The Bishop Affair Read online

  “Take them off.”

  I paused at the threshold, certain I hadn’t heard him right.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, not daring to enter the room until I understood what he wanted. He slipped his shoes off at the edge of the rug before turning around.

  “Your shoes,” he said, pointing at my feet. “Take them off. This is a four-hundred-year-old rug.”

  I swallowed and complied, suddenly grateful that my roommate convinced me to splurge on a manicure and pedicure package before my first day of work. My pink toenails contrasted with the deep colors swirling over the rug. I was terrified to walk on it and wondered if I could avoid doing so.

  Sensing my tentativeness, he beckoned me in. I closed the door behind me and stepped gingerly over the soft fibers. “This rug can be replaced, but it has sentimental value.” He set his half-empty coffee mug on his desk. “My brother bought it for me during his first trip abroad while representing our company. I’m just a little protective of it.”

  I tried to wrap my mind around the idea that anything four hundred years old could be referred to as replaceable. “The patterns are beautiful.”

  He nodded in agreement. “I assume you already met Jordan.” His tone made the question a statement. I would bet that Trevor rarely asked a question he didn’t already know the answer to. “My brother handles the international side of our business and I deal with domestic matters. Both have their perks. He gets to see the world, and I get to reap the benefits of his travels.”

  Trevor unbuttoned his vest and soiled shirt, shrugging them both off. I tried not to stare but couldn’t help feasting my eyes upon his chiseled pecs and washboard abs. His work in the pool showed—every muscle stood out in relief, the lamps in the room throwing shadows that made him look even more cut than I thought was possible. I felt the first prickles of nervous sweat on my head and swallowed hard, trying to relieve my dry mouth.

  He got close enough for me to smell his aftershave, to feel the heat radiating off of him, to notice the tattoo over his heart. I tried to hold my ground but took an involuntary step backward. He smiled, obviously enjoying the effect he was having on me, and held out his stained clothing.

  “You’re going to have to see to these immediately. Before the coffee sets. After you leave here, take them to the first dry cleaners you see.”

  I blushed and nodded quickly, taking the shirt and vest in my arms. It only made sense—my inattention was the reason for the stain. However, I could only wonder if being a personal assistant entailed doing the Bishops’ laundry. I was sure Trevor probably had dozens of similar shirts.

  He turned away, walking to an armoire along the far wall and proving me right: Inside were no less than ten other shirts exactly the same, hanging neatly in a row. He selected one and slung it on, not bothering to button it as he crossed the room to his desk. Attaching a form to an aluminum clipboard, he casually handed it to me. The print on the paper was so tiny I had to squint to read it. At the bottom was a slot for me to sign.

  “This is a non-disclosure agreement,” he explained. “It stipulates that you are not to discuss your dealings with my brother and me to anyone. Because of the nature of your work, you are more than likely to see us in personal, potentially compromising situations.”

  I tried not to ogle the muscles bulging from his open shirt. There would be no way I’d tell anyone about this. I wanted that vision to remain mine and mine alone.

  “I understand,” I replied clicking open my pen.

  “Do you?” he countered. “Being a personal assistant is one thing. Being our personal assistant is another. Jordan and I will be extremely demanding. You will have to juggle multiple tasks from both of us at the same time. Can you handle your duties?”

  “I’m confident I can,” I said sincerely. “I’m very organized. I don’t stop until the job is done.”

  “That I don’t doubt,” he murmured dryly. He smirked as I handed the clipboard back to him with the signed form. After setting it on his desk, he turned back to look at my bare feet, nearly buried in the soft carpet, and slowly dragged his eyes up my body, taking in every inch of me. I could almost feel a physical touch from his concentrated gaze—lust encircling my calves, tickling my thighs, teasing me between my legs. My lips parted as my breathing quickened. His assessment took his eyes to my waist, my breasts, my collarbone. My nipples hardened involuntarily, and I was sure he noticed. How could a simple look make me this horny? When his eyes finally reached mine, I was nearly panting with desire.

  “What was Jordan’s verdict after your meeting?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse. Was he as turned on as I was? My meeting with Jordan seemed like it took place a lifetime ago. It might as well have taken place around the same time the rug beneath my feet was being made.

  I racked my brain to remember.

  “He said he was comfortable with me.” I decided to leave out the “watch out for my brother” part for obvious reasons.

  “I’m sure he was.” He said it more to himself than me. I got the impression that he made a decision right then and there about something. I wondered if I would ever know what it was. He cleared his throat and began buttoning up his shirt. “We demand perfection from all of our employees, and you are no different,” he said, his voice taking on a stern business-like tone. “When mistakes are made, there are repercussions.”

  Repercussions. I wondered, with horror, if I was about to be fired for making my boss spill coffee on himself. Based on my impression of Trevor so far, I wouldn’t put it past him. It was a simple mistake! The rollercoaster of emotions I couldn’t seem to get off of—lust, hope, dread—was beginning to exhaust me.

  “That makes perfect sense.” My voice sounded like it came from a stranger.

  “When you make an error, you must remember it,” he continued. “I consider nothing more offensive than repeating a mistake.”

  “I absolutely understand.” I nodded vigorously. “I’ll watch where I’m going from now on. Definitely.”

  “Will you? I’m not so sure.”

  What was he talking about? There was no way I was going to forget running into him in the hall. It coincided with seeing him half naked, and I would remember that until the day I died. Whatever reaction he was having right now would certainly remind me to never bump into anyone ever again.

  “Bend over the desk.”

  “What?” I surely misheard him.

  “The first thing you must learn, Lori, is actions have consequences. Stand up and rest your cheek against the desk. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  “But...” I studied his expression for a smile, a chuckle, any sign that he was joking. He wasn’t really asking me to bend over his desk...was he?

  His face was devoid of humor.

  Maybe this was a test to prove how far I would go to please him. The request was offensive, jarring, and bizarre, but my reaction was even odder... I padded obediently around to the desk, moved the coffee mug over, and rested my torso against the deep-colored wood. I needed this job and something in his voice left no room for negotiation.

  I turned my head to the side and wondered just what in the hell was happening to me. Was he going to fuck me right here in his office? And why was I not fleeing for my safety? I noticed for the first time that the stone sculpture on Trevor’s desk was an explicitly rendered coupling of two lovers. It probably came from some ancient temple in India, procured on his brother’s trips abroad.

  I felt his presence behind me, knowing that he was raking his eyes over my proffered ass.

  “Let this serve as a lesson: Don’t screw up again.” His words were the only warning I got before a sharp sound cracked through my ears.

  Smack!

  I heard it before I felt it. His open hand landed across my left ass cheek over the skirt I wore.

  I gasped, shocked as much by the force as by the idea that my boss just spanked me over his desk. Me. A grown woman. An employee. I opened my mouth to protest but before the words could bu
bble up from my throat—

  Smack!

  The slap of his open palm reverberated through my ass and sent fresh juices rushing to my pussy. A mix between a gasp and a moan escaped my lips. My fingers gripped the edges of the desk.

  His hand landed one, two, three, four more times. It was all happening so fast that I didn’t have time to react. The slaps were hard enough to sting my flesh. With each blow, I gasped, not because they hurt, but because they turned me on so thoroughly. I had never felt this vulnerable. Never been treated like this before—my dad never even spanked me as a child—and it made me wonder if I liked this kind of stuff. It was humiliating but enthralling. I was thankful no one could see us and hoped the sharp smacks didn’t travel through the walls. It would have been even louder if my ass was bare—a thought that made me inexplicably wet.

  Finally, the spanking stopped and the room grew silent except for our harsh breathing. We panted in tandem—me against the cold wood of the desk, Trevor just behind.

  “You can leave now,” he said, his words barely above a whisper. I pushed myself off the desk, still clutching my notepad, pen, and Trevor’s stained clothing. Emotions clashed within me—anger, confusion, but above all, desire—and I opened and closed my mouth, afraid of what words would fall out if I tried to say anything at all. I turned on my heel and marched across that beautiful rug, pausing for a moment to slip into my pumps before pushing out the door.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  The Bishop Affair (Part Two)

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2