Sinful Abandon

By: Jeannine Colette

Ten p.m., and the only souls in the building are security. They don’t look twice as I walk through the lobby of gold and granite, my five-inch stilettos echoing in the vast space. I walk to the elevator and hit the button for my destination.

Jarrod Bellomy.

When the elevator closes, I do a once-over in the reflection of the doors. My sleek brown tresses have been blown out to perfection by my Michigan Avenue hairstylist. My bright brown eyes are lined in ebony and a smoky shadow. My skin is tinted with a touch of bronzer to look sinful, and my lips are barely glossed. They should be since I expect them to be devoured within minutes.

Looking down, I see the beige Chanel trench I purchased at a consignment shop. It’s two sizes too big, but who cares? It’s Chanel. And, right now, it’s hiding a deliciously exotic plum-colored negligee and garters, all picked out to entice the man I’ve been hunting for the last six months.

Jarrod is my boss and president of the company that owns the lifestyle news program I’ve been working on for the better part of a year. After my last company—Asher-Marks Communications in New York—closed shop, I found myself looking for work. Not only did my new company have to have a great compensation plan, but it also needed to have the number one thing I was looking for in a job—a rich, single boss.

I found the perfect job and that perfect man in Chicago.

When I took the position, it wasn’t just to be a kick-ass producer, overseeing the staff and day-to-day planning of a show that focused on entertainment, gossip, and fashion. I could do that shit in my sleep. Hell, the show was in near ruin when I came on board and turned it around—not that the ungrateful staff cared.

No, my goal was to seduce my forty-year-old boss and one of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. It only took a few months, and here I am, pulling out all the stops in preparation for an engagement.

Growing up with a drunk of a father and a mom who left town would give you life goals like you couldn’t believe. Yes, I can and will make my own money. But, since all men are scoundrels, I might as well pick one I can suck every penny out of.

Sounds sad? Yeah, it kinda is. But I don’t give a fuck.

Jarrod said he would be working late tonight, so I decided to surprise him with a late-night office rendezvous. If this little act doesn’t secure an engagement, I don’t know what will.

Dipping my hand inside the trench, I perk my breasts up, making sure they are at full attention. I check my purse to confirm I have the necessary toys for the evening—a blindfold, vibrator, anal beads, and condoms.

The beads are for Jarrod, not me.

He’s kind of a freak that way.

The elevator doors open, and I walk toward his office. The newsroom that is usually bustling with activity is eerily quiet. The room is accentuated in gray, the only source of light coming from the streetlights on Wacker Drive. Jarrod’s corner office door is closed, the inside light seeping through the bottom of the doorway.

Just outside, I stop for a moment. My hand on the door handle, I take a second to straighten my shoulders and pout my lips. When I walk through these doors, my man is going to fall to his knees, and I am going to let him have me.

Ready for the fun to begin, I open the door, and my body freezes.

My arms fall to the sides.

My purse clangs on the ground.

“Holy shit,” I say. I begin to avert my eyes but have to raise my chin again to make sure I’m actually seeing what I think I’m seeing.

“Heather? What are you doing here?” Jarrod asks from his position at his desk where he’s standing over Misty Waters, the local weather girl.

Misty is lying on the desk with her bare legs wrapped around Jarrod, her heels digging into his bare ass, as he pumps in and out of her.

Yes, I said that right.

He’s still pumping.

“What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing?” My voice squeaks.

Pants around his ankles, his shirt and tie still intact, Jarrod looks at the weather whore and shrugs. “I was working late, and Misty came by for a break.”

“Hi, Heather,” Misty says with panting breaths. Her white button-down is undone, exposing a lace bra and double Ds.

“I…you…” My jaw is unhinged, and if I don’t get a grip, I’m going to lose every ounce of dignity I have, which is a lot, by the way. “You don’t seem upset at all that I’m standing here while you fuck her.” My hand is up in the air, palm up.