All Part of the Service: Chapter 3
The Target On My Back
Naomi
I review Dominic’s schedule for his upcoming tour, then we go over the details of his book launch. By the time he finally rises to leave, I need coffee and aspirin—not necessarily in that order.
“I look forward to working with you,” I say as we shake hands again. His grip is firm, warm, too steady—like he knows exactly how good his touch feels.
“I’m eager to see what you can do for me,” he replies, his voice dipping just enough to make it sound like a double meaning.
His gaze locks with mine, and in the charged silence, my mind betrays me. Vivid images of him bending me over my desk flood in.
Desire clenches low in my belly so fast I nearly gasp, every nerve vibrating with a long-suppressed need. Heat licks up my neck, flushing my face. I yank my hand back too quickly.
Dominic Wylder personifies sex appeal. A stark, devastating reminder that I haven’t had sex in far too long. And worse? That my past encounters were anything but spectacular.
Yet everything about him exudes satisfaction, like he knows exactly how to ruin a woman in the best possible way.
The small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells me he does, and he knows it.
Clearing my throat, I push aside the very inappropriate images flashing through my mind. “I’ll be in touch.”
Dominic nods before exiting my office. I definitely do not let my gaze linger on how well his jeans fit as he walks away—or admit the man has a body built for sin.
Sinking back into my seat, I kick off my heels and rub my temples, trying to ease the splitting headache that’s been lurking since my meeting with Michael.
Dominic Wylder is not what I expected.
The few times I’ve seen him in TV interviews, he was all smooth talk and calculated charm, working the audience with practiced ease. I expected him to try the same act with me, to flirt and smirk his way through our conversation.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he was blunt. Intense. Magnetic in a way that’s impossible to ignore—the kind of presence that demands your full attention and refuses to let you look away.
I need to be careful. He’s my client. Veronica’s ex. And if I don’t clean up the mess he’s made of his public image, I can kiss my promotion goodbye.
More crucially, if I let his undeniable presence distract me—if I slip—I can say goodbye to my job altogether. Fantasizing about him bending me over my desk is out of the question. Sleeping with a client wouldn’t just end my employment—it would torch my entire career.
Just as I’m trying to gather my thoughts, the phone on my desk rings. “What is it, Zara?” I ask, seeing the light next to my assistant’s name light up.
“Naomi,” Zara whispers, her voice urgent. “We have a code red.”
I frantically search for my high heels under the desk. “Stall her for me, Zara.”
After hanging up the phone, I quickly slip on my red pumps just as Veronica walks into my office.
“Veronica, what a surprise,” I say, forcing a smile.
Her expression is far from pleasant as she slams her palms down on my desk and glares at me. “Dominic Wylder was supposed to be my client. He switched PR firms because he wanted me to represent him. So imagine my surprise when Michael told me you would be handling him instead.”
The hostility in her tone is palpable, but I keep my voice even. “Are you really that surprised? You and Dominic have history, and you know our company’s policy on dating clients.”
The words land between us like a challenge. Veronica’s violet eyes narrow. I’ve seen this look before. The one that says she’s plotting something. That she’s weighing how much damage she can do.
Adrenaline spikes through me, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I open my laptop, fingers poised over the keyboard—a subtle dismissal.
Veronica flips her dark hair over her shoulder and leans in slightly. “You think you can rep for Dominic, fine.” Her lips curl into a slow, dangerous smirk. “Watch your back.”
With that, she straightens, smirks once more, then turns on her heel and strides out.
Once she’s out of sight, I reach for my purse and pull out headache tablets. It’s only Monday, but I already need a weekend.
Thirty minutes later, the ache behind my eyes has dulled, and I manage to focus again.
At exactly five-thirty, Zara strolls into my office, arms full.
“Michael sent these down for you,” she says, dropping two hardcover books onto my desk.
I don’t need to check the covers to know who wrote them.
I sigh. “Thanks, Zara.”
“You know,” she teases, “if you wanted to read these, you could’ve just borrowed my copies.”
I shoot her a look. “I’m reading them because he’s my client, not because I’m a fan.”
Zara smirks. “You say that now.”
She adjusts her bag on her shoulder. “Heading home soon?”
“Not yet. I’ve got a few things to finish up.”
“You work too hard,” she declares. “You should come to yoga with me tonight. It’s great for stress relief. And Todd, the instructor? Total eye candy.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Pass.”
“Suit yourself.” Zara winks as she heads for the door. “Don’t forget to eat dinner, okay?”
I smirk. “Yes, Mum.”
As the door clicks shut behind her, I glance down at the books on my desk.
Dominic Wylder’s name glares up at me in bold silver letters.
I sigh, dragging my laptop closer.
If I have to spend my night reading about bad boys and their so-called irresistible charm, I might as well do it with a glass of wine.
After a long day, I finally leave the office just after eight. I should feel accomplished, satisfied with what I’ve done today.
But as I step into my empty apartment, kick off my heels, and pop a frozen meal into the microwave, a strange sense of dissatisfaction creeps in.
I shove the feeling aside and grab a fork, about to dig in when my phone rings. I swipe up, wedging it between my shoulder and ear.
“Hey, Kristy.”
“Hey, just checking if you’re still up for heading to Seven this Friday.”
“Mm-mm,” I mumble around a mouthful of food. “Definitely.”
“Are you just eating now?” Kristy asks.
“Yeah, I just got home.”
“Keep burning the midnight oil like that, and you’re going to die of exhaustion before fifty.”
“Something for future me to worry about.”
“Naomi,” she chides.
“I have a new client, so I put in a few extra hours today. Forgive me for eating while we chat. You caught me at dinner time.”
“It’s not one of those frozen meals, I hope.”
I stay silent, except for the sound of chewing bland, rubbery chicken breast.
“You should accept my dinner invitations and eat a proper home-cooked meal instead.”
I pick up the box the meal came in. “According to the packet, it’s nutritionally balanced.”
“Well, of course it says that.”
Kristy is actually an amazing cook and baker, unlike me and my reliance on the freezer section.
“I’d much rather be eating something you made, K. Logan is a lucky guy.”
“He knows,” she says smugly, as if Logan was meant to overhear. “I just worry about you, you’re always working.”
“Yes, but remember when you used to work all the time?”
“I do, but I stopped when...”
“When you started hanging out with Logan. Before then, though...”
She sighs. “You’re right, and I don’t want to be that girl. You know, the one who wants you to be happy in a relationship just because she is. I really don’t want to be that girl because that girl drives me bat-shit crazy.”
“I appreciate that, hon. And I know you want me to be as happy as you are. There’s nothing wrong with that. Just know that I am okay. I don’t need a guy, a girl, or any person to make me happy. Work is my significant other. In fact, I landed a new client that practically guarantees my promotion.”
As long as I don’t mess it up.
“I’m so proud of you. You’re awesome. And I know you don’t need anyone else to make you happy. It’s just that you haven’t really dated since Devon. I know you’re busy at work and a huge kick-arse success, but I’d hate to think you’re holding back because of him.”
I sigh. To her credit, Kristy never brings up Devon, my ex-fiancé, and I’m grateful for that. He shattered my heart when he ended our engagement. But he’s not the sole reason I don’t date. At least, not anymore.
“Just tell me, you’re not lonely, Nay,” she presses.
I exhale, rubbing my temple. “I’m not. Sure, it would be nice to have someone, but it really is just a case of being time poor.”
Mostly.
As if sensing my mood shift, Mr. Blobby—my cat, my only consistent male companion—hops up onto the chair behind me, rubbing his face against my back.
“Besides, I have Mr. Blobby.” I scratch under his chin. “And Theo.”
“Theo?”
“My vibrator.”
Kristy bursts into laughter. “Well, as long as Mr. Blobby and Theo are keeping you satisfied, that’s all that matters.”
I smile. “I’ll see you Friday.”
“You will. Love you, hon.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up, but the conversation lingers.
I told Kristy I’m not lonely. And I meant it.
But as I stare down at the barely touched frozen meal, a hollow feeling sits in my chest.
One day, maybe.
But not now.
I push my food away and reach for the books stacked on the kitchen counter—Dominic’s books.
Looks like I’ve found my reading material for the night.
I tuck myself into bed early, and Mr. Blobby jumps onto the bed, curling up next to my legs. I pick up one of Dominic’s books off my bedside table, “Why Pleasing Your Man in Bed Should Be Your First Priority.” Obviously, a good sex life is important, but just how much of that should be the woman’s responsibility? Shouldn’t the man want to please his woman in bed? Devon left me because we weren’t “sexually compatible.” I agree we didn’t have the greatest sex life, but why should the focus be on his pleasure? Devon hadn’t always cared very much about my satisfaction.
In times like these, when female empowerment is more crucial than ever, it feels like a betrayal to my own gender to even be reading material that seems counter to that movement.
I turn the book over in my hands, studying the picture on the back cover. His hair is just a bit too long, and a light smattering of stubble surrounds his perfectly sculpted lips. He is arguably the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. That face, those eyes, those lips; I’m suddenly warm enough to throw the covers off.
My fingers trail down the cover, gaze drifting to the way his shirt stretches over his broad chest, the solid line of his thighs beneath his dark denim jeans.
And before I can stop them, the images come to me. Dominic, shirtless. Dominic, pressed between my thighs. Dominic, murmuring filthy things in that deep, knowing voice.
My cheeks flush, and I swipe my tongue over my lips before setting the book aside. I’ll start reading tomorrow. And at some point, I’ll have to watch his videos, too. But not tonight.
Tonight, I just need to forget the way he makes me feel.
I switch off the light, pressing my eyes shut. But it’s too late. Dominic Wylder is already in my head.
And I have a sinking feeling he’s not going anywhere.