The Handsome Devil (Kissing the Boss Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  The Handsome Devil

  Copyright and Acknowledgments

  Begin Reading

  Author's Note

  The Handsome Devil

  Kissing the Boss: Book 1

  (c) 2016 Fionn Jameson

  © Fionn Jameson 2016

  Cover Design by Fionn Jameson

  Edited by MK Books Editing and AK Clarke Editing

  Proofing by MK Books Editing

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  "Ooh! Oh! Ah, yes! Don't stop…don't stop!"

  People say you can get used to anything.

  But have they ever had to hear their boss doing the nasty for the third time in just a few hours?

  It'd been two years since I was hired and my face still turned red every time Mr. Abe and Aimi mashed their privates together.

  I think I've been in a state of perpetual blush for the past six hundred days.

  My desk sat ten meters away in another office, a heavy oak door between us (closed), but I still heard Hiroyuki Abe, the foreign marketing manager, and Aimi Tanaka, his secretary, screwing away on his mahogany desk.

  No one else knew.

  I was the only employee privy to their "meetings" and I kept my mouth shut. I couldn't lose my job, and to be honest, I didn't care what they did.

  Except earplugs at work would've been a godsend.

  But my job involved answering the phone and that wouldn't have worked with earplugs.

  Why did I continue to work with such crazy sex rabbits? Easy. The two were so busy fucking, they left me alone.

  Employees in other departments struggled to complete their tasks within impossible deadlines and to appease impossible bosses. I worked at my own pace, without the terror and stress of having a supervisor looking over my shoulder.

  Mostly because my supervisors were too busy fucking each other.

  Working for Shokogan Publishing was the dream for many seeking to enter the publishing world, but almost everyone here likened the company to Purgatory.

  Once you traversed all the various levels of Hell—the tiny cubicles and the computers constantly on the fritz—you could find Elysium, in the form of your own office with a view and a personal secretary.

  People would kill for that honor.

  I didn't have such ambitions. Others wandered the marble hallways, dreaming of working with the next Haruki Murakami or Banana Yoshimoto.

  Not me. I was just Rika Hasegawa, junior secretary, quiet and unassuming, carrying a tattered messenger bag stuffed with dog-eared paperbacks. I loved the written word. If I had my way, I'd never pay for another book again. It's not that I'm cheap, but I go through ten to eleven books a week; that kind of spending habit has a way of impoverishing a girl. This was my way of handling an addiction that started when I was six and got hooked on a Japanese translation of The Babysitter's Club.

  The phone by my computer rang and I picked up the receiver, cradling it against my shoulder and neck as I moved back to my computer monitor.

  "Hello!" I trilled loudly. I wanted the person on the other line to hear me, not my bosses playing hide the pickle. "You've reached Hiroyuki Abe's office. This is Rika. How may I help you?"

  I stifled a yawn that threatened to split my face in half; I had stayed up past two last night, reading one of our best-selling authors' latest horror story. Just another occupational hazard.

  The person on the other end of the line cleared their throat. "It's wonderful to hear employees show such enthusiasm. You do your supervisor credit."

  I cracked a smile. I had read somewhere that if you needed to lie over the phone, then you should act as though the other person is in front of you. "Thank you. What can I do for you?"

  He coughed. "Yes, transfer me to Mr. Abe, please?"

  Hah. Yeah, right.

  "I'm so sorry, but he's in a meeting at the moment," I said, still smiling from ear to ear. "May I take a message?"

  There was a slight pause.

  "I see. I would like to see him in the afternoon. After lunch, perhaps?"

  I typed a quick memo on the computer. "Of course. Who may I say is calling?"

  "Saito Hamazaki, my dear."

  My back stiffened. Oh, shit. "Wait, wait just one moment, President Hamazaki!"

  The head honcho calling during one of Mr. Abe's booty calls? I could count on one hand the number of times the CEO had called anyone in the office for a "meeting".

  Every single time, it had ended in someone losing their job.

  Did they know?

  "I hear him coming out of his meeting, President Hamazaki," I stammered. "Please, just wait one moment!"

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence, but I dared not hang up on the head of the company. "Please, will you just hang on one moment, please?" I grabbed a crystal paperweight next to the phone and hurled it at the door.

  It fell a meter short. Then the president hung up

  I stared at the receiver, stunned and terrified.

  He hung up on me. A man known for his unfailing politeness and manners had hung up on me without another word.

  He knew.

  Somehow, the president had found out about my bosses' extracurricular activities, and now they were going to get fired.

  And I would be as well, I realized, my heart sinking.

  No.

  No way in bloody hell!

  I went through way too much trouble to get into this company, to get into this office, and I refused to get fired because of two sex-crazed maniacs.

  I sprinted for the heavy oak door and tried the knob.

  Locked. Just my luck.

  "Mr. Abe? Aimi!" I knocked on the door, mentally counting the number of floors between us and the executive office.

  Five floors.

  It would take less than five minutes for President Hamazaki to get here.

  Five minutes.

  I kicked the door, toes smarting through my thin, blue ballet flats. "President Hamazaki is on his way here! Get your clothes on, now!"

  The lock clicked and the door opened, just enough for the very pungent odor of sex to hit my nose.

  I recoiled. "He's coming right now! Get dressed!"

  Mr. Abe's face was slack, his graying hair shaggy and mussed—no doubt from Aimi's over-exuberant fingers. "Wh-what? President Hamazaki? But what is he—"

  He staggered back and I pushed through the door, gawking in horror at the scene spread out before me in the small conference room.

  Aimi stared at me wide-eyed and naked, a lit cigarette dangling from one hand. Clothes were strewn about everywhere, one black sock hanging off a large palm tree in the corner. The room reeked of perfume and sex.

  I started breathing through my mouth. "Get dressed! Didn't you hear me? Get your fucking clothes on before he fires us!"

  My mouth was running on automatic, my brain operating on fear and desperation. If the president didn't fire us, Aimi would fire me for the tone I took with her and her love bunny.

  Mr. Abe, his face ashen, struggled into his pants, hopping around the
room while I helped Aimi slither into her tight, thigh-high leather skirt. All the while, I counted the seconds, praying President Hamazaki's elevator descent was being hampered by stops on every floor.

  Please, please, don't let us be too late!

  Aimi slapped my hands away as I tried to pull up the zipper, catching her skin in the clasp. "Watch it, you stupid bitch! Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

  My palms itched. I couldn't remember the last time I'd wanted to slap someone so much. "I tried. If you two could exercise some decorum, we wouldn't be in this kind of—"

  "Ah, hello?"

  A small bald man, the slightest hint of graying hair gleaming around his large ears, meandered into the room. A severely dressed, middle-aged woman with glasses and a clipboard under one arm followed him.

  Both were infamous.

  "—mess," I finished.

  I recognized them—President Hamazaki and his battle-axe of a secretary.

  Oh. Fuck.

  "President Hamazaki, this is such a surprise!"

  I had to give it to Mr. Abe; he continued buttoning up his pearl-gray dress shirt as though nothing was wrong. "What may I do for you?"

  The CEO's secretary adjusted the thin-rimmed glasses on her sharp blade of a nose. "Mr. Abe, this is not appropriate workplace behavior. I am appalled at your lack of discretion."

  Mr. Abe's smile flickered at the corners. "I dedicate all of my time to this company. I am due some amusement every now and again."

  She sniffed, and when her gaze fell on me, my knees went weak. I wobbled to the floor, almost taking Aimi's skirt with me.

  "You," she said in a harsh voice that made me glad I was already sitting on the carpet. "How long has this been going on?"

  "Uh. Um. Er…"

  She sniffed again, looking at me through her severe glasses. "Yes?"

  Under both Aimi and Mr. Abe's scrutiny, my courage shriveled like a vampire under the sun. "I don't…that is to say, I—"

  Mr. Hamazaki patted her lightly on the arm. "Now, now, Ms. Nakashima, don't put the girl on the spot. She can't be held responsible for her superiors' actions, now can she?"

  His tone was gentle enough, but there was something in his dark eyes that wasn't as kind.

  His secretary's eyes narrowed, but she went quiet, scrawling something on her clipboard. "Of course not, sir."

  Aimi, now fully dressed, plopped into a chair, smiling beautifully and showing off her white teeth. "We're both single, consenting adults. There's nothing wrong with this, as long as it doesn't interfere with our work, right?"

  I stared at her, shocked. Her tone was lazy, almost snide. I couldn't believe anyone would speak to President Hamazaki in such a manner.

  Then again, Aimi was beautiful and confident. She'd probably never had to grovel for a thing in her life.

  I, on the other hand, wondered if it wasn't too late to get on my knees and beg for President Hamazaki's forgiveness.

  "Aimi," said Mr. Abe curtly. "Show some respect."

  Aimi's lips tightened, but she crossed her arms and kept her mouth shut.

  Mr. Abe cleared his throat. "As I said, President Hamazaki, I don't—"

  His boss held up a hand. "May I ask one question, Mr. Abe?"

  Mr. Abe adjusted his tie nervously. "Of course, sir."

  "How long has this…been going on?"

  My boss let out a deep breath. "Two years, sir."

  "I see." President Hamazaki turned to me. "Is that true?"

  At this point, honesty was the best policy. "Yes."

  He nodded, hands behind his back. "Very well, then. Mr. Abe and your secretary there, I must ask you to leave these premises within the next hour, and if you do not do so—"

  The small conference room erupted in a cacophony of sound as Aimi let out one long, loud wail and Mr. Abe started protesting to a suddenly deaf President Hamazaki.

  Mostly, I was limp with relief.

  Somehow, I had emerged with my job still intact.

  Thank you, God.

  ***

  Events progressed as I thought they would.

  Security escorted Hiroyuki Abe out of the building as he shouted threats at the company and President Hamazaki.

  Aimi slunk out a few minutes later, Gucci handbag over one shoulder, muttering that she didn't want to work for a two-bit company like Shokogan anyways.

  I escaped the guillotine.

  Admittedly, they probably didn't fire me because there was no one else to take phone calls. HR would have a hell of a time finding a suitable replacement for Mr. Abe as it was. He was an exceptional worker, his special office activities aside.

  "So?" my friend Ayaka asked. "How's it going?"

  "Eh."

  It was three days later and the office had never been quieter. Every time the phone rang, I jumped, and my to-do calendar was stuffed with messages no one could return.

  Ayaka did her best to cheer me up, but it wasn't working.

  I poked at my packed lunch. Most people ate whatever was on the menu or at the salad bar, but I always brought something from home or whatever my mom left on my doorstep.

  It was a cheaper alternative to the cafeteria food, and besides, I needed to watch my calories.

  At least, that's what I told myself. I was still having a hard time admitting that I was too poor to order from the canteen.

  Most junior secretaries made squat, but they stuck with it for the benefits and the opportunities for advancement.

  Me? I did it for the books.

  "Hey." Ayaka nudged me almost off my seat. "Is it that bad?"

  An egg roll fell off my fork and tumbled under the table, coming to a rest next to Ayaka's violet sling-backs.

  "Wow," she mouthed, staring at me with eyes as round as dinner plates. "You okay? Hey, at least you didn't get canned. That's good, right?"

  "Lucky me," I muttered, picking at a piece of steamed broccoli. Normally, with my constant battles with the bathroom scale, I would inhale my small lunch and then stare at whatever the person next to me was eating.

  Not this time.

  Ayaka put a slim, manicured hand on my shoulder. "Want to talk?"

  "Nothing to say," I said and grimaced. "I wish people would stop staring at me. Don't they have anything else better to do?"

  Even now, I could sense the attention. The back of my neck itched incessantly as I felt the curious eyes focused on us two in the corner of the cafeteria. Why didn't they talk about something else, like that suspicious thatch of hair on the financial VP's head?

  "It's a wig," I muttered. "It's got to be."

  "What?" Ayaka stared at me. "You're acting like a crazy person, and it's scaring me."

  "Nothing. Never mind. Sorry. What were we talking about?"

  She sighed and shook her head. "Don't worry. They'll quit gawking once HR hires a new guy. Have you heard anything yet?"

  "Yeah," I said, picking at my food. "Someone called this morning. Said there'd be a replacement by next week."

  Ayaka laughed softly. "Oh, Rika. You really don't want a new boss, huh?"

  I flinched. "You don't know how it was before…my job was great. Now, it'll be..."

  "Normal," she said. "I used to be so jealous of you. You never had Mr. Yamato looking over your shoulder like you were going to make a mistake if he wasn't there every thirty seconds."

  I suspected her supervisor wouldn't give her half the attention if she wasn't so pretty, but I didn't bring that up. Ayaka was strangely defensive about her looks.

  She was considered one of the company beauties, and for good reason. With her honey-brown, wavy hair and svelte, petite figure, she looked great no matter what she wore. Next to her, I felt even more freakishly tall than my one hundred seventy five centimeters.

  Everyone said I looked like a model with my height and my absolutely curve-less frame, but if that was the case, why wasn't Vogue kicking down my door?

  My fork hit the bottom of the Tupperware with a dull thud. Despite my lack of appetite, it hadn
't taken me long to finish lunch. "I wish I never got out of bed this morning."

  "Don't worry, sweetie." She patted my cheeks. "You got this. I know you do."

  She sounded very confident.

  I didn't have a smidgen of her confidence, but hey, I could always learn to fake it, right?

  Right?

  ***

  My weekend sucked.

  I blamed the fateful phone call.

  Don't worry, Rika. We'll have people take over Mr. Abe and Ms. Tanaka's positions by next week—perhaps on Thursday or Friday.

  Two new bosses.

  The chances of them falling in lust with each other and ignoring me was so damn low, just thinking about it tainted my morning.

  I didn't sleep a wink on Sunday night and spent most of the night and early morning staring at the ceiling. Not even Paradise Lost by Milton could lure me into a stupor.

  I was too worried.

  With the new bosses showing up on Thursday, the least I could do was worm my way into their good graces by tidying up the office. Mr. Abe left the office in a hurry—ten years of work stuffed in one cardboard box. The cleaning crews had vacuumed the floors, but that was it. The empty office needed a good going-over and I was in the mood to do some dusting.

  If this didn't get me any points with the new foreign marketing manager, I was screwed.

  That Monday morning, the sun still hovered below the horizon as I groggily clambered on the first bus at the station. The bus was empty except for a few old men dozing in their seats. I took a seat in the back, leaning my head against the headrest and closed my eyes.

  It took minutes for me to join the seniors in slumber, and I almost missed my stop. It must have been the steady stop-and-go of the bus luring me to sleep like a giant rocking chair.

  The cleaning crew was out in full force with their mops and trash bags when I walked into the giant, air-conditioned lobby. Goosebumps popped up on my arms through my yellow pea coat and I shivered, looking forward to the general warmth of my office.

  The security guard at the front desk tapped the brim of his navy hat.