raw temperament to boot. Talk about the dream man- at least my dream man. Even if he is twenty years my senior.

Before my thoughts run too rampant, the doors open and I'm met with the clean crisp air on the top floor of our building. All white furniture and chrome trimming, really living up the industrial look. The disembodied voice from the service call didn't tell me where I was to report, just that I was needed up here. Just my luck, I get to play hide and seek with my tech support, I think wondering farther into the office space.

Mr. Davis' secretary eventually rises to flag me down. I move toward the aging woman, passing offices and desks I wish I could ignore. All tall beauties with long hair and pouty lips. Of course a man like Mr. Davis would have bombshells like these women as eye candy everyday while I waste away in the windowless basement.

"Thank God you're here. Mr. Davis said his computer crashed as he was finalizing a shipment and he's more than a little upset. It would be wise to fix whatever the issue is as soon as possible." Poor Mrs. Crawley. The woman is in her late sixties and her age is starting to show with the stress of our perfectionist boss. Her facial expression speaks volumes on the importance my working wonders as quickly as I possibly can to get Mr. Davis back in working order.

"I'll see what I can do. Should I just head in then?" With a tight nod from Mrs. Crawley, I make my way into the office of our fearless leader. The scent of wood and spice washing over me as I make my way to Mr. Davis' desk. God, it smells good. I imagine this is how he would smell as he stripped his clothing off, eyes devouring my curvy figure.

Mr. Davis is nowhere to be found. Which is probably for the best. Whenever I'm around him I end up tongue tied and stumbling over my words. He probably thinks I'm a bumbling idiot and I'm surprised he's kept me on staff as long as he has. Shaking my head to rid myself of the wayward thoughts, I move behind Mr. Davis' giant mahogany desk and start running diagnostics on his computer.

As the computer is running my program, I remove my glasses to place my palms against my closed eyes. The natural light coming from the floor to ceiling window behind me is almost too much compared to the dim light I'm used to in my storage closet of an office.