Reagan
I’ve never been to a corporate event or in this case a work Christmas Party. The only parties I’ve been to recently have had a keg in the backyard and charged ten bucks for a red plastic cup. This is not that kind of party and I keep reminding myself of that as I take the elevator up to the fifteenth floor.
I’ve only been at CR Advertising for two weeks, working as a low-paid intern to satisfy my graduation requirement of participating in an internship based on my major. I need to make tonight a night to remember in the sense that I need to make sure everyone in this room knows my name.
After this internship ends, one of us will be offered an entry-level job with CR Advertising, which is a huge deal. That means no resumes, no interviews, no begging someone to hire me, and I would be forever grateful for not having to go through that process.
But there’s one thing standing in my way and it’s Wes Bennett, the other lowly intern who is vying for the same position. He’s equally qualified, as talented and is probably having the same thoughts about me. So, again, I need to make this party my time shine and get my name out there. I want everyone here to know who I am and for them to remember me as they walk out the door.
I’m dressed the part in this adorable Christmas themed sweater and sparkly mini skirt along with this super cute reindeer headband. And when I exit the elevator, I notice everyone else is dressed in casual clothes and the drinks are already flowing.
There’s a bar set up just outside the elevator and the entire room is decked out with evergreen garland, twinkling lights and a large Christmas tree in the middle of the room. It’s hard to believe this is the place we work at on a daily basis, because it definitely looks like an expertly decorated high-end party now.
I walk in, taking in all the people and instantly catch Wes’s gaze from across the room. While he is my competition, he’s also the only person I’ve gotten to know here so far. Not to mention, he’s pretty easy on the eyes and funny.
He flags me over, and I grab a glass of champagne from the waitress as she passes by. Taking a quick sip, I know I’m going to need a little alcohol to get the networking going. My nerves are a bit frazzled by just the sheer idea of rubbing elbows with all the bigwigs here at CR Advertising.
“How’s it going?” Wes asks when I walk up. “You look good,” he adds, motioning at my Christmas sweater and headband.
“Thanks, I’m good. How are you? You ready to network?” I ask, taking another drink, this time a much larger gulp than before.
“I’m already two glasses of champagne in,” Wes admits, tapping his glass against mine. “Have you seen Russell?”
“I haven’t but I’m sure he’s going to have you fetching him drinks and appetizers as soon as he finds you,” I joke, both of us knowing what an ass his boss is.
I got lucky. I got Claudia who has taught me more in two weeks than I learned in my entire college career. Tonight is especially important because we’re attempting to land a massive new client and even though we have different bosses, Claudia actually suggested Wes and I work together on some marketing ideas, since the client dropped off their product earlier today. Still not sure how that’s all going to play out considering Russell and Wes are our competition, but oh well.
“Yeah, I’m sure he will. I debated about not even coming here because I have zero interest in being his gopher during a party,” Wes says rolling his eyes. I do feel a little bad for him for having to work with a boss who is a demanding asshole.
“We could always sneak off with a bottle of booze from the bar and avoid him,” I offer, joking but not really. My nerves are getting the best of me as I look around the room and see all these people that have no idea who I am, but I know they need to.
“That offer is way too appealing, Reagan,” Wes tells me, putting back the rest of his champagne. “I think we might want to grab something to eat or we might find ourselves here tomorrow with a kink in our necks from sleeping on the floor.”
“I think most people would call that passing out, but the over-drinking doesn’t sound so bad. We’d forget this night ever happened,” I say, again, only sort of joking.
“Nah, we’ve got this. We can talk ideas for the Tasty Whip account and schmooze with all these so-called important people,” Wes says, fanning his arm out to all the clusters of people chatting and laughing.
He’s right, these people feel far more important than they really are. It’s just a job where we make huge corporations lots of money by creating ads for their products. While I’m into my job and the idea of creating things that will be seen in print and on television, it’s also just a job. I’m here because I need the money. I would imagine most of these people are here because they need the money too. It’s the reason the parking garage here is full of Range Rovers and their houses are the size of my apartment building.
A waiter walks by with a tray of little puff pastry things and Wes stops him, grabbing several, handing me a couple on a little CR Advertising branded napkin.
I pop them in my mouth, enjoying the flavor as it touches my tongue. I really should have eaten before I got here because my empty stomach and champagne are not a good mix.
This time a waitress passes by, a tray of stuffed mushrooms in her hand, I take a few, giving Wes some too. Now at least if feels like I’ve eaten a few things.
“Want another drink?” Wes asks, me, wiping his fingers on the napkin and tossing it in a garbage can as we walk together toward the bar.
“We’re already heading that way, so why would I say no?” I question, smirking at him as we both saddle up to the little bar top.
“What will it be?” the bartender asks, sounding a little bored and rightfully so. He’s making crap pay to wait on all of these pretentious advertising executives who I’m sure are terrible tippers.
“I’ll have an Old Fashion,” I say, looking to Wes to see what he wants, and he responds in turn with the same.
“Interesting choice,” Wes says as we walk away with our drinks. “I pegged you as more of a white wine spritzer or some kind of fruity cocktail.”
“Really? I will admit, I do love a fruit cocktail now and then, but I also enjoy a good whiskey,” I tell him. “This feels more like an old fashion kind of night. Something strong.”
“I’m with you on that,” he replies, again holding up his drink and I tap mine against his this time.
“Wes!” a booming voice shouts, and Wes lets out a hard sigh. “Bro, what’s up?” Russell now says, practically crashing into Wes’s side, his drink sloshing out of the glass.
“Russell,” Wes says, shaking the drink droplets from his hand, wiping them on the side of his pants.
“What’s the deal, bro, you ready to get drunk?” Russell quips, and I swear I feel like I’m going to puke. This guy is a fucking piece of work and the look on Wes’s face says it all.
He went from smiling and joking with me, to his face falling, a scowl painted on his lips, his brow furrowed.
I scan the room for Claudia, hoping to be able to give an excuse as to why I have to get away from Russell and his smarmy, gross old frat boy behavior. But when I look back at Wes, I feel guilty for leaving him here. He needs someone else to talk to if he wants to survive this.
Wes’s drink is now empty, and I widen my eyes at him. He’s going to be trashed in minutes if he keeps this up, but maybe that’s his goal. It would be mine if Russell were my boss.
“Another drink?” I ask Wes, putting mine back now too.
“Su—” Wes starts but is instantly cut off by Russell’s loud and demanding voice. This guy barks orders like his life depends on it, needing to feel important.
“Get me a drink, girly,” Russell says, directing his comment at me, and it takes everything in me not to tell him to go fuck himself.
“Her name is Reagan,” Wes jumps in. “And she’s not your personal waitress.” His words catch me off guard. I have no idea why he would stick up for me, but I’m thankful he did. I wouldn’t have done it myself, too worried about staying on everyone’s good side.
“Then you get it for me, bro. I want a Miller Highlife,” Russell demands, punching Wes in the shoulder, again catching him off guard and causing him to stumble a little.
“The champagne of beers,” Wes mutters, closing his eyes for a few seconds, shaking his head. “Nice choice, Russell.” And when he says the last part, I can tell he’s making fun of Russell.
“You know it, man!” Russell shouts, the whole idea that he’s a complete douchebag going right over his head.
And as we walk away, Russell hits Wes with some finger guns like that suffices as a thank you.
“That guy is the biggest fucking asshole,” I mutter, leaning close to Wes so he can hear me.
“You have no idea,” Wes says back, not caring in the least that we’re still within earshot of Russell. “Shots?” Wes now asks, as we approach the bar.
“Sure, but just one. I’ve got to make sure I’m not a mess when I have to start talking to these people,” I say, needing a clear head, but knowing I’m already a bit fuzzy.
Wes holds up two fingers, asking the bartender for two shots of tequila, and we both put them back without any salt, taking the lime only.
He looks over at me, my face scrunched up as the tequila warms my throat, making me feel a little less tense. I take in a long breath, letting it out slowly as Wes swings a finger around, signaling to the bartender to give us another round. And as much as I know I should turn it down, I don’t.
Wes orders us each another Old Fashion and begins to step away from the bar, not getting the beer Russell requested.
“What about Russell?” I ask and Wes lets out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. He glances back over his shoulder where Russell is currently talking to someone. We both watch him for a second as he punches the guy he’s talking to in the shoulder, laughing obnoxiously, his mouth full of food. He’s disgusting.
“Let that dick get his own white trash beer,” Wes spits out, annoyance blanketing his words. “Come on,” Wes now says, grabbing two champagne flutes from the waiter passing by.
We’re now both double fisting with our Old Fashion and the champagne, and maybe I was wrong about this being different than a college party. The only difference is the alcohol is free and everyone is drinking like it is, including Wes and me.
I follow Wes away from the crowd and he stops when we reach the boardroom, the table is stacked with coolers full of dry ice and all the Tasty Whip that was delivered yesterday. It’s all in preparation for our big pitch that’s coming next week.
We duck into the room, closing the door behind us, the room falling silent and drowning out all the din of conversations and noise of the party.
“Shit, he’s a lot,” I say, again feeling bad for Wes since he has to work for Russell.
“He’s a prick, but I’ve got to kiss his ass because he’s my boss and well, I need a job when this internship is all over. Preferably a job here.”
“Well, you’ve got some stiff competition,” I tease, winking at him. Wes really is gorgeous with his chocolate brown hair and his blue eyes. He has the kind of face that would appear on the cover of a magazine with the headline, “Most Eligible Bachelor”. He’s in line for a job that could lead to big things and soon he’ll be the one driving the Range Rover.
But that’s my job to get too, and I need to keep reminding myself of that.
“I do,” Wes admits. “I was really hoping you’d be some asshole like Russell and I wouldn’t care about stealing a job out from under you.”
“Same. I was really hoping I wouldn’t like you,” I say, laughing.
“So you like me, huh, Reagan?” Wes now asks, a self-satisfied grin on his face. He’s arrogant in a way that makes him attractive and far more endearing than I would expect.
We finish off our Old Fashions, and begin drinking the champagne, my stomach letting out a growl of protest at its emptiness.
“Hungry?” Wes asks, putting a hand on his stomach as if he feels the same way.
“We’ve got a room full of whipped cream,” I say, suggesting we bust open one of these coolers and share a can.
“That we do,” Wes says, a smirk on his face that suggests he has other ideas.
We both look up at the same time, and right above us hangs a few sprigs of mistletoe, and without thinking about it, I step forward, my lips colliding with his.
Wes
Reagan kissing me is not something I was expecting when we walked in here but fuck if I’m gonna stop her.
I’ve pretty much been crushing on her since we both started working here two weeks ago and even though I have zero time for dating, there’s a part of me that’s been thinking about doing exactly this, and more, ever since I met Reagan.
She is seriously hot, and she looks adorably cute in her Christmas sweater and reindeer horns tonight. Not to mention this mini skirt she’s wearing, which is super short and giving me a really great view of her legs.
Her tongue traces my bottom lip and I hear the groan I let out, not giving a single shit that it gives away just how into this I am. Reagan smiles against my mouth as she murmurs, “So, you want to go find something to eat?”
Grinning, I slide my hands around her waist and down to her ass, pulling her so her body is flush against mine. “Oh I can think of something I’d like to eat alright, but I don’t have to leave the room to find it.”
Reagan laughs, her arms wrapping around me. “Whipped cream?” she asks, a sexy smirk on her face.
With a chuckle, I lean closer, my forehead resting against hers as I give her ass a squeeze. “Among other things.”
“You wanna enlighten me?” she asks, her smile widening as I start walking us back toward the boardroom table.
“How about you hop on up here and I show you instead?” I ask, hoisting her up onto the table without waiting for her answer.
Reagan lets out a laugh, hooking her legs around mine as she pulls me toward her. “What are you suggesting exactly, Wes?” she asks. “Because we are at work you know.”
I smirk, emboldened by the drinks we’ve had and the fact that I am out having fun for the first time in what feels like forever with a hot woman who seems as into this as I am. “Sure, but everyone’s out there getting drunk while we’re—”
“In here drunk and about to…” Reagan asks, trailing off as she smiles up at me.
Jesus, she’s beautiful.
And so totally the type of woman I’d be into if dating was something I did.
She’s all killer legs and long brown hair with these amazing big brown eyes that right now are sparkling with excitement as she watches me, waiting to hear what I’m about to say.
“Do something totally risky,” I whisper, leaning in to brush my lips against hers. “But definitely fun.”
“Risky and fun?” Reagan murmurs, nipping at my bottom lip.
I slide my hands up her legs, squeezing her thighs once before slowly slipping them beneath her skirt. “Definitely fun,” I murmur against her mouth before kissing her deeply.
Reagan groans, one of her hands sliding into my hair, the other grabbing the front of my shirt as she pulls me closer. I can taste the whiskey and champagne in her kiss and it only turns me even more than I already am as I slip my hands higher under her skirt, grabbing the sides of her panties.
“Wes,” she murmurs, her legs tightening around mine.
“Uh huh?”
“What are you doing?”
Chuckling, I slide her panties down a little, not getting far because of the way her legs are wrapped around me. “I was thinking I could have a taste.”
Reagan lets out a breathless laugh. “Of…?”
I shrug. “You. The Tasty Whip. You and the Tasty Whip.”
Another moan falls from her mouth. “Like together?”
“Hmmm,” I reply, kissing her again, unable to get enough of her. “I’m hungry and we can call it research.”
She laughs now, her hand on my chest as she eases me back a little. “Research for what?”
Grinning, I tug on her panties again, wanting to get them off, but not wanting to move from between her legs. “The campaign?” I suggest.
“Oh I see,” she says playfully. “Like alternate ways to enjoy your Tasty Whip?”
I let out a laugh. “Exactly!” I reply. “It’s a multi-purpose product.”
She pulls me close again, nipping at my bottom lip. “Kind of like a naughty and nice product,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
I pause, staring back at her, unable to look away. And not just because she’s fucking gorgeous and has me harder than I’ve ever been. But also because she’s brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant.
“You know, that’s actually a really good idea,” I say.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I was kind of joking.”
Shaking my head, I lean closer, brushing my lips against hers. “No, I’m serious, we could totally market it like that,” I tell her.
“Naughty and nice?” she repeats.
“Yes,” I say with a nod. “Two advertisements, depending on the time of day.”
“Nice for family hour,” she suggests, reading my mind.
“And naughty for after hours.”
Her grins widens as she lets out a sexy laugh. “I mean, it could totally work, although I’m not sure…” She trails off, licking her lips as she looks up at me.
“Not sure what?” I ask when she doesn’t continue.
Reagan unwinds her legs from my hips, the smile still on her face as she says, “Not sure we could do a porno style ad.”
I glance down at where my hands are hidden beneath her skirt, Reagan’s legs now hanging in a way that would totally let me pull her panties off if I wanted too. Is that what I want to do?
Hell. Fucking. Yes.
“Porno, huh?” I tease, slowly pulling her panties down. “Is that what you think is happening here?”
She laughs, not stopping me as I ease her underwear off her legs, slipping her panties into my pocket. She raises a brow in question, but doesn’t ask for them back and I can’t help but wonder where the hell this woman has been all my life. She isn’t just hot and fun and totally up for this. She’s also smart and sexy and just fucking perfect.
“I don’t know,” she says, leaning over to grab a can of Tasty Whip from one of the ice buckets. “You tell me.”
I pause, watching her, waiting for her to tell me she’s kidding or that she wants her panties back or that we should forget about whatever this is right now and go back to the party. But none of that comes and instead, I hear myself whispering, “Jesus, Reagan, you are amazing.”
She smiles now, shaking the can a little before offering it to me. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wes,” she whispers, before blasting a blob of whipped cream into my mouth.
I groan, swallowing the sweetness as I now take the can from her hand and do the same to her. Reagan smiles, licking her lips before grabbing my shirt and pulling me in for another kiss. I can taste the cream on her lips as images of tasting that cream from other places on her body flood my brain.
“Lie back,” I whisper against her mouth.
She kisses me again, before doing exactly that, her hair fanning out around her on the table, those adorable reindeer horns still on her head. I push her skirt up to her hips, Reagan lifting them a little to help me out.
Then I slowly push her legs apart, brushing my thumbs against the inside of her thighs.
“Shit,” she groans, her hips lifting off the table.
I smile, repeating the move, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to one of her thighs.
“Wes,” she murmurs, her hand sliding into my hair and gripping it hard.
Chuckling, I gently nip at her thigh. “You okay up there?” I ask, pressing a hand against my dick which is straining against the zipper of my jeans. Fuck I’m hard.
“Yeah,” she breathes out.
I grab the can, giving it another shake before I spray a blob of cream right between her legs, chuckling when she lets out a little yelp. “You sure?” Her grip on my hair tightens as she yanks me forward in answer. Smiling, I lean in to taste the cream, murmuring a “Holy fuck,” from between her legs.
Jesus, she tastes amazing. The combination of her and this cream just about blowing my mind. Unable to get enough, I keep going, licking and sucking, as Reagan writhes on the table, letting out these sexy as hell moans that only get me harder.
I spray another blob of cream when I’ve eaten the first lot, Reagan’s hips bucking off the table when I do, before I continue tasting her. I slide a finger inside, cursing against her when I feel how wet she is. Thank fuck I have a condom in my wallet, because I’m in serious danger of blowing my load in my pants right now.
“Wes,” she cries as I slide a second finger inside, my mouth against her clit, licking and sucking. “Fuck, Wes, I’m—”
The rest of her words are cut off with a long groan as she comes, clenching around my fingers. I don’t move, licking her sensitive clit as she comes down from the high I’ve just given her. Eventually, I lift my head, smiling up at her.
“Fuck you taste—”
This time it’s my words that are cut off as the door behind me opens and I hear a deep voice say, “Well, well, well.”
I freeze, knowing exactly who’s behind me as Reagan scrambles up to a sitting position, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushing a dark red, even as that post-orgasm glow still colors them. “Wes, shit,” she whisper-shouts, trying desperately to pull her skirt down.
I yank it down for her, stepping back a little so she can close her legs and hopefully not give Russell an eyeful, especially considering her panties are still in my pocket. Even though Claudia and he suggested we work on this campaign together, I don’t exactly want him to know what we were just doing.
“So, what do we have here?” he says now, a smarmy tone to his voice that has me wanting to punch him in the face.
“Don’t say anything,” I whisper to Reagan, taking her hand and pulling her off the table so she’s standing beside me as we both turn to Russell.
He’s grinning like the asshole he is and I’m one hundred percent certain he knows exactly what was going on in here and what I hoped was going to happen had we not been interrupted. God knows he’s done shit like this too if the rumors I’ve heard about him are true.
Given he’s a smarmy little douche, I have no doubt they are. I’m just hoping he’s drunk enough that come tomorrow, he doesn’t remember what he walked in on. Hell, I hope he forgets as soon as he leaves the room.
“Wes?” Russell prompts, hitting me with the stupid finger gun thing he does that he thinks is somehow cool.
“Nothing,” I say. “Reagan and I were just brainstorming ideas for the campaign.”
Beside me, Reagan squeezes my hand, moving a little closer as Russell gives her a long lingering look. I fucking hate the way he does that, just like I hate the fact that I know he is thinking completely inappropriate thoughts about her too.
“Is that what that was,” he now says, a sleazy tone to his voice. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”
Clearing my throat, I squeeze Reagan’s hand again, silently telling her to keep quiet and let me handle this. “We’re not finished yet,” I say, not missing the snigger Russell lets out because of course I’m still fucking hard in my jeans and I’ve no doubt the fucker can see that.
“Maybe I should let you finish?” Russell suggests, waving a hand at the table but making no attempt to move.
Fuck I hate this guy.
“No, it’s fine,” I say, taking a step toward him, still holding Reagan’s hand. “We can finish up next week. We should get back to the party.”
I walk toward the door, Reagan right behind me as Russell watches us, a sly smirk on his face. As we step past him, he turns and for a second, I think he’s going to stop us. But he doesn’t, and it’s not until I reach the door and open it, does he finally speak.
“You know, behavior like this can do wonders for your career,” he says and I glance back at him having no clue what he’s talking about. “But it can also send it right to the shitter as well.”
He and I are staring at each other and I don’t miss the look of malice that flashes across his face as his eyes flick to Reagan and then back to me. Fear curls in my gut as I wonder if I haven’t ended my career just as it was getting started. Reagan’s too.
Russell raises a brow, clearly waiting for me to acknowledge his comment and its implication. “Understood,” I say, squeezing Reagan’s hand again as I give Russell a nod.
He smiles now, but it feels sinister as he lifts his hand and gives me another one of those ridiculous fucking finger guns. “Alright then,” he says. “Enjoy the party.”
Reagan and I walk out, neither of us looking back as we both make a beeline for the bar. Given everything that just happened, I’m not entirely sure more alcohol is a good idea, but fuck knows I need it.
“Jesus,” Reagan breathes out as I hold up two fingers to the bartender. “Do you think we’re gonna get fired?”
I shake my head, even though I have no fucking clue. “No,” I eventually say, nodding a thanks to the guy before lifting my shot and throwing it back. Reagan does the same beside me and I hold up two fingers to request another round. “Pretty sure Russell’s gonna keep it to himself,” I say, even knowing that is probably a lie.
I mean I don’t think Russell will tell the boss, because Russell is the type of guy to keep this nugget of info in his back pocket until it serves a purpose for him. I might have only worked for the guy for a couple of weeks, but I’d pretty much sussed out what he was like in the first five minutes.
Two days in my suspicions had been confirmed when I watched him shamelessly flirt with a temp and then attempt to grab her ass as she waited beside him. Jeremy, the guy I was shadowing here had filled me in on the rest during our get to know you session at a bar last Friday after work.
“Really?” Reagan asks, staring up at me.
I look down at her, wishing to fuck I could ask her to come home with me right now. To finish what we started back in that boardroom but in a way that isn’t cheap and sleazy.
But I can’t, so instead I reply, “Yeah, don’t worry, Reagan. He won’t say anything.”
Unfortunately, by the time the New Year rolls around, I would discover just what an asshole Russell truly is.
Want to find out what happens next? Grab One Elfed Up Christmas now!
