Welcome to my portion of the Happy Holidays Blog Hop! I'm going to be sharing from my story, The Proposal from Stockings & Suspenders.
As the temperature drops, the women in this collection of stories find naughty and delicious ways to warm up for the holidays.
A boss with a proposal to make her sweat, a promise from an Italian assistant, a cabin in the middle of nowhere with two men waiting to cater to her every desire, a special surprise for a lonely solider...
All of these encounters and more from ten talented authors. Get ready for some holiday loving...Evernight style.
The Proposal Blurb:
Lowly executive assistant Grace Hale is having a bad day. Perhaps epically bad, until Dravin Hall, the scorching hot advertising legend, and one of the owners of the agency, invites her for drinks to discuss a proposal. Maybe her Christmas gift will come early this year. But one thing’s for sure. She will never be able to go into The Fireside Grill again without blushing.
‘Tis the season to be jolly...
Yeah, right. It was probably one of the longest, most exasperating, not to mention the strangest days of my life. It started out with the failure of my alarm clock, which in turn made me ten minutes late for work. Of course the traffic jam on the freeway didn’t help me either.
As a special reward for being late, and may I add this was the first time tardy in the two years since my employment at Smith, Cline, and Hall, I received a write-up along with a stern scolding from the devil’s minion. Oh, so it’s clear, the minion in question is Charlotte Saxton. Ms. Saxton is part of the elite management team. She climbed the ladder to success by being the one time plum pudding of Dexter Cline, co-founder of Smith, Cline, and Hall. But she is the current gift that keeps on giving to Dravin Hall. Yep, Mr. Hall, partner and advertising hot shot, is the latest to “date” the office strumpet. I suppose there is one last thing I need to clarify regarding Ms. Saxton. She is, to my own personal hell, my boss.
I took my verbal lashing, a copy of my write-up then entered my office to find enough work to last a week. Since this was such a glorious morning it would stand to reason that I had until the end of the day to complete the foot high pile of files on my desk. The office Christmas party for the secretarial staff, the reception gals, and the personal assistants, would take place over the lunch hour without me this year.
With a defeated sigh I took off my light blue cardigan and flung it over the back of my shitty brown office chair. When I placed my purse under my desk, I discovered an impressive run in my new black silk stockings. I bent down to place my finger on the offending snag. Crap. From the corner of my eye, I saw one pair of Italian loafers perched at the threshold of my office door. Of course I need not see the man attached to the shoes. I knew who it was. The one and only, Mr. Hall.
“Problems?” he asked in his haughty but always devastatingly sexy tone.
“No,” I said, sitting upright, looking in his direction.
He glanced at the stack of files on my desk, then down at my leg before scanning the rest of me. Oh yes, I forgot to mention I was also having an unruly, bad hair day, compliments of my housemate since she used the last of my conditioner.
“It looks like you may be having a bad day, Grace.”
In actuality I was having a bad few months, but that’s another story.
I shrugged my shoulders. A folder fell from the pile, hit my lap then scattered. Wonderful, I thought.
“Well, not every day can be filled with candy coated kisses.”
He smiled. All bright white teeth glimmered. I wanted to dissolve into my chair, melt down into a puddle of goo, but I needed to maintain my composure, and I wondered what he wanted. Mr. Hall never comes to speak with me. In fact, he rarely made the trip to this side of the office. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time he could be found down with the other advertising executives and assorted management team, talking about fast cars, fast women, and their next vacation hot spot.
I glanced down and tried, rather poorly I must admit, to inconspicuously remove the scattered remnants of the file off my lap.
“Would you like to have a drink with me tonight?” he asked.
My head shot up, almost causing me whiplash at his question. The file slid off my lap and hit the floor. I ignored it. I’m pretty sure I stared, unblinking for a moment, before I heard myself say. “You want to take me out for drinks?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I have a proposal I would like to run past you.”
I may have sounded like a parrot.
He smiled his power smile. The one which extended his sensual mouth into a tempting treat for the eyes. “Yes.”
“What kind of proposal?”
He gave me a crooked grin. A grin which once fired was a heat sinking missile straight to my long ignored clit.
“Drinks first,” he replied. “Let’s say six, at The Fireside Grill.”
I didn’t get a chance to give him my answer. He turned and walked off in that purely male swagger of his.
I blew some of the straggling strands of my hair from my face, and pondered Mr. Hall wanting to discuss a proposal with me. I couldn’t imagine what in the world he would want to talk about. Shock, mixed in with curiosity coursed through my mind as I sat, staring what had to be blankly, at the wall. Drinks. He said, ‘drinks.’ The bing on my computer snapped me out of my ponderings. The sound reminding me of the work I had to do, not to mention the emails I needed to read. I could not afford to waste any more time.
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