Which I completely forgot to mention on my poor blog yesterday.
Here’s a little snippet, Georgia’s ultimate oh-shit-moment, plucked from the beginning of chapter one!
I read your column weekly but never thought I’d be writing this email. The truth is there’s something wrong with me. I can’t climax. I’ve never been able to, and my recent ex told me this was normal for some women. Not the women I know. Was he telling the truth? Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one.
Georgia Lewis forced herself to leave it at that. It was one thing to think of herself as a freak, another to sign off using the label. Moving the mouse over the mat provided by Briggs Department Stores, she tried to click ‘send’, but her finger wouldn’t obey the command.
Frustrated, she let go of the mouse and raked a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. She couldn’t be the only woman in New York who’d never experienced what her friends kept banging on about, could she? Plus she’d created a false email address so none of Sally’s Sexual Help readers would know it was her who sent it in, so what did it matter?
She needed to pull on her big girl panties and send the damn thing. Maybe then she’d be able to concentrate on the end of year accounts on her desk. After all she was here to work, not worry about body parts that didn’t function correctly. Resolved, she reached for the mouse again. Her desk phone rang and she stifled a sigh. Abandoning the mouse, she picked up the phone.
‘Accounts Department,’ she answered, though she could hardly call it that, more ‘two women forgotten in closets at the back of the building.’
‘Georgia, I need the buying accounts for last month.’
His deep voice made her skin prickle, like it always did. She shook off the weird sensation. He was her new boss; until his father got better anyway, and she’d never let herself look at him any other way.
Okay, maybe she had on occasion, when she trailed behind him in the hall. Who wouldn’t check out an ass like his? It was high and firm and utterly squeezable.
‘Sure, Maxton. I’ll get them ready.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Max. Sorry.’
Hard to break a habit of a lifetime. His father, Maxton Briggs the first, never allowed his name to be shortened. But it was Maxton Briggs the second running the show now.
‘You’d better. I’d hate to have to punish you.’
He disconnected the call leaving her staring at the receiver. Heat rose in her cheeks and her heart hammered in her chest. He didn’t mean… No, he didn’t. He was joking. God she had to get a grip. Sexual frustration was driving her to think her boss was flirting with her. And sure, Max was less formal than his father, and she supposed a good guy to work for, but since his break-up, which was unfortunately witnessed by half the staff at Briggs, he wasn’t his usual happy-go-lucky self. Not to mention a little bit weird. Though she couldn’t blame him for that.
She rose so quickly she left her swivel chair spinning. Pulling open the cabinet drawer, she shuffled the slings until she came across the empty one which should have housed the file he wanted.
The sooner she gave Max the file and sent him on his merry way, the better. Usually she struggled to keep her thoughts from rolling off her tongue around everyday people, with him around it was impossible. And the boss didn’t need to know what she thought of his ass, or how hot he looked in one of those charcoal suits with the silk ties. Or even about those dreams she’d had starring Maxton the second, and very little in the way of clothes. Well, apart from his ties. The silk ones, though he never wore them as such. Either they were around her wrists securing her to her bed frame, or sometimes she dressed in nothing but a tie and pair of skyscraper stilettos.
A flush spread over her body, flooding in her lower tummy and making her shiver. Shit, she had to stop thinking about ties. None of it was knowledge she wanted to share with him.
Girl, the file. Get the damn file.
A quick glance around the hole she called an office didn’t help. Loose papers and an old coffee mug hid a desk she remembered was mahogany. Stacks of blue files were piled in a corner next to a half dead plant. The file she was looking for was beige. On top of the filing cabinets? She hadn’t touched that in a year and the inch of dust confirmed it. Then it clicked, she’d left it with Janice to double check the final reports.
Taking off full speed—for a woman in five inch stilettos anyway—she bolted next door. Janice was on the phone, twirling a lock of her permed shoulder length hair that was now more grey than brown. Her mentor blew a bubble of pink gum while she nodded, even though the person on the other end of the line couldn’t see her. Georgia crossed the room and stabbed the bubble with her super sharp new manicure, catching Janice’s full attention. She mouthed ‘buying accounts’ and, thank god, Janice knew what she meant. She rummaged around her equally cluttered desk for what felt like an age. Georgia briefly wondered if she had a mentor who was organized, she’d follow suit, but quickly dismissed it when an image of her unruly bedroom popped into her mind. Thank God her roommate Eloisa had OCD when it came to cleaning or their apartment would never be fit for company.
Janice mumbled what sounded like an agreement into the phone while she located the file. Grabbing it, Georgia called a quick ‘Thanks’ over her shoulder and she was off again.
Her journey back was frantic, especially since she noticed the empty hall. The water cooler two doors away was usually circled by the gossip crew come three thirty, and their absence made the hairs on the back of Georgia’s neck stand to attention.
Oh, but it was much, much worse than she could imagine. When she got to the doorway of her room, all six foot four of male glory was already on her chair, facing her computer with a frown above his deep blue eyes. His dirty blond hair was neater than usual, swept away from his face, but the waves made her think of him rolling out of bed after he’d just run his hand through it. Or worse, like she’d just run her hands through it, pulling him down into a kiss that would melt her panties.
Quit it. He’s my boss.
But then the blood drained from her face, leaving it numb. Her whole body froze as she stared at him wide eyed, comprehension slamming into her mind. Who’d have thought mortification could paralyze someone? Not her. Until now.
She forced herself to unfreeze and took a step into the room. Pulling on her best, ‘what the hell are you doing?’ glare, she cleared her throat.
Max straightened and turned to her with his full lips parted. Georgia refused to let herself look at his mouth and focused on being mad—completely ignoring the fact she’d been using working hours, not to mention the company’s internet connection, to try and fix her sex life. Or current lack of one. After all, no guy wanted the ego beating of bedding her.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.
But she’d never live the shame of this one down. Her boss now knew she was a freak. Max stood, ran a hand down the front of his suit to smooth imaginary wrinkles, or because he was stumped at what to do.
He cleared his throat, but before he could say a word, Georgia took control of the situation and shoved the file into his hands. ‘Everything you need is in there, now if you’ll excuse me I have work to do.’
And shame to live down, but she could do that without an audience thank you very much.
‘Georgia—’ ‘Don’t.’ She shook her head, fighting back the burn creeping up her neck.
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