Christmas Daddy(3)

By: Jade West



Mine too.

I hated the holidays. The frantic wrapping up of business to account for the slack days between Christmas Day and New Year was nothing but a ball ache. Everyone was vacant and preoccupied with their looming time off, forgetting conveniently that business continued on regardless. Orders to ship out, and schedules to maintain. Fuck the downtime, and fuck the stupid Christmas jingles and Santa hats and ridiculous office decor.

My shirt was smeared to shit, but that was the least of my worries.

More of a concern was the raging hard on in my fucking pants. So close. She’d been so close to brushing my crotch with those dainty little fingers, and I’d felt it, even though I’d managed to cut her off at the pass.

I shouldn’t be hard. The girl was fresh out of university and a lifetime too young.

Even if her pretty blue eyes were wide and filled with the kind of sweet innocence that made my balls tighten. Even if she had a perfect swell of tits under that tight little blouse, and her ass shimmied like temptation itself as she paced back and forth to the photocopier every fucking day.

She was out of bounds. Totally and utterly. Both morally and professionally.

Plus, she was ditsy. I didn’t tolerate ditsy in my organisation easily, even if it did look good on her.

I ditched the paper towels in the bin and ditched my paperwork along with them. My watch informed me I was late for my own meeting, and I despise lateness, especially when it’s my own.

I could feel the tick of frustration in my temple as I grabbed my laptop from my office and made my way into the main meeting room.

Jenny Morris was already in there, seated at my right in the position usually occupied by her immediate boss. The logistics manager was on extended leave, and I only hoped my sweet little coffee spiller was up to providing me with the answers I’d need for the holiday period. It was a tough ask, and I knew it. The fact that she was barely into the job, and it was her first serious position, didn’t matter at all. My demands are high and I expect them fulfilled.

I took my seat at the head of the table, scanning the faces to make sure everyone had their eye on the ball. It was almost a full house of attentiveness.

Almost.

The girl from stock management, Kristina, was wearing reindeer antlers. I considered calling her out on the unprofessionalism of wearing them to a company meeting, but managed to bite my tongue and rein in the bah humbug for one afternoon.

Aside from Kristina and her stupid novelty headwear, there was only one person who irked me on the readiness front.

Jenny wasn’t even looking at me. She was far too frantic in her quest to get with the plot.

She had her laptop in with her, indicating that her paperwork had fared no better than mine in the body slam. I stared at her fingers working the keys, taking an audible breath until she looked up from the screen and finally met my eyes.

And then I began.

I started with the accounts team, demanding the current list of outstanding payers and those on the no supply list. I grilled Kristina on the current levels of filter sheets in our Birmingham warehouse, and dug deep into delivery schedules for the coming weeks.

Jenny’s fingers were still tapping away at the keyboard when I turned my attention to the client delivery schedules for the coming week.

Her cheeks were still flushed from our clash in the corridor, and her blouse was still clinging to her cleavage here and there. Red dots and lace. The outline of bra straps. Peeks into intimacy that most certainly shouldn’t be available to my hungry eyes.

It infuriated me to realise that my dick was still throbbing under the table, and infuriated me further to realise she didn’t have the client summary to hand.

I repeated my request for the rundown, and still she kept clicking away behind the screen.

“I’m sorry, Mr Hart,” she said. “Just a second, please.”

I gave her a second but her fingers kept on tapping.

I gave her to the count of three and the pale blonde of her eyebrows darkened as they pitted.

“I don’t…” she began. “I don’t, um… my laptop is…”

I didn’t hold back the groan. “Your laptop is what exactly, Jenny?”

She shrugged, then spun the laptop to face me, her bottom lip pinched in her teeth like a naughty schoolgirl.

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