What They Don't Know (Won't Hurt Them Trilogy #1) by O. Y. Flemming

and I went back to watching the Discovery Channel.” She
laughs with her hand over her mouth.
    Lisa is a very
attractive woman. She’s two years younger than I, and wild as shit
after work. Two different people.
    “You can laugh, but
it’s not funny, Lisa. I can’t believe you thought I’d out you.”
    “I’m sorry!” She
jumps up, and runs around my desk to hug me.
    “No apologies needed.
Just don’t go spreading any rumors, about how mundane I am.”
    We both burst into
laughter.
    “Let me make it up
you, Bria, please? Girls’ night out Saturday. I’m not taking no
for an answer.”
    “Okay, crazy lady,
Saturday.”
    “Yay!” she yells,
and claps like a two-year-old. Lisa is a hard-ass, but a girlie-girl
always. She’s rough around the edges, but her heart is huge. She’d
help the world if she could. That’s why I keep her around.
    “I’m not trying to
put you out, but I have a noon meeting, which I’m not quite done
preparing for.”
    “Okay, okay. I’m
gone. By the way, the forecasts are on point for this week.”
    I let out a chuckle. “I
know, Lisa. You could’ve just called, but it was great catching up
with you.”
    “Touché,” she says
and walks out.
    * * *
    I am fifteen minutes
early, as I pull up to a very masculine two-story office building off
LaSalle Avenue. The address Cruz gave me didn’t seem like the one
for the health club. According to my GPS, I’m here; however, I feel
like I shouldn’t be. Inside the lobby, there’s a security desk
with a handsome man sitting behind it. I laugh to myself because he’s
well dressed and looks as if he works as a member of the secret
service.
    “Good afternoon,
Miss, can I help you?” The green-eyed man distracts me with his
smile. He is gorgeous; it’s hard to look away. “Good afternoon,
I’m Ms. Watts I’m h—”
    “Oh, yes,” the
green-eyed man interrupts. “Mr. King is expecting you. You go
straight down that hall and make a left. His office will be right in
front of you.”
    “Okay, thank you,
si—”
    “Dusdin,” he
interrupts me again. “Sparks, Dus-din Sparks.” He repeats a
little slower and efficiently with his introduction, so I can
distinguish each syllable in his name.
    “Dusdin, thank you,”
I reply.
    As I walk down the
hall, I think that was a bit odd. He’s definitely an employee of
Cruz’s. I can see the developing arrogance. I get to the end of the
hall and turn left as I was directed. My eyes bug out at the sight
before me. I turn into what is the entire side of a building, which
happens to be huge. Why in the world does one man need so much space?
Before I sarcastically answer my own question, my attention is focused on a stocky man standing in what could be two doorways.
    Cruz stands in the
opening to another area of his office. It's different, but I think
this is a foyer of some sort. It's nicely decorated in calm
colors; the paintings are of abstract art. Not Van Gogh or Monet, but
it still says high-class. Cruz’s hazel eyes are cold, and his stare
is intent as he stands there watching me with the door open. I'm not
quite sure when, but I start to move toward him. Cruz ushers me with
his hand at my back. His touch is very warm; I can feel it through my
blazer. Cruz hasn't said anything; the force in the room is alarming,
as he continues to guide me to a larger area with another door
attached. I break the silence.
    “You have an office
in an office?” Cruz still hasn't said a word. With his hand still
on the small of my back, he continues to guide me to the chair at his
desk. He manages to pull it from his desk with his other hand, as if
he doesn’t want to lose the physical touch he has on me. As he
signals for me to take my seat, I notice his black slacks and shirt
are not necessarily business-wear, but are very complimentary to his
body frame. The man’s ass is— Stop
it, Bria!
    He sits behind his desk
and places his finger on his chin as if he's thinking. I look at him
quickly with a