Chapter 288: The New Girl

Holly’s POV

The rest of the afternoon dragged like a bad hangover…slow, throbbing, and impossible to ignore.

My supplies came in, and relief hit me hard and fast. I rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me like I was hiding a secret.

From the bag, I pulled out the red set…bold, unapologetic. The fabric slid over my skin, the matching bra and panties hugging me just right, hot and daring, like a quiet rebellion beneath my clothes. I stared at my reflection for a second longer than necessary, heart thudding, feeling transformed…charged, confident, dangerous in the best way.

Now, I felt like I was ready for David.

Or so I thought.

When I was done minutes later, I sat at my desk trying to look normal while David played his favorite game for today…remote-control roulette.

He’d wait until I was mid-email, mid-phone call, mid-anything, then flick the switch. Low buzz for a few seconds…just enough to make me freeze and clench my thighs. Then nothing. Then a sudden spike that had me gripping the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles went white.

Twice I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning out loud. Once, I swear I squirted a little…warm rush, soaked panties, praying the chair didn’t give me away.

Every time it happened, I’d glance toward his office door and look through the blinds he left half open on purpose.

He’d be sitting there, calm as hell, typing or on a call, like he wasn’t torturing me from twenty feet away. Sometimes he’d catch me looking and lift one eyebrow…just that tiny movement…and I’d feel my face burn hotter than the toy inside me.

I kept checking the clock. A few hours until closing. Three and a half hours left. Three. I was counting down like a kid waiting for Christmas, except Christmas involved a man who’d already made me come more than three times today and promised more in the parking garage.

I became a mess as more hours passed. Hair sticking to the back of my neck. Thighs slick. Brain fuzzy. I kept telling myself…just get through the next hour, then you’re his for the whole weekend.

That’s when the front door opened and Mike from accounting walked in with her.

She was tall, legs shaped like a model, wearing a cream blazer and skirt that probably cost more than a lot of people’s rent. Hair in one of those perfect low buns. Sunglasses perched on her head even though we were indoors. Everything about her screamed money and confidence and I-don’t-wait-in-lines.

Mike gestured toward David’s office like a tour guide, saying things to her that I couldn’t make out.

She gave him a polite little smile and kept walking by his side. Heels clicking. Expensive perfume trailing behind her like a warning.

I watched them come closer and felt my stomach knot.

Who the hell is this?

Old flame? Sugar baby from his whoring days? Some rich client who gets special treatment?

They stopped right in front of my desk. Mike gave me an awkward nod and said calmly, “She has an appointment with Mr. Hunt. He’s expecting her.” Then he scurried off, leaving me with Miss Perfect.

I stood up slowly. The toy shifted and I almost whimpered.

“And you are?” I asked. The words came out sharper than I meant…way sharper than any professional assistant should sound.

She looked me up and down, slow, like she was sizing up competition. Then she smirked. Full-on owned-the-planet smirk.

“Tell Mason that Rachel is here,” she said, voice dripping with some fancy accent that was almost British but not quite.

She said Mason like she was rolling it around in her mouth on purpose for me to hear it…like she was putting emphasis on the name.

My brain short-circuited.

Mason?

Only people from his old life in LA called him that. He’d told me that himself shortly after we got talking.

He told me that he dropped that name to escape his past. Does that mean she’s from his past? An acquaintance? Someone he used to date back in LA?

Who the hell is she?!

I folded my arms as my insides churned with several questions. “No last name?”

Her smile got tighter. “Are we following proper procedure, madam… or is this personal?”

Madam. She called me madam.

I felt the vein in my forehead throb. She looked at least five years older than me…tiny lines in her eyes, that polished richness that only comes with age and money…and she was calling me madam?

“Listen,” I started, voice low and dangerous, “there’s nobody here named Mason. So I suggest you turn around, Mrs. Rachel, and leave quietly before I call security. And honestly? You’re older than my big sister. Maybe act your age instead of throwing tantrums.”

Her mouth dropped open for half a second before she snapped it shut and narrowed her eyes at me.

“I’m here to see David Hunt,” she said icily. “Does he know his receptionist treats clients like this?”

“I’m not a receptionist. Besides, only clients who strut in here like bossy peacocks get this treatment. And to be honest, you’re the first recipient…so, congratulations,” I shot back.

She inhaled sharply. “Just get me your boss.”

“Just go away,” I hissed.

“What is going on here?” David’s voice cut through the air, sharp with irritation.

He stepped out of his office, sleeves rolled up, looking annoyed at the interruption.

Before I could open my mouth, Rachel spun toward him.

“Mason!” she squealed like a child and launched herself at him, arms around his neck, body pressed close.

I saw red instantly.

Literal red. Like someone had flipped a filter over my eyes.

David froze. Completely. Like he didn’t even know who she was at first. Then his hands came up and gently but firmly unhooked her arms from his neck.

Rachel was still giggling like this was some happy high school reunion.

I didn’t wait for any instructions.

I moved.

Grabbed a fistful of her perfect bun and yanked her backward.

Hard.

She shrieked…high-pitched and dramatic…as I dragged her away from him.

“Get this dog off me, Hunt!” she yelled. “It’s me…Rachel!”

David’s face went from confused to shocked to something close to panic.

“Rachel?” he repeated, like the name was a ghost.

Then he was moving…fast…hands on my shoulders, pushing me back.

Not gentle.

I stumbled, back slamming into the sharp edge of my desk. Pain exploded across my spine and I yelled, more from shock than anything.

The room spun for a second.

I looked up at him, chest heaving with confusion and hurt.

“David,” I said, voice cracking, “did you just push me? For her?”

He looked wrecked. Eyes wide, mouth tight.

“Holly, I’ll explain later,” he said quickly. “She’s…she’s an extremely important client. I can’t miss this meeting. Please.”

He turned to Rachel, put a hand on her elbow, and steered her toward his office.

The door closed behind them with a soft click while I stood there, frozen in time… Back throbbing and heart shredded.

Did he just do that to me?

Jealousy and anger and pain all twisted together so tight I could barely breathe.

He pushed me.

He actually pushed me away to protect her.

I knew it. I knew this was too good to last. A guy from like David with a past full of women like her…polished, connected, the kind who call him Mason and get hugged in offices.

I was just the assistant he played games with. The one who wore his toy to work and came in supply closets.

Fantasy’s over, Holly.

Back to reality.