Page 1 of Filthy Business (Obsessive Age Gap #1)

Magnus

I searched for the Colson file, but it wasn’t under Documents. Even after scouring Kate’s emails, I still couldn’t find it. I took a sip of lukewarm coffee before lifting my phone.

A knock at the door made me pause.

Whoever it was didn’t wait. They barged in.

Instantly irritating.

I looked up.

She was new.

The apprenticeship Kate had mentioned.

Cream camisole. White lace bra. Tight black skirt. Killer black heels.

Her blonde hair was twisted and pinned high like a golden crown of glory.

Professional. Sexy. Somehow both.

My eyes lingered too long on her breasts before I forced them away.

“Kate asked me to hand this in and remind you that the digital file is saved under the Greystone merger. Did you need a fresh coffee?”

Her voice was soft. Lyrical.

It soothed something in me. Calmed the noise.

I took the file from her, but my cheeks were warm.

“And you are?”

“Iris Dalton, sir.”

Sir.

Innocent and filthy—all in one breath.

What was I thinking? She was as young as my son.

I winced at the thought.

“No coffee,”

I said—curt, final—flipping open the file.

I was on the verge of a divorce, my son had no direction in life, and this merger had to go smoothly.

The last thing I needed was a sexual harassment case from someone half my age.

The door clicked shut.

I looked up.

She was gone.

I emailed Kate and asked for a copy of her job application.

No harm in finding out more about the new recruit.

With twenty offices in eight countries, I could always transfer her somewhere else. But then I thought of those perfect white lace cups beneath her top, and decided I didn’t like the idea of anyone else looking at them.

Perhaps Kate could remind her to keep her jacket on.

***

“Where’s Luke?”

I asked my wife.

She shrugged without looking up.

“He’s twenty-five. He does what he wants.”

She lifted her wineglass. Her food sat untouched.

Of course it did.

All those years ago, my grandfather had the foresight to protect the business with a prenuptial agreement. When she got pregnant with Luke, I did what I thought was right.

We both changed. Or maybe we just stopped pretending.

The sex died years ago. Scheduling a fuck became impossible between her spa treatments, social lunches, and charity committees.

I poured that frustration into the business. Leona smiled on my arm at events, but her true love was spending money. Thanks to Botox, implants, and a surgeon’s careful hand, she looked incredible for her age.

I sliced into the duck. Perfect, as always.

But when I chewed the tender meat, Iris was all I could think about.

“I’m going to bed,”

Leona said, picking up her wine and walking out without a glance.

I ate in silence. Grateful.

She was gone.

It was time to call a divorce lawyer.

Luke had graduated two years ago. I should’ve done it then.

***

The moment I saw it, I knew it wasn’t Kate’s ass.

Those ivory-clad buttocks could only belong to the woman from my nightmares.

The lawsuit waiting to happen.

“Where did you go?”

she muttered, crawling back out from under the desk.

Her head popped up just long enough to grab her phone. She switched on the light and dropped back to her hands and knees.

What did I do?

I stood there.

Watched like a sick voyeur, sipping my coffee and enjoying the show.

I built this business with the hope that Luke would take it on.

He had no interest. Didn’t want to work with me. Or for me.

He was only happy wasting his trust fund on designer drugs and vapid women.

Fifty-hour weeks. Years of sacrifice.

And for what?

“Morning!”

Kate chirped as she breezed into the office.

Iris banged her head on the underside of the desk.

I grunted and retreated to my office, hot coffee sloshing over my fingers.

With a sigh of relief, I set my coffee on the desk and hung my jacket on the stand.

But my arena didn’t excite me this morning.

Not when my filthy mind was on the little Lolita outside.

Meters away. Within reach.

Thank fuck she was twenty-three, because in the shower this morning—

No.

Stop.

Still, I opened my laptop, impatient for it to load.

Just to look at her company photo.

I clicked. Expanded.

Golden curls framed her face. Clear blue eyes—hopeful, soft.

And those lips.

Pink. Plump. Ready.

I grimaced as my cock began to harden.

I was fucked.

So fucked.

I called Benedict’s secretary to arrange lunch.

The asshole never answered my calls.

Or if he did, it was usually twenty-four hours too late.