Giving my head a little shake, I reminded myself that I had a job to do. Well, two jobs, technically. I clicked the button on my little remote to switch slides when he gave a brisk nod. We’d reached the end of the slideshow, and he finished his presentation by thanking the McAllister reps and expressing how much he looked forward to their call.
They all stood and, one by one, moved to shake his hand and thank him for his time. As the reps left, they were smiling and speaking in low voices to each other. I caught a few head nods as they made their way back out into the hall. Clearly, they were pleased with what they’d heard.
Shit. This would’ve been easier if they’d hated it.
Forcing a smile, I gave the last of them instructions for getting back out of the building before I shut the door to the room behind them. Turning, I found Mr. Maslow gathering up the remaining packet on the table.
“That seemed to go very well, sir.”
He glanced up at me, but his expression was distracted. “Yes, I believe so. Are you good to clean up? Fiona could give you a hand if you need it.”
I shook my head. “No, I think I can manage.”
“Good. I’ll be out of the office the rest of the day making site visits. Please make sure my calendar is updated and manage any phone calls that come in. There are detailed instructions on your computer for both tasks.”
I blinked, confused by his detached tone. I hadn’t known what to expect from him once the meeting ended, but I hadn’t thought he’d abandon me to my own devices
Anger unfurled within me, but I kept my temper in check, and plastered a polite, but cool smile on my face.
“Absolutely, sir.”
He moved past me toward the door with a quick nod. “I’ll see you in the morning, Ms. Rivers. Don’t be late.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then he was gone, the door shutting behind him with a loud click. I let out a snarl of frustration.
“Motherfucker.” Turning my back on the door, I began cleaning up the room, my mind buzzing.
Dmitry Maslow liked punishment so damn much? It was about time he got a taste of his own medicine.
9
Winter
My plan to get a little revenge on Mr. Maslow didn’t end up being as easy as I thought it would be. He proved a rather difficult man to torment. Nothing I did seemed to shake him, and though it was out of character for me, I did plenty.
I wore pencil skirts that were tight across my ass and blouses unbuttoned enough to show off the slightest hint of cleavage to tempt him. I brushed up against him when I could pretend the contact was an accident. I called him sir with coy little smiles and then pretended to be shy. I pulled out all the stops to subtly flirt and tease him.
In my imagination, he would be driven beyond control and try to touch me or tell me that he couldn’t stand it anymore and he had to have me. I’d boldly reject him with a flip of my hair and march from his office, swaying my hips and throwing my middle finger into the air as I left without a backwards glance.
Yet, that never happened.
It was like I was invisible, apart from those times he needed me to work on a task or
assist with a project. We continued to work on the plans for McAllister Holdings, though we had yet to be offered the contract. I still made notes and memorized everything I could about the plans, but it was growing more and more difficult for me to focus on my espionage mission. Maslow was icing me out. He spoke to me in clipped, professional tones, and when he looked at me, there was no heat in his eyes. No hunger. No lust.
Nothing.
It was almost as if our previous encounters had never happened.
Like he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.
For the next few weeks, this strange new dynamic played out between us. Me trying with all my might to get his attention. Him acting as though I barely existed.
It was infuriating.
At the end of the third week, I sat at my desk, tapping my pen against its surface as I mulled over my situation. Logically, I knew I should’ve been grateful for the change. It was better, really, if the boss I was spying on didn’t throw me over his knee to spank me when I was bad or touch me to mind-shattering orgasms in conference rooms when I was good. If he didn’t like me, then he couldn’t tempt me, and betraying his trust wouldn’t fill me with so much guilt.