Page 1 of Dirty Little Christmas
Chapter One
Blaze
"Code red," my younger brother, Alaric, announces over the intercom connecting our offices.
"What the fuck is a code red?" I growl, not even looking up from the stack of photo proofs in front of me. Georgia Dillard's angelic face stares back from every single one. She looks stunning in the new pieces for our plus-size lingerie line, but I haven't approved a single photo.
"It's a warning system," Alaric explains. Not even the intercom hides the amusement in his voice. "Red means danger, Georgia is in the building. Yellow means caution, she's on her way. Green means feel free to do whatever you do when you aren't stalking her. Brooding. It's brooding, isn't it?"
"You're an idiot." I shake my head, setting aside the stack of proofs. Even if I stared all day, I still couldn't pick one. I know this because I've been staring at the same photos for the last week straight. The simple fact is… I don't want anyone seeing Georgia in our new line. Every inch of her curvy body is on display in them. The pieces are bold, sexy, and daring, leaving little to the imagination. Jealousy eats me alive every fucking time I think about anyone setting eyes on those photos and thinking the same things I do.
Problematic since that's precisely why we hired her.
"Just thought you'd like to know your future wife is here," he says. The bastard. He's enjoying my misery far too much.
I shut off the intercom before he has a chance to say anything else and rise from my desk to stare out at the city. Rain sheets down the floor-to-ceiling windows, reducing Los Angeles to a series of red and green dots far below…the Christmas decorations scattered from one end of the city to the other. Dark clouds spit lightning in strikes hard enough to rattle the high-rise I'm standing in. I'm so close to the roiling masses, I should hear every thunderous clap. Yet all I hear is the infernal tick, tick, tick of the analog clock hanging over the door.
Soundproofing.
A useful perk when you make as much as I do. But I've recently discovered a flaw in the design. Since no one can hear a fucking thing I do in this office, there wouldn't be a damn thing stopping me from bending Georgia over my desk next time she pops in and riding her until she's pleading for mercy. No one would hear her cries of ecstasy.
Harder, Blaze. Harder.
I'm guessing whoever designed this office didn't think about that. Hell, maybe they did and that's the whole point. I don't know. What I do know is this: I was fucked the instant I set eyes on her.
Whichever god oversaw the creation of Georgia Dillard was a wily bastard. Between her glossy blonde ringlets, her big gray eyes, and her dimples, she looks downright angelic. But that curvy body brings me a never-ending parade of wicked thoughts. I spend the majority of every day thinking about feasting on her in ways that would shame the devil.
Since hiring her two months ago, she's turned my once orderly company on its head. She's set my world to spinning too. She's the sweetest little angel…with a mischievous streak I want to fuck right out of her. She's determined to push every single one of my buttons just to see what I do.
She's tempting the beast.
If she knew how many times I've thought about bending her over my desk and fucking the sass out of her, she'd be horrified. Or maybe she'd like it. I'm not sure which messes me up more. The fact that I've been hard for her since she waltzed into my office the first day on the job and turned my world upside down…or the fact that I'm pretty certain she wants me too.
The only problem?
She's almost half my age, only twenty, and as innocent as they come. And I want her screaming for daddy so badly I'm ready to set fire to this entire planet and watch it burn. I don't just want her in my bed. I want her on my lap, eating from my hand. I want to be the man who takes care of her, who protects her…and then bends her over and rails her senseless.
Until I met her, I didn't know I had a kink. I've been celibate for years, focused on more important shit—like running the plus-size fashion empire my mom left me and my brother. Irealized exactly two point five seconds after Georgia smiled at me that I was sadly mistaken. I've been trying like hell to avoid giving into the urge, but I'm at the end of my rope.
Her final shoot is 3 days after Christmas. If she isn't mine by then, I'm not going to be responsible for the damage I do to God's green earth.
It's fucked up, I know. But it is what it is.
Ho ho…hell. I'm going to hell for Christmas.
At this point, I'd drive the bus myself just for a taste of her.
"Your suit is ready, Mr. Parrish."
I turn from the window to find Jill, our newest intern, standing in the doorway with a garment bag draped over her arm. A Santa hat dangles from one finger. A pair of shiny black boots hang from another. Her overly bright smile is a dead giveaway that all is not calm here.
"What suit?" I growl.
"Um, for the Christmas party tonight?" she squeaks. The garment bag trembles on her arm like she's afraid I'm going to eat her alive for bringing me a suit I know nothing about.
Jesus. I haven't been that bad, have I?
Maybe.