Page 10 of Resisting the Temptation (Broken Shelves #3)

Ben

P leasure to meet you, I’m Emma.

Emma.

E.

This cannot be fucking happening.

I never mix business and pleasure. Did she know who I was when we met at the club? Did she just want to fuck with my head, knowing we’d have to work in close proximity to each other?

“She can’t work here,” I snap, and Emma startles, pulling her hand back to her side.

“ Beniamino . Don’t be rude to our new coworker. Why would you say that?” my father admonishes, totally unaware I had my tongue in the pussy of our new coworker less than forty-eight hours ago. A pussy I’ve jacked off to three times since. A pussy I planned on fucking this weekend .

Obviously, that won’t be happening now.

“I’m curious as to why you would say that, as well.

Why can't I work here?” Emma challenges, folding her arms over her ample tits.

She holds herself confidently even though I’ve insulted her.

There’s a wildfire of rage in her ocean eyes.

Such a contrast from the submissive, demure woman at the club who was nervous to even look at me.

I hate that I don’t hate it.

I feel the confused gazes of Alex and Drew on me. I’ve always been a grumpy, keep-to-myself asshole, but I’ve never been impolite.

“She’ll be a distraction.” Not just to me but to the crews. To Alex and Drew. The salesmen. The vendors.

Emma straightens her spine and addresses my dad, “I assure you, Enzo, I will do my best to stay out of everyone’s way and not make things difficult. I promise not to be a distraction. I’m here to learn, not to cause issues.”

“Of course you won’t be a distraction, Emma. I wouldn’t have hired you if I didn’t think you were the right fit for the job. I don’t know what my son is talking about,” my dad says pointedly in my direction.

I scowl instead of answering.

Alex and Drew make excuses about heading to job sites or filling out paperwork, and Emma gives them warm smiles and the promise to get to know them over lunch this week.

My dad leans in while they’re distracted. “I raised you better than this, Beniamino . You will not treat her any differently just because she’s a woman. If you’re not up for the task of training her, I’ll ask Alex or Drew to do it. Either way, she stays unless she proves to be a problem.”

“I can do it,” I grit out. Papà tasked me with this job, and I’ll be damned if I disappoint him.

“I’m so sorry about my son, Emma. If he isn’t treating you well, please let me know, and I’ll have Alex or Drew train you. I’m very happy to have you here.” Papà gives Emma an affectionate squeeze on the arm.

“Thank you, Enzo, but I’m sure there’ll be no problems.” Emma gives him a reassuring smile.

Papà gives me another pointed look then leaves the office, and I’m left alone with the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about all weekend.

Despite my anger and confusion, my cock’s been half hard since I recognized her, so I sit down in my chair to hide the bulge and grunt, “Sit down,” motioning to the chairs across my desk.

She sits, folding her hands primly across her lap, then shocks me by speaking first. “I’d like to know why you’re so against me working here.”

I ignore her and say, “Did you know who I was on Saturday?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “No, Ben. I did not. If I did, I wouldn’t have gone through with it because my livelihood is more important than a hookup.”

I don’t know why it bothers me that she’s reduced us to a simple “hookup.” My frown deepens at the cavalier way she says it. Did our time together not mean that much to her?

“I don’t mix business and pleasure. If you’re going to get all clingy and expect more from me, that’s unacceptable. And obviously what we did can’t happen again. I think it’s best if we move on and forget it ever happened.”

“Oh my God, get over yourself. It was one night of—admittedly—good oral, but you’re not some anomaly. I’m not expecting you to hold my hand and be my boyfriend. I don’t do relationships. If you can forget it happened, I can forget it happened.”

Usually, “good oral” would be a compliment. From Emma, it almost sounds like an insult.

“Obviously we can’t have our scheduled… session on Saturday. It would be unprofessional. If you show up at my house—”

Emma holds up a hand, effectively cutting me off. “I guarantee you that won’t happen. I’m not going to beg for attention or risk this job. I can keep things professional if you can.”

I don’t know if I believe her. She’s different than she was at the club, like she’s wearing a mask. She sounds confident she can keep things professional, I guess I just have to take her word for it.

“Fine. Let’s get started with your training then.”

Emma leans over her bag and pulls out a hot pink notebook with five pens hooked on the front.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A notebook so I can take notes?” She gives me a “duh” look.

“I know it’s a notebook. What’s with the different colored pens? Why do you need to take notes?”

Emma straightens her spine defensively. “Sometimes, too much new information at once can overwhelm my brain. If I write it down, I can keep track of it better or go back and look at it later and not worry about having to ask questions over and over. The pens help me organize the information: black is general information, pink is personal things for me to remember, red is vital information, green is for programs, software, and passcodes, and orange is just an extra color in case something doesn’t fall into those categories. ”

I don’t understand why someone would need more than one color of pen.

I don’t understand why someone would need such elaborate notes for a job like this.

Alex and Drew certainly never took notes when I was training them, but they also knew more of the basics than she does. “If this will be too much—”

“I’ll be just fine, thank you. If you’d prefer I didn’t take notes just say so,” Emma says firmly.

It’s really not a big deal for her to take notes, especially if it will help her retain the information better, I don’t know why I’m so hung up on it.

“It’s fine. As long as it doesn’t slow us down.”

Emma nods but doesn’t say anything else. Before I move on, I blurt out something I’ve been thinking since she walked in, “Your hair.”

“What about it?”

“It’s… different.”

“There’s this miraculous thing called a curling iron,” she deadpans. “My hair on Saturday was a special occasion thing, this is how I wear it the rest of the time. Is that a problem for you?”

No. Other than the fact I want to feel the curly strands in my grip.

“No,” I grunt. “Enough chit chat. This is the software we use to track our bids.” I pull up ProConnect and log in, talking rapidly while she takes notes.

I hope she can keep her word and keep things professional.