BegBy: Amanda Richensexi
The Charli and Draken Collection
About This Book
He's bossy. She's snarky. Together, they're kinky as all f*ck.
When the most unlikely pair in Seattle meet in the conference room for the first time, what happens is beyond acceptable.
Meet Draken: Eccentric, drop-dead sexy sports gear CEO. Enjoys stalking a certain frazzled, no-name PR junior assistant in his spare time. Gets off on teasing, tormenting, and corrupting said assistant until she hasn't a thought in her head.
Meet Charli: Good girl, bad dresser, chocolate-chip-cookie-baker. Public speaking makes her squirm. So does Draken Almatto, the man most likely to be voted Alphahole of the Century. Wouldn't date this dirty-talking S.O.B. if you paid her. But for reasons she'd rather not disclose, she'll willingly obey his every degrading order in the meeting room and let him put his hands wherever he wants to...
Submission has never been so irreverent.
Dominance has never been so outrageous.
Love has never been so public.
War has never been so funny.
Told in narrative, emails, and texts.
This volume contains all six stories recounting the scorching adventures of Charli Fontina and Draken Almatto:
Charli's Utterly Humiliating Presentation
Charli's Majorly Mortifying Meeting
Charli's Radically Robotic Audition
Charli's Freakishly Frenzied Monday
Charli's Scarily Good Birthday
Charli's Too-Good-To-Be-True Promotion
Charli's Utterly Humiliating Presentation
"LET'S BEGIN, SHALL WE?" a deep voice said. "Ms. Fontina, you're on."
You can do this, Charli told herself as she rose from her chair, nervously pushing up her thick-framed glasses and tugging at her clingy skirt, which had ridden up above her knees. Remember the Brady Bunch episode where Marcia imagined the driving test instructor wearing underwear in order to calm her nerves? Just do the same thing with these businessmen. Think of them in their briefs and boxers and laugh in their faces. Courage, Charli! Courage!
Adjusting her jacket, she turned to face her audience—and gulped, confronted by a sea of masculine faces across the polished oval conference table.
They were crazy good looking.
Okay, new plan. Envisioning these guys in their underwear would not soothe her nerves—more like give her an orgasmic aneurysm where she stood. They were far too intimidating.
Particularly the tall man who'd called the meeting to order. It wasn't his height or his being seated in the middle of the row that drew her eyes. It was his face, falling somewhere between beautiful geek and classic movie star. And. That. Body. Just trying to picture him minus his tailored navy jacket and shirt made her mouth water. She licked her lips, even as deep between her legs everything went liquid. Oh, yes, his chest would be broad and rippling with muscle under her fingertips, his wavy auburn hair begging to be tousled by her gripping hands, while that stubbled jaw would be rough rubbing against her thigh while he…Stop! Stop now! What are you doing?
Charli rolled her eyes. Talk about inappropriate thoughts. Get a grip. This is a professional environment, not a singles club.
"All set, Ms. Fontina?"
"Yes. Oh, yes." She met the auburn-haired man's laughing eyes and bit her lip. Oh, no. Was he reading her thoughts somehow?
Don't be paranoid, Charli. None of these guys can read your mind, not even Mr. Hotitude there, relaxing back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his neck as if waiting for you to screw up.
Of course her nipples would decide to tingle just now, puckering smartly in salute to her audience. Her nipples sometimes stiffened when she got the jitters performing to a crowd. Shit, this time her flimsy suit jacket had no lining. She was sure everyone could see the long bumps pushing against the fabric.
He noticed! She saw him notice, and then a dimple appeared. This was awful. Worse than awful.
For now she was blushing red in her cheeks. As if to underline that she was in over her head. Absolutely not cool. Not adult. Not impressive.
Forget your nipples. Begin. They want you to begin.
If only every single guy wasn't so good-looking and buff. Freaking every last one of them. And there were eleven of these creatures, all male, all young.
Well, what do you expect? It is a sporting goods company, after all. They have to be fantastic-looking to sell their product.
While Charli…didn't. Charli was a junior assistant. She wasn't fantastic-looking. At least, not in the elegant, model-like, puffy-lips kind of way she longed to be.
With her short, dark curls, freckles and wide, friendly smile, Charli was…cute. She was the girl next door who shares banana muffin recipes with old ladies at bake sales, not the hang-off-a-hot-guy's-arm-and-hijack-all-the-attention kind of woman that was her wannabe.
Body-wise, Charli had something else going on. Yet curvy hips and breasts that needed industrial-strength support did not necessarily a sexpot make. Not when they dressed like her.
"Ms. Fontina? If you're ready…"
"Yes, yes, I am." She took a discreet breath and shifted her weight to the other hip. If only she didn't look so…so rumpled. This dark business suit—she hated it. It was totally unflattering. A boyfriend had once told her she looked better out of her clothes than in them. It made her wish she could walk around naked all the time.
For about three seconds. Before she remembered she was morbidly shy.
Anyway, she wasn't exactly a bad shopper. Exactly. She was just busy. Plus off-the-rack business suits weren't designed for her petite, hourglass shape. She'd done the best she could on her budget. Still. Visually, she wasn't presenting an impressive package here.
No matter. Her words would impress, she thought positively.
She stood tall—well, as tall as five foot zero could stand—and cleared her throat. Gradually the murmur of masculine voices quieted and all eyes rested on her. Immediately she felt her nipples stab against the jacket. Oh no, were they all looking there now? Yeah, pretty much.
Her heart pounded. Speech—hell, breath—was beyond her.
Nipples, calm down! Go hide! "Ah. Hello. So, ah, thank you all for meeting with me today."
And she stopped.
Cleared her throat. Again.
Several men shifted in their seats.
This is getting painful. For everyone. She glanced away miserably.
"That's fine. We're on a time crunch, Ms. Fontina," the man in the middle drawled. Suddenly Charli put a name to him. Draken Almatto, the CEO of Almatto Tech Sport, the internationally known brand whose custom her boss had such a hard-on for. Yikes and fuckery! That just put the icing on the cake. This guy wasn't in the big leagues, he was the big leagues.
The laughter was gone from his eyes; he looked bored, his eyes assessing her coolly, up and down.
"Right. Yes. Sorry. This isn't exactly my best—uh. Never mind. Okay." She drew a deep breath. Through the lenses of her large-framed glasses, she fixed her gaze on an invisible point at the back of the room.
Then finally, finally launched into her spiel.
While she babbled, her gut was cringing. Why was she so nervous today, anyway? It's not like she was here to argue for world peace. She simply wanted to pitch a new publicity campaign on behalf of her employer, GudRelashuns.com. Yes, her long-awaited promotion was at stake. After almost three years, she could hardly shrug off the opportunity to substitute for her boss while he was in bed, sick with the flu. So yes, her career was on the line. At twenty-four, chances like this didn't come along every day.
And yes, standing up in front of a herd of hot studs was flustering.
But she'd done stuff like this before. She didn't have a terror of public speaking or anything. It wasn't like she was new at pitching an idea.
But she knew the real cause. It was Draken Almatto himself. He was too sensationally…everything. He made her nipples hard. And he kept looking at her.
Of course he's looking at you. You're the one giving the presentation.
"I've heard enough." The three clipped words cut her short. She stopped in the middle of her sentence, her mouth hanging open. Draken Almatto smiled at her. "Let's take fifteen and then reassemble. Ms. Fontina, if you don't mind, I'd like a word with you privately."
She watched in a daze as the men began filing out of the room, joking with each other. When she and Draken were alone, she stilled, aware of his gaze scanning her again.
"What's the problem, Mr. Almatto?" she blurted.
"Problem?" His eyebrows rose, thick, reddish brown slashes over gleaming blue eyes. "There's no problem, Ms. Fontina. None at all. I simply have a proposal for you."
"A proposal? For me?" She was startled. There were rumors Almatto Tech Sport was run a bit unconventionally, its CEO reputed to be somewhat eccentric. It appeared she was about to find out if they were true.
"Mm-hm. You see, we're about three hours away from the holiday weekend." He stood up and came around to her side of the table, perching on it casually and letting one leg swing.
Charli winced. Yes, it hadn't been ideal, the scheduled presentation time falling right on the cusp of Labor Day weekend.
"My staff are restless, Ms. Fontina. They're eager to get out of here, go home and start their holiday. And fascinating as your pitch is, it's putting them to sleep. Frankly, it's putting me to sleep. How would you like to help me out, help yourself out, and wake us all up?"
"Wh—what? Um. I guess. Sure." This was weird. With him so close, she felt the warmth of his body and noticed his slim hips, his legs as sleekly muscled as his torso. His polished leather shoes were quite sizable. The guy was more lean than wide, but he had big feet.