Not Safe for Work

By: L. A. Witt

No pressure or anything.

But it was too late to back out now. Standing him up would likely not bode well for keeping my job.

My stomach knotted—I didn’t like the idea of going through with this because I had to. I was a Dom, for God’s sake. No one told me what to do in the bedroom. No one.

But none of that had been an issue until just now, until last-second nerves had kicked in and made me question what I was doing. All afternoon, I’d been excited and barely believed this was real. I wasn’t here because I had to be. I was here because I wanted Rick. The firm had nothing to do with this, and what they didn’t know didn’t hurt me or my job.

So I exhaled and headed inside. Of course I was nervous about this. If it went south or the wrong person found out, it could have ramifications that went well beyond the sting of rejection. If things got weird and Rick decided it was easier to take his various projects to another firm, well…

The knot in my gut came back with a vengeance, but I’d already walked inside, and though we weren’t due to meet for another ten minutes, there he was.

He’d asked via text if I preferred tables, booths or bar tops—booths, of course—and he’d snagged a booth away from the windows. As I shrugged off my jacket, our eyes met, and Rick shifted in his seat.

I smiled and started across the room. Hopefully he couldn’t see my nerves. Though his profile had been made of all the things I itched for in a man—not that I’d read it thirty-seven times since the meeting—the fact remained that this was Rick Pierce. He was wealthy, he was powerful; hell, the guy had been on the cover of at least a dozen magazines with “Most Influential” or some similar title. Exactly the kind of man I’d dreamed of dominating.

Like me, he’d opted for a shirt and tie, and we’d both rolled our sleeves to the elbows. To anyone who cared to look, we were just a couple of guys meeting up for a drink after work. If not for that Rolex around his wrist and the years-old Seiko around mine, we might’ve even appeared to be the same pay grade.

What if someone from work sees us?

Panic tightened my chest, but I quickly brushed it off. All I have to do is say he invited me to have a drink with him, and what was I supposed to do? Say no?

Bulletproof alibi.

With my heart still in my throat, I took a seat across from him. “You’re early.”

He smiled. “Wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get here. I, uh, didn’t want to be late.”

“Good. Punctuality is always a plus.”

Our eyes met again, and goddamn, he was a sub, wasn’t he? One little hint of approval, and I could feel the warmth radiating off him.

A waitress appeared beside us. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just an iced tea. Thank you.” As much as I wanted something harder, my head was already light. No booze this evening.

She turned to Rick. “And you?”

He gestured at the glass in front of him. “I’ll stick with water. Thanks.”

She smiled and then disappeared to get my drink.

Alone again, I looked at Rick. “Listen, um, before we settle in too far, I need to make sure we’re on the same page about something. We should, um…” I cleared my throat. “Look, to be perfectly blunt, if anyone at Mitchell & Forsythe finds out about—”

“They won’t.” There it was—that nonnegotiable tone I usually heard during meetings. He shook his head and added, “No one can find out about this.”

“I agree. But if, hypothetically, someone did find out, I could be out of a job.”

“Exactly why we won’t let that happen.” Rick’s expression softened. “I have no interest in anyone finding out about this. Everyone at Horizon Developing knows damn well I’m gay, but they don’t know I’m kinky. I’d just as soon they didn’t find out. So, absolute discretion.”

I nodded. “No one at Mitchell & Forsythe knows about me either, so…yeah. Discretion is good.”

“Of course.” He paused, studying me. “And I assume it goes without saying that during office hours, this”—he gestured at both of us—“whatever it is, doesn’t exist.”

I still can’t believe “this” does exist.


He nodded. “Good. This is none of anyone’s business but ours, and definitely not our colleagues’.”

There was something odd about Rick implying we had the same set of colleagues. Technically we did. The difference was that I was several levels below them and he was miles above them.

“Right,” I said. “None of their business.”

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