pulsating sexuality?
He asked Sterling, the owner of the fetish club, to introduce them.
Sterling refused. “No fraternization between cast and patrons.”
“I’m not a patron,” Grant said. “I’m your friend. Who just busted his butt to create the tech for your extravaganza.”
Sterling, normally a controlled and dignified man, chuckled.
“Come on. At least tell me her name.”
“Not even her name. You’d hunt her down.”
“Ouch,” Grant said.
“This girl’s not a slut. But if I ever found out she even met you for coffee, I’d fire her. Vault rules. I don’t employ hookers. Back off, Grant. She’s not a trust-fund baby like you. She needs this job. She’s got big college plans she deserves to pursue.”
Grant went back to watch the show one last time. He’d never forget how the luscious woman, wearing insubstantial ribbons of silver, stared straight at him as she writhed in ecstasy.
It was an invitation he couldn’t accept.
Chapter Two
Allie bounced down the hall toward her new office. Even her heavy briefcase failed to anchor her. It was her first day at Synthos Systems Group. SSG was full of brilliant visionaries inventing the astonishing mechanics and media for the live spectacle. And she would be one of those stage wizards.
She’d loved her last job in entertainment technology. She’d programmed at Doering and Sons, making sure the wash lighting didn’t overpower the scenery lighting, devising projections and video wall animation. But never once did she get to see the cutting-edge effects she helped to create. Now she would. As a production manager and chief lighting designer at SSG, she’d get to work on her own show, on-site. Vegas. Broadway. Stadiums. All hers to play with.
Joy bubbled through her.
Her friend Pilar had encouraged her to apply for the job. Pilar was a machinist at SSG. Right after she claimed her office, Allie was going to meet Pilar in the vending machine room in Building C for a celebratory microwave popcorn. Allie paused at her office door. It had a brass plaque with her name on it.
Allison Fairfax, Production Manager.
She stood there, transfixed by the elegant nameplate. SSG was so classy. Would she fit in? Biting her lower lip, she smoothed down her fine, short blond hair. With minimal makeup, small pearl earrings, a blue heather wool blazer skimming her ample curves, a navy wool skirt to her knees, she looked cultured enough. Even her scent was subdued and professional. She’d decided early on in her entertainment technology career she would dress up to the position she wanted.
She’d arrived. She was in the big leagues.
Someone was striding down the corridor toward her. Even dressed down in a long-sleeved chambray shirt and jeans, he held power in his carriage. He was probably somebody important in SSG. Another production manager, maybe. He approached closer. Very handsome. Tanned, chiseled features, unusual purple eyes. His eye color was probably an odd trick of the corridor’s fluorescent light. Had to be. The last time she even heard about someone having purple eyes was ages ago.
He stopped to greet her. “I’m Grant Edmonds. You must be our new production manager. Welcome to SSG.”
Yes. Grant Edmonds. The CEO.
He gripped her hand with gentle strength. At his touch, her ovaries hummed and spit like a capacitor about to discharge. How could some stranger do this to her?
“Thanks,” she managed, corking a moan. “I’m excited to be here.”
He unclasped her hand. “Well, we’re delighted to have you. Dave Goldberg tells me SSG was lucky to lure you away from Doering and Sons.”
His deep-set dark eyes glided over her face. An inexplicable smile of affection and recognition edged his lips.
“Silver?” His tone was proprietary.
She hadn’t heard that name for at least five years. She swallowed, distressed. She had to convince him he was wrong. She wasn’t that girl.
“Um, no, I’m Allie Fairfax.”
His smile notched down to
He asked Sterling, the owner of the fetish club, to introduce them.
Sterling refused. “No fraternization between cast and patrons.”
“I’m not a patron,” Grant said. “I’m your friend. Who just busted his butt to create the tech for your extravaganza.”
Sterling, normally a controlled and dignified man, chuckled.
“Come on. At least tell me her name.”
“Not even her name. You’d hunt her down.”
“Ouch,” Grant said.
“This girl’s not a slut. But if I ever found out she even met you for coffee, I’d fire her. Vault rules. I don’t employ hookers. Back off, Grant. She’s not a trust-fund baby like you. She needs this job. She’s got big college plans she deserves to pursue.”
Grant went back to watch the show one last time. He’d never forget how the luscious woman, wearing insubstantial ribbons of silver, stared straight at him as she writhed in ecstasy.
It was an invitation he couldn’t accept.
Chapter Two
Allie bounced down the hall toward her new office. Even her heavy briefcase failed to anchor her. It was her first day at Synthos Systems Group. SSG was full of brilliant visionaries inventing the astonishing mechanics and media for the live spectacle. And she would be one of those stage wizards.
She’d loved her last job in entertainment technology. She’d programmed at Doering and Sons, making sure the wash lighting didn’t overpower the scenery lighting, devising projections and video wall animation. But never once did she get to see the cutting-edge effects she helped to create. Now she would. As a production manager and chief lighting designer at SSG, she’d get to work on her own show, on-site. Vegas. Broadway. Stadiums. All hers to play with.
Joy bubbled through her.
Her friend Pilar had encouraged her to apply for the job. Pilar was a machinist at SSG. Right after she claimed her office, Allie was going to meet Pilar in the vending machine room in Building C for a celebratory microwave popcorn. Allie paused at her office door. It had a brass plaque with her name on it.
Allison Fairfax, Production Manager.
She stood there, transfixed by the elegant nameplate. SSG was so classy. Would she fit in? Biting her lower lip, she smoothed down her fine, short blond hair. With minimal makeup, small pearl earrings, a blue heather wool blazer skimming her ample curves, a navy wool skirt to her knees, she looked cultured enough. Even her scent was subdued and professional. She’d decided early on in her entertainment technology career she would dress up to the position she wanted.
She’d arrived. She was in the big leagues.
Someone was striding down the corridor toward her. Even dressed down in a long-sleeved chambray shirt and jeans, he held power in his carriage. He was probably somebody important in SSG. Another production manager, maybe. He approached closer. Very handsome. Tanned, chiseled features, unusual purple eyes. His eye color was probably an odd trick of the corridor’s fluorescent light. Had to be. The last time she even heard about someone having purple eyes was ages ago.
He stopped to greet her. “I’m Grant Edmonds. You must be our new production manager. Welcome to SSG.”
Yes. Grant Edmonds. The CEO.
He gripped her hand with gentle strength. At his touch, her ovaries hummed and spit like a capacitor about to discharge. How could some stranger do this to her?
“Thanks,” she managed, corking a moan. “I’m excited to be here.”
He unclasped her hand. “Well, we’re delighted to have you. Dave Goldberg tells me SSG was lucky to lure you away from Doering and Sons.”
His deep-set dark eyes glided over her face. An inexplicable smile of affection and recognition edged his lips.
“Silver?” His tone was proprietary.
She hadn’t heard that name for at least five years. She swallowed, distressed. She had to convince him he was wrong. She wasn’t that girl.
“Um, no, I’m Allie Fairfax.”
His smile notched down to
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