Beautiful Bastard (Chapter 1 BEAUTIFUL BASTARD)

"Shit," I mumbled to myself. I knew the moment I woke up this morning that my day was going to suck. Sitting in my car, I tried to peer around the huge SUV in front of me. What the hell is the problem? I had been stuck in the same spot on this forsaken freeway for ten minutes now. And that was ten minutes more than I had. I looked at the clock again. Shit.

I sighed and glanced out the window, my eyes meeting those of the driver next to me. The forty-something man flashed me a creepy smile and mouthed the word 'nice', Ew. Why did men have to be such pigs? I leaned my head back on the seat and let out a long sigh, thinking back on the debacle that had begun my day.

I had woken to the blaring sound of My Chemical Romance playing through the speakers of my alarm clock. I moaned, burying my head in my pillow, and reached over to fumble with the controls. But the sound didn't quiet, it got louder. What the hell? I leaned farther to pull the cord out of the wall, and fell out of bed. Unfortunately, the clock and everything else on my nightstand table came tumbling with me.

Oh no! My Blackberry! My now empty glass of water lay next to my sopping wet phone. Panic started to set in as I held the dripping phone in my hand. I was dead. My whole life and Mr. Ryan's entire schedule was in this thing. I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. Maybe it would dry out and be fine, I told myself . Yea right. Because water and expensive electronic devices go so well together.

I silently prayed that I had remembered to back it up before leaving last night. But after remembering the day that I had yesterday, I was almost positive I'd forgotten. My boss, Bennett Ryan, had been in a particularly nasty mood, and had spent the majority of his day barking out orders and slamming his door. The man was a first class jerk. He had taken over for my previous boss nine months earlier, and was just as big a pig now as he was the day he started. Usually it didn't bother me, I hadn't gotten where I was by having thin skin. But that day I had been wearing my brand new Michael Kors dress, a huge shopping splurge and was feeling particularly good about myself. His tantrum had me ready to hire a hit man by the time six o'clock came around.

I sighed when I realized that I would have to spend my lunch hour getting a new phone. Great. I somehow managed to pull myself out of my internal rambling and get myself ready for the day. Of course the coffee maker died, and my keys had fallen into the couch cushion, but somehow, I managed to make it to my car only running a few minutes behind. That was of course until the accident.

It took almost an hour for me to finally make it past the wreck that was blocking three lanes of traffic, condensing the entire freeway down to one. And by the time I made it to the office, I was officially an hour late. Normally I would have called, but my phone was still at home, lying in a pile of water and tear soaked paper towels at the bottom of my bathroom garbage.

I knew I was going to get shit for this, even though I prided myself on always being at least fifteen minutes early for work, and had never been late once. Until today. Just because he was that much of an jerkface.

Mr. Bennett Ryan. I rolled my eyes as the name passed through my thoughts; I couldn't stand the man. He was the most self-righteous, pompous jerk I had ever met in my life. I'd listen to all of the other women in the office whisper and giggle about him because even I had to admit, he was drop-dead gorgeous. But if you had any common sense, you realized early in life that beauty is only skin deep, and ugly goes straight to the bone. I'd had my fair share of unpleasant men in the past few years; dated a few in high school and college. But this one took the cake. Beautiful bastard.

"Well, well, Ms. Mills, and what time is it in your little world today?" he asked in a condescending tone as I stepped into the office. He was standing in the doorway of his own office across the room from me, looking as gorgeous and arrogant as usual. He was about 6'2", and had a body like a marble sculpture. I had made the mistake of visiting the hotel gym during a convention the first month we worked together, and walked in to find him sweaty and shirtless next to the treadmill. That image was forever burned into my brain. But of course, he had to ruin it by opening his mouth, "It's nice to see you finally taking an interest in your physical fitness, Ms. Mills." Scumbag. He had a face that any male model would kill for and the most incredible hair I've ever seen on a man. Sex hair. That's what the girl's downstairs called it, and according to them, it earned its name.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ryan. There was an accident on the freeway, and I got here as soon as I could. It won't happen again, sir," I said in a polite tone with just a hint of bite, even though my fingers were practically twitching with the desire to gouge out those pretty green eyes of his.

"You're right, it won't," he replied with that cocky smile that made my stomach both turn and leap at the same time. If only he would keep his mouth shut, he'd be perfect. A piece of duck tape across the mouth would do the trick and then I wouldn't mind the daydreams I would have about us; in the supply room, on his desk, on my desk, sprawled out on satin sheets…. "And just so you don't allow this incident to slip your memory, I want that assignment I put on your desk this morning completed and on my desk by six. Then you're going to make up the hour lost this morning making your presentation in the conference room with me."

My eyes widened as his voice broke me out of my now long forgotten thoughts, and I watched him turn away without another word, slamming his office door behind him. What. A. Pig. He knew bloody well that a presentable ad campaign could not be done in… I looked at my watch. Great, seven and a half hours, if I skipped my lunch. I tossed my purse under my desk and sat down to turn on my computer mumbling under my breath as I opened the file folder on my desk. Well at least it was a simple shoe ad, not too hard to think of a tagline for. But still he'd given me an unrealistic time limit.

Have I mentioned lately that my boss is a pig?

As everyone else began filtering out for lunch, I sat at my desk with my coffee and bag of Ritz Bits I'd grabbed from the vending machine on the way back from the ladies' room. Normally I would bring my lunch or leave with the other assistants to grab something, but time was not on my side today.

Just as I was grumbling about malnutrition, I heard the outer office door open. Looking up I smiled as my friend Angela walked in. Angela had worked for Ryan Inc. almost as long as I had. She was sweet and kind and one of my favorite people here. "Ready for lunch, Chloe?" she asked, smiling sweetly.

"Angela I'm sorry, I know I promised, but this has been the day from hell. There is absolutely no way I can make it." I looked at her apologetically, as her smile turned into a smirk.

"Day from hell, or boss from hell?" she leaned down and snickered. Angela knew all about Bennett

"the snake" Ryan. He was a living legend in this building. No one argued with him if they wanted to keep their job. Hell, if I wasn't so good at my job, I wouldn't be able dish back half the shit I did.

"You've got the last part right," I replied. Blowing my bangs out of my eyes, I let out a big sigh. "Look I am absolutely swamped. You guys go on ahead without me."

"But…" She tried to argue.

"Angela, there's just no way. Even if I work clear till seven, I still don't think I'll be able to get this finished in time. I really am sorry and I promise to catch you guys next time."

"Alright. But don't you let that moron boss you around. He's lucky to have you and he knows it. We all know who really holds all the cards here, Chloe." Angela smiled and left the office.

This was going to be a long day. I noticed for the third time in as many hours my thigh highs had started to slip. I always made it a point to dress impeccably for work. My hair always started up in a stylish twist, although by the end of the day, my curly hair was usually fighting its way free. And thanks to my best friend Alice, my clothes were fashionable, yet professional. She insisted I was made for the "hot secretary" look. So my wardrobe consisted mostly of pencil skirts and feminine blouses and blazers, simple jewelry and of course, again thanks to Alice, the best shoes money could buy. I had always hated wearing heels, but she had taught me that pricier ones tended to be better quality and were more comfortable to wear. I hated to admit it, but she had been right. And my closet was now home to several pairs of sexy designer shoes. The one thing I hated, were my glasses. I always felt like such a dork in them. But contacts never worked for me, and I couldn't read without them. So Alice had helped me pick the perfect pair that in her words "completed the look".

As I bent under my desk to try and straighten my hose, I felt someone approach. Not looking up, I spoke, "Look Angela, I told you…" I stopped when I finally glanced up and saw that it wasn't Angela standing there. My cheeks flushed red and I pulled my skirt back down over my stockings. "I'm sorry Mr. Ryan I…" but he cut me off.

"Miss Mills, since you obviously have time to visit with the other office girls as well as completing the Nike project," he said as he looked down at me. "I need you to also run down to accounting and retrieve the profit analysis for the third quarter. Do you think you can manage that?"

Did he just say office girl? I sighed heavily and looked down at the heaps of work I still had to do, trying to reign in my temper, then up to him to meet his blazing green eyes. "With all due respect, Mr. Ryan. I am only one person and…"

"It wasn't a request. That will be all, Miss Mills," he cut me off, gazing at me for a moment with a clenched jaw, and then turned on his heel to storm back to his office and slammed the door once again.

What the hell was his problem? Did he really feel it necessary to slam doors behind him? I rolled my eyes and grabbed my blazer from the back of the chair, and began making my way to accounting.

When I returned, I knocked on the office door but there was no response. Hmm. Reaching out I turned the knob slightly, locked. The jerkface probably stepped out for lunch while leaving me here to do his footwork. I shoved the manila folder through the mail slot in his door roughly, hoping the papers scattered everywhere and he had to get down and sort them himself. Would serve him right.

Then again, as an afterthought, I hoped not. Knowing him, he would call me into that hole to do it while he watched; taking more time from my already impossible project.

Bloody hell! I thought to myself for the hundredth time in the last hour. I raced down the darkened hall of the now empty building; the presentation materials clutched haphazardly in my arms, and glanced down at my watch. 7:20. Holy shit, would nothing go right for me today? Mr. Ryan was going to have my neck. I was twenty minutes late. He hated late. Late was not a word found in the Bennett Ryan jerkhead Dictionary. Along with heart, kindness, compassion or thank you.

I found myself once again plotting the murder of the idiot that worked at Kinko's. A simple job, that's all I asked. Make some copies, and bind some documents. Should have been a piece of cake. In and out. But, no. Two hours. It took two hours.

And now, there I was, running through the empty halls of my building in my $350 Italian pumps, racing towards the executioner. Breathe Chloe. He can smell fear.

As I neared the conference room, I tried pointlessly to calm my breathing. Maybe he would be running late, and was still in his office working. Yea, right. I passed his office and my fears were confirmed. The door was open, the desk lamp the only illumination in the room, and there sat his large leather chair. Empty. Shit.

I slowed to a walk as I approached the conference room, dim light escaping from beneath the closed door. He was definitely in there, waiting for me. Carefully, I attempted to smooth my hair and clothing while holding onto the bundle of documents in my arms. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door.

"Come in." My breath caught and a small gasp escaped my lips at the tone of his voice. He didn't sound angry, it was worse. He sounded bored. Bored of waiting. I think this is what they mean by the fight or flight reflex.

Straightening my shoulders, I walked into the dimly lit space. The room was large, one side filled with floor to ceiling windows that gave a beautiful view of the Chicago cityscape eighteen stories below. In the center stood a large heavy wood conference table, and seated at the head of the table, facing me, was Mr. Ryan.

He sat there, his suit jacket hanging on the chair behind him, his tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his fingers tented in front of him. A look of total boredom set on his perfect little face. His eyes were boring into mine, but he said nothing.

"I apologize, Mr. Ryan," I said, my voice wavering with my still labored breathing, "There was a mix up with th-" I stopped. Excuses wouldn't help my situation. And besides, I wasn't going to let him blame me for something I had no control over. He could kiss my…you know. With my new found bravery in place, I lifted my chin and walked over to the table.

Without meeting his gaze, I sorted through my papers and placed the presentation on the wooden table before us. "Are you ready for me to begin, Mr. Ryan?" I asked, not trying to hide the venom in my voice.

He looked up at me, not responding, his green eyes piercing my brave front. This would be a lot easier if he wasn't so beautiful. What's the point of having such a beautiful face when there's such a massive ass attached to it? I hated myself for noticing his looks. Of course he was gorgeous, that's how he got away with being such a gigantic prick to everyone. Every woman in this building threw themselves at him, and he was too arrogant and conceited to even acknowledge it. Everyone but me that is. I prided myself on being the only one who never attempted to gain his attention. He might be sexy as hell, but one word out of that mouth usually took care of the problem.

Still not saying anything, he gestured his hand to the documents before him, urging me to continue . I cleared my throat and began my presentation. As I moved through the different phases of the campaign, he didn't say a word. He merely looked forward, his eyes meeting nothing.

I was leaning over the table, gesturing towards a set of photographs when I felt it. His hand lifted slowly from his lap and pressed gently into my lower back before sliding down, settling on my ass.

"The print company can have this do-" I stopped mid sentence, my breath caught in my throat, and I froze. A million thoughts raced through my mind in that instant. In the nine months I had worked for him, he had never intentionally touched me. This was most definitely intentional.

The heat from his hand, burned through my skirt and into my skin. Every muscle in my body tensed, as a shudder ran through me. What the hell was he doing? My brain screamed at me to push his hand off, to tell him to never touch me again, but my body had other ideas. My nipples hardened, and I clenched my jaw in response. Traitor nipples.

I let out the breath I'd been holding, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest. At least a minute had to have passed, and neither of us said anything, our breathing and the muted noise of the city below the only sounds echoing in the still air of the conference room.

"Turn around Ms. Mills," he said quietly. The sound of his voice broke the silence; I gasped silently and closed my eyes at the sound. I straightened my back, eyes facing forward. Slowly I turned, his hand moving with me, sliding to my hip. I looked down to meet his eyes, and he looked intently back at me. More silence.

I could see his chest rising and falling; each breath deeper than the last. His thumb began to move, slowly sliding back and forth; his eyes never leaving mine. He was waiting for me to stop him; there had been plenty of time for me to say something. But as much as I hated him, I knew I couldn't say those words. I had never felt this way. Every muscle was tensed in anticipation. I could feel the heat emanating from his hand, coursing through my body, and the moisture beginning to seep into my panties.

With his eyes locked to mine, he began to slowly slide his hand lower. His fingers ran down my thigh, to the hem of my skirt. He moved it aside and his hand rested on the tops of my stockings, curling his smooth hand around my thigh. As his hand rose up my leg, my body trembled with the power of the rage and lust battling inside me. How dare he think he can touch me? I hated him more than I'd known was possible, but right now, I hated myself more. How could I let my body react like this? I wanted to slap him in the face; but more than that, I wanted him to keep going. The slow ache between my legs was building, and I could feel the wetness pooling as his fingers inched closer. He reached the edge of my lace panties and he slipped his fingers under the hem. I felt him slide against my hairless lips, and graze my clit before plunging his finger inside me. I closed my eyes, and bit my lip trying to stifle my groan. When I looked down at him, his eyes were wild with lust, and beads of sweat were forming on his brow.

"Fuck," he growled quietly. His eyes closed and he seemed to be waging the same internal battle as I was. I glanced down at his lap and could see him hard, straining against the fabric of his pants. With his eyes still closed he withdrew his finger and fisted the thin lace of my panties in his hand. He was shaking and he looked up at me, fury and lust in his eyes. In one quick movement he tore them from my body, the rip of the fabric echoing in the silence.

He pulled my hips roughly, lifting me up onto the cold table and spreading my legs in front of him. I felt the heat spread rapidly through my center, and I gave an involuntary groan as his fingers returned to rub roughly against my clit. I despised this man and everything he stood for, but my body was betraying me; it craved the touch he was giving me. Not the same gentle loving touches I was accustomed to, but working my body into an animalistic frenzy. My head fell back as I leaned back on my elbows, feeling my impending orgasm approaching fast.

But then he stopped, removing his hand from inside me and I actually throbbed from the loss. I whimpered loudly as my head flew up to look at him. I sat up quickly taking the front of his shirt in my fists and pulling his lips roughly against mine. He even tasted amazing, and I hated that. I bit his lower lip as my hands made quick work down to the front of his pants, undoing his belt hastily. "You better be ready to finish what you started, Mr. Ryan."

He growled and took my blouse in his hands and ripped it open, the buttons flying aimlessly across the carpet. He gripped my breasts roughly, shooting such a pleasurable pain through my body, and causing my hands to quicken their motions to unfasten his pants and shove them, along with his boxers to the floor. I gripped his thick hard length in my hand and squeezed, feeling it pulse against my palm. "Oh I intend to do more than that, Miss Mills."

The way he seethed my name should have sent a rush of fury through me, but I only felt one thing right now. Pure, unadulterated lust. I suddenly felt my skirt being pushed up my thighs, and he pushed my back on the conference table. Before I could utter a single word, I felt him take a hold of my ankles and thrust his long hard cock deep inside me. "Fuck!" I screamed loudly.

"That's right," I heard him hiss through clenched teeth, as his hips rapidly slammed against me, driving his cock deep inside. I couldn't hold back the moans and screams. "Never been fucked like this before have you? You wouldn't be such a fucking cock tease if you were being properly fucked."

Who did he think he was? And why the hell did it turn me on so much that he was right? I had never had sex anywhere but on a bed, and it never felt like this. His cock felt so damn good inside me, and it awakened things I hadn't even known existed. Never had I been able to get off during sex. I usually had to sneak away into the bathroom after and take care of things myself. But he'd already had me to the brink twice. "I've had better," I taunted breathlessly, looking up at him through narrowed eyes.

His eyes flared and he pulled out just as I was about to come. I growled at him as he let go of my ankles. At first I thought he was actually going to leave me this way, until he grabbed my arms and yanked me up off the table and crashed his lips against mine again. The next thing I felt was the cold window against my ass, and I groaned at the intense contrasts in temperature between it and my skin. I felt like I was on fire, every part of me wanted to feel his rough touch.

"You really shouldn't have said that, Miss Mills," he snarled angrily as he pulled away and quickly turned me around pressing my front against the window and kicking at my feet. "Spread your legs. Now!"

I obliged and parted my legs for him, he grabbed my hips, pulling me back roughly and impaling me on his cock again. "Fuck!"

"You like that don't you," he sneered, taking my earlobe between his teeth and dragging them across my skin. "Now all of Chicago can look up here and see you getting fucked, and loving every minute of it. You want them to see you come?"

I groaned in response, unable to form words with each repeated thrust into me, pressing me further against the glass.

"Say it. Do you want to come, Miss Mills? Answer me or I'll stop and make you suck me off instead," he hissed, driving himself deeper and deeper inside me with every thrust.

"Yes… fuck yes… oh my god!" I exclaimed as my hands slammed against the glass, my entire body quaking from the orgasm that was rushing over me, leaving me gasping for air. When it finally subsided, he pulled out of me and spun me around to face him, his lips meeting mine again aggressively.

My hands found his hair and tugged at fistfuls of it, as our tongues slid against each other. I released one hand and brought it down to his throbbing erection between us and began stroking him briskly, causing his groans to echo in my mouth. I pulled away from his lips, staring at him with hooded eyes.

"Now I want all of Chicago to see your face as I make you come so hard you forget your name," I growled, sliding down the glass and taking his entire cock in my mouth. His entire body tensed and he let out a deep moan, as my groan of pleasure from the mixture of my taste with his vibrated every delicious inch of him. I looked up at him, his palms and forehead rest on the glass, his eyes closed tight.

"Oh fuck… fuck, fuck, FUCK!" he shouted, as I felt his cock pulse against my lips. He began emptying into my mouth and I swallowed every drop. A real woman isn't afraid to swallow, had always been my thought, and I had yet to disappoint a single man I had been with. And from his response, I could see that it was highly unlikely that any of these other little office groupies of his had ever done such.

Prissy bitches. God where was this coming from?

I released him from my mouth and he staggered back, falling into the chair, trying to calm his breathing. I stood up, pulling my skirt back down, and meeting his eyes. The seconds ticked by, neither of us looking away. Without saying a word I pulled the front of my torn shirt together and walked out, praying my shaky legs wouldn't betray me.

Grabbing my purse from my desk I hit the power on my computer and threw my blazer on, trying desperately to fasten the button with my trembling fingers. Mr. Ryan still hadn't come out, and I almost ran to the elevator praying to God it would get there before I had to face him again.

I couldn't even let myself think about what happened until I was out of here. The doors opened and I pushed the button for the lobby, watching as each floor was counted down . The gold doors opened and I raced out and down the hall. I briefly heard the security guard say something about working late, but I just waved and sped past him.

With each step my body reminded me of the events of the last hour. As I reached my car I pressed the button on the alarm, pulled open the door and collapsed into the safety of the leather seats. I looked up and met my eyes in the rear view mirror.

What. The. Fuck. Was. That?