Page 21 of Tempting Frankie (Lust & Luxury #1)

Francesca

I 'm staring at myself in the mirror, trying to decide if I look more like a competent professional or a deer caught in headlights. Spoiler alert, it's definitely the latter. My hands are shaking as I attempt to button up my crisp white blouse, which suddenly feels too tight everywhere.

Fuck.

I can't even button my own shirt without having a meltdown. Some professional I am. I'm about to say screw it and change into my ratty old sweater when the door swings open.

Alexander strides in like he owns the place. Which, I guess he does. His eyes rake over me, hungry and possessive, before softening into something that makes my insides turn to jelly.

“You look amazing, Francesca,” he murmurs, voice like warm honey. “Are you ready to go? I have a nine o'clock meeting.”

I swallow hard, trying to ignore how his presence fills the room, and makes me want to climb him like a tree.

Focus, Frankie.

“Um, about that,” I stammer, fiddling with my half-buttoned blouse. “Do you think maybe we could, I don't know, arrive separately? For propriety's sake?”

Alexander's eyebrow quirks up, amusement dancing in his piercing green eyes. “Propriety? Since when do you care about that?”

I roll my eyes, some of my snark returning. “Since I don't want a giant blazing sign that says, ‘I fuck the big boss’ floating above my head like some kind of horny Sim.” I’m gesturing wildly, nearly popping a button in the process. “I mean, come on. People are going to talk enough as it is.”

He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Let them talk,” he says, closing the distance between us in two long strides. His large hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks. “I want everyone to know you're mine.”

My breath hitches. God, the things this man does to me. But I'm not giving in that easily. “Yeah, well, I'd like to actually do my job without being the office scandal. Thank you very much.”

Alexander sighs, relenting. “Fine. You can take a separate car. I’ll have one waiting for you downstairs. But don't think this discussion is over.” His eyes narrow with promise. “We'll continue this later.”

I gulp, heat pooling low in my belly. Damn him and his sexy authority voice. “Looking forward to it, boss,” I quip, trying to salvage some dignity.

He smirks, knowing exactly what he does to me. Bastard. With one last scorching look, he turns to leave. “Do not be late, Francesca,” he calls over his shoulder.

As the door clicks shut behind him, I slump against the vanity.

I got this.

Or in the words of my little sister, fake it til you make it bitch.

Stepping out of the sleek black car, my heels click against the pavement as I straighten my top for the millionth time. The Steele Enterprises building looms over me like a giant glass middle finger to the sky.

Fitting, really.

“Thanks,” I mutter to the driver, who probably thinks I'm a walking disaster in designer clothes.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. You've got this, Frankie. Just waltz in there like you own the place. Or, you know, like you're sleeping with the guy who owns the place.

The revolving door spins me into a gleaming lobby that screams “more money than God.” Marble floors, art that probably costs more than my entire life, and a reception desk straight out of a sci-fi movie.

And that's where my bravado screeches to a halt. Where the fuck am I supposed to go?

“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, fumbling for my phone. I should have asked Alexander for directions, or a map, or a goddamn sherpa. But no, I was too busy trying to maintain my dignity while he eye-fucked me in the bedroom.

I'm seriously contemplating making a run for it when a familiar voice cuts through the chaos in my head.

“Miss DeLuca.”

I whirl around, nearly losing my balance on these ridiculous heels, to find Alexander walking toward me. He's the picture of corporate perfection in his tailored suit, every hair in place. His face is a mask of professional courtesy, but those eyes are dancing with glee.

He’s such a dick.

“Mr. Steele,” I manage to squeak out, hoping my face isn't as red as it feels. “I was just, um...”

“Looking for the human resources offices, I presume?” he finishes smoothly, gesturing toward a bank of elevators. “Allow me to escort you. We wouldn't want you getting lost on your first day.”

I fall into step beside him, acutely aware of every pair of eyes following us across the lobby. “How chivalrous of you,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “I don't suppose you have a map hidden in that fancy suit?”

His lips twitch, fighting a smile. “I'm afraid not. Though I'd be happy to give you a private tour later.”

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and I step inside, praying for the floor to open up and swallow me whole. “I'll hold you to that, Mr. Steele.”

As the doors close, I catch a glimpse of his smirk. It's going to be a long fucking day.

The elevator finally dings, and I swear to god it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard. I'm about to bolt out when Alexander's hand on the small of my back stops me dead in my tracks. His touch is light, but it might as well be a branding iron for how it sears through my top.

“Ladies first,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.

I step out on shaky legs, resisting the urge to flip him off. The hallway stretches out before us. A woman in a crisp pantsuit is waiting, her smile so perfect it has to be botoxed.

“Ah, Meredith,” Alexander says, his CEO voice in full effect. “Allow me to introduce Francesca DeLuca, our new marketing associate.”

Meredith's eyes flick between us, and I swear I can see the cogs turning in her head. Great. Office gossip, here we come.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss DeLuca,” she says, extending a perfectly manicured hand. Her grip is firm enough to crush bones. “Welcome to Steele Enterprises.”

“Thanks,” I manage to squeak out, praying my palm isn't as sweaty as it feels.

Alexander clears his throat, drawing both our attention. “Meredith, I trust you'll get Miss DeLuca squared away? She'll need a full tour of the relevant areas and to be shown to her office.”

“Of course, Mr. Steele,” Meredith chirps, already reaching for a tablet. “I have her onboarding packet ready to go.”

I turn to Alexander, ready to say…something. A snarky comment, a plea for help. Hell, even a 'thanks for the job, boss.' But the words die in my throat when I see the heat simmering in his eyes.

“I look forward to hearing how your first day goes, Miss DeLuca,” he says, his voice low and full of promise. “Don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything.”

And with that, he's gone, leaving me alone with HR Barbie and the lingering scent of his cologne.

“Shall we get started?” Meredith asks, already tapping away on her tablet.

I nod, following her down the hallway like a lost puppy. We pass by glass-walled conference rooms and open-plan workspaces that look like they were ripped straight out of a tech startup's wet dream.

“This is the main hub for our creative teams,” Meredith explains, gesturing to a particularly colorful area filled with beanbag chairs and whiteboards. “You'll be working closely with them on various campaigns.”

I nod, trying to look like I'm not completely overwhelmed. Truth is, I'm still half-convinced this is all some elaborate prank.

We finally reach a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. My jaw nearly hits the floor. Holy shit, is this mine?

“And this is where you'll be working,” Meredith says, confirming my disbelief. “I think you'll find everything to your liking.”

I step inside, running my fingers over the sleek desk.

It's bigger than my entire apartment. There's a state-of-the-art computer setup, a plush leather chair that probably costs more than my car, and even a little seating area with a couch that looks perfect for power naps.

Or, you know, other activities. Jesus, Frankie, get your mind out of the gutter.

“Wow,” I breathe, unable to keep the awe from my voice. “This is…something else.”

Meredith beams, clearly pleased with my reaction. “Mr. Steele insisted on the best for our new marketing associate.”

I bet he did, the smug bastard. I'm about to make a snarky comment when a knock at the door interrupts us.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Meredith says, waving in a tall woman with a shock of red hair. “Francesca, I'd like you to meet Miranda Reeves, our head of marketing.”

Miranda strides in on long legs and is full of confident energy. She looks like she just stepped out of a Vogue photoshoot, and I suddenly feel like a potato. Boiled at that, not even crispy like a fry or a tot.

“So, you're the new blood Alexander's been raving about,” Miranda says, eyeing me critically. “I hope you're ready to hit the ground running. We've got a major campaign launch in two weeks, and I need all hands-on deck.”

I swallow hard, trying to channel my inner badass. “Absolutely. I'm here to work, not warm a chair.”

Miranda's lips quirk into something resembling approval. “Good. I'll have my assistant send over the brief. Welcome aboard, Francesca.”

And with that, she's gone in a whirlwind of designer perfume and clicking heels. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Meredith clears her throat, drawing my attention back. “Well, I think that about covers everything.” She hands me a sleek badge on a lanyard. “This is your company access card. It'll get you into all the relevant areas.”

I finger the rectangular badge, feeling like I've just been handed the keys to a very expensive kingdom.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Meredith adds, tapping something on her tablet. “There's a company cell phone on your desk. We've programmed a map of the building into it, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding your way around.”

Thank fuck. At least I won't spend half my day lost in this labyrinth.

“Thanks, Meredith.”

As her heels click-clack away down the hall, I'm left standing in my ridiculously lavish office, feeling like an imposter in designer clothes.

I half expect security to burst in and drag me out for trespassing.

But the silence stretches on, broken only by the muffled sounds of the bustling office beyond my door.

Ping!

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sudden noise. Right. The computer. Miranda’s brief. Time to actually do some fucking work and prove I'm not just here because I'm screwing the boss.

I slide into the buttery-soft leather chair, which cradles my ass like it was made for me. Probably was, knowing Alexander. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside.

The computer screen blinks to life, displaying a desktop so clean and organized it makes my chaotic brain hurt. There's an email notification flashing in the corner, and I click it with trembling fingers.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Campaign Brief - URGENT

Francesca,

Attached is the brief for our upcoming campaign launch. I need your initial thoughts and a rough concept outline by end of day. This is your chance to show us what you're made of.

Don't fuck it up.

- M

Well, that's cheery. I download the attachment, a PDF that screams 'important.' As it loads, I take a deep breath, trying to channel all those pep talks I've given myself before in grimy bathroom mirrors.

You've got this, Frankie. You didn't claw your way out of foster care and the streets just to choke now. Show these corporate assholes what you can do.

The brief materializes on my screen, and I dive in headfirst. It's for a new line of luxury smartwatches, aimed at the kind of people who probably wipe their asses with hundred-dollar bills. The kind of people I used to serve overpriced cocktails to.

But as I read, ideas start percolating in my caffeine-addled brain. Images flash through my mind. I start scribbling notes furiously, my fingers flying across the keyboard. Knee-deep in market research, comparing competitor strategies and jotting down half-formed taglines.

Time becomes a blur as I lose myself in the work. The sun crawls across the sky outside my window, painting the city in shades of gold and amber. I barely notice, too caught up in my creative frenzy.

It's only when my stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead that I realize I've been at it for hours. I lean back, stretching muscles stiff from hunching over the keyboard when there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I call out, hastily smoothing my hair and praying I don't have pen marks on my face.

The door swings open, and there's Alexander. His eyes sweep over the chaos I've created. Papers strewn everywhere, my shoes kicked off under the desk, and what I'm pretty sure is a coffee stain on my blouse.

“Working hard, I see,” he says, his voice a low rumble that does things to my insides.

I straighten up, trying to look professional despite the fact that I probably resemble a caffeinated raccoon. “Just getting started on the brief Miranda sent over. Did you need something, Mr. Steele?”

His lips twitch at the formal address. “I thought I'd see how you're settling in. And to remind you that it's past seven, Francesca. The workday ended two hours ago.”

I blink, glancing at the clock on my computer. He's right. Where did the time go?

“Oh shit,” I mutter, running a hand through my tangled hair. “I didn't even realize. I got so caught up in this campaign brief and?—”

Alexander's smirk deepens, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “No need to apologize for hard work, Francesca. It's one of the many things I admire about you.”

The compliment sends a flush of warmth through me, and I duck my head to hide my smile. “Right, well, I should probably head out then. Let security lock up and all that.”

I start gathering my things, shoving papers haphazardly into my bag and fishing for my shoes under the desk. As I straighten up, I catch Alexander's gaze, dark and heated. The air between us is tense, and I can't help but lean in closer.

“I'll, um, see you at home?” I whisper, my voice barely audible even in the quiet office.

His eyes flash with desire, and for a moment I think he might grab me and kiss me senseless right here. But Alexander is nothing if not controlled. He takes a deliberate step back, his voice low and husky as he replies, “Goodnight, Miss DeLuca.”

The formal address, contrasted with the heat in his eyes, sends a shiver down my spine. I swallow hard, gathering the last shreds of my professionalism. “Goodnight, Mr. Steele.”