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Black Ties and White Lies: Chapter 24


Just got to the office. I’m about to be walking into a meeting. When I leave, I expect coffee waiting for me. Absolutely no hint of lavender or anything else they do on the west coast.

Don’t be late.


I drop the hot curling iron into the sink, reading his email three more times to make sure I read it right. Is that really my job now? Am I getting this dressed up to get him coffee? Sighing, I start typing a response, feeling brave with him not right in front of me.

So I’ve gone from designing penis pens to grabbing coffee? Not sure if that’s an upgrade or not.

Your glorified coffee runner,


Happy with myself, I smile, placing my phone on the counter and picking up my curling iron once again. I’ve already completed putting a small amount of makeup on. I probably had way too much fun with all of the new products I got shopping yesterday. It made putting makeup on a lot more entertaining than I usually find it. Some of the products I had no idea what to do with, or what order to use them in. Do I use cream blush after foundation but before bronzer? Does eyebrow gel go before the pencil? These are questions I’ll have to ask Emma and Winnie the next time we talk. Luckily, my dark, thick eyebrows don’t exactly need any product on them, so I swiped some gel on them and called it good. I’m positive my friends will jump at the opportunity to show me how to use the new products, both of them far more into makeup than I’ve ever been.

I’m finishing up curling the long tendrils of my dark hair when my phone pings. Triple checking I’ve turned the iron off, I place it on the hot pad for my hair tools and check the new alert. I’m biting back a smile reading Beck’s response.

You’d rather do anything than design those hideous pens ever again. You know it. I know it. Let’s not pretend that was enjoyable in the slightest.

I would’ve grabbed coffee with my assistant this morning, but she was too busy having a wet dream about me. Tell me, was I licking that little cunt of yours or was I fucking it?

The object of your wet dreams,


Blush isn’t even needed for the color I feel heating my cheeks. I picture him sitting in a room full of board members or investors, whatever fancy meeting he has today, typing out such filthy thoughts. It shouldn’t make me feel so hot, but it does. Beck may be holding true to his promise by not making any physical advances toward me, but he doesn’t appear to be relenting with his words. Which could be a problem, because the dirty words rolling off his tongue feel just as good as his tongue against mine.

I’m not answering your question because the dream didn’t involve you at all. You should be working.

Your assistant who’d never dream of having a wet dream about her boss,


P.S. Can you say things like that in a company email? Seems like a potential HR problem.

My eyes travel over the still unopened boxes of makeup I have from the trip yesterday. I look for the perfect lipstick, wanting something that’ll pop on my lips but not seem like too much for a first day. Red might scream I want to fuck the boss a little too much.

I settle on a shade that’s a perfect mix between pink and nude. It glides effortlessly onto my lips, moisturizing them to perfection. The last thing I do before leaving the bathroom is spray a few spritzes of my new Baccarat 540 perfume and call it good. Grabbing my new Prada handbag from the desk in my guest room, I deem myself ready to head into work.

As I climb down the stairs to the main level, I wonder if I’ll have to contact Ezra or how I’ll go about getting to the office. If worse comes to worse, I can take a taxi to work. I faintly remember the cross-streets of the building.

I’m not left worrying on what to do next for long. I find Ezra sitting at the huge dining table, a magazine in one hand, a disposable coffee cup in the other.

“Good morning, Miss Moretti,” he says cheerfully, looking up from the magazine.

I give him a warm smile. “You really can call me Margo. I won’t tell the boss.”

This makes me chuckle. “If you insist.” He grabs the magazine and tucks it under his arm. As he reaches to grab his coffee, I catch a glimpse of the front cover.

“Is that Beck?”

Ezra and I look closely at the magazine in his grasp. I find a scowling Beck looking straight into the camera. There’s a large headline with the name of the magazine, Corporation Insider.

“He argued about doing it,” Ezra notes, my eyes reading over the headline. Apparently he was being featured for being one of the youngest to sell a company for the price he did while still maintaining a prominent spot on the board and keeping a majority of control.

“That doesn’t shock me one bit.” Ezra hands me the magazine, allowing me a better look at it. Opening it up, I flip through the pages until I find a full-page spread about him and his business. He looks angry in all of the photos. But at least this article is one ran with his permission, unlike the one that led us to our current situation.

“I didn’t know all of this about him,” I mutter, eyes taking in every word on the pages. I loved Carter for years, but he didn’t hide his entitlement. Sometimes it was a turnoff for me, but for the most part I knew he was entitled going into dating him so it wasn’t a deal breaker for me. Him fucking half my college graduating class was the issue. I’d kind of assumed that Beck was the same way, that his rich family history is what led to him starting his own company and in return selling it for an ungodly amount of money.

Ezra whistles, low and under his breath. “Mr. Sinclair isn’t exactly the sharing type.”

If the article is correct, which I assume it is since he willingly did it, Beck didn’t use any of his family’s money to fund his start-up. In fact, he talks about working odd jobs around campus just to earn funds for the company. He eventually talked some fraternity friends into investing in his vision before building the company from the ground up. Knowing this information unnerves me for some reason. I imagined Beck having the same entitlement and silver spoon that his brother did. Carter has never worked a job that didn’t pay him above six figures. A nice modest livable wage was beneath him. His words, not mine.

The article doesn’t go into any detail on why Beck didn’t just have his father invest in the company. I’ve met his dad, and he seemed like a good guy—especially for someone so rich. He treated me kindly and didn’t talk down to me; not even when he was fishing for questions on who my family were and where I came from. It never felt like he thought any less of me with his line of questioning, it just seemed he genuinely wanted to get to know me.

“Interesting.” I hand the magazine back to him, remembering the title of the article so I can search it online later tonight. Now I’m wondering what else I don’t know about Beck.

I push all my questions about who he is to the back of my mind. Plastering on a smile, I tilt my head toward the gallery, as Beck would call it. ‘I’m ready to head in whenever you are.”

Ezra doesn’t say anything. Like Beck, he seems to be a man of few words. I follow him into the elevator, my mind reeling with questions on Beck. I’d always imagined his dad was a big reason why he had the company, but I’ve learned that’s not the case. There’s got to be so much more I don’t know about him, but I’m dying to find out.

My mind is lost the entire ride to the building. Even my phone ringing multiple times in my purse doesn’t pull me from my thoughts. The only thing that finally breaks me free is Ezra putting the car in park and turning around to look at me.

“Beck said you’d need to stop here first.” I look out the window, finding a coffee shop with a navy blue awning.

I shake my head, grabbing my purse from the seat next to me. “Off I go to get him caffeine so he isn’t grumpier than his typical Beck grump self.”

This makes Ezra belt with laughter. He claps his palm against the steering wheel before opening the door and loping around the car. My door opens, a grin still wide on his face. “I think you’ll be good for him, Margo,” he states plainly.

I step out, careful not to twist my ankle in the process by the height of my heels. “You’re only saying that because I’m getting his caffeine for the day.”

The returning look from Ezra is one that I can’t quite read, but I don’t have the time either. He’s shutting the door and heading back to the driver’s side before I can say anything else. “See you later!” he yells, hopping into the car.

I join the line of fellow New Yorkers all waiting for a coffee. It feels refreshing, to be back in the hustle and bustle of the city. In LA, people act like they don’t give a shit about you but stare at you and judge you. In New York, people act like they don’t give a shit about you because they truly don’t. Everyone in line is so preoccupied with their own lives, they don’t have time to judge mine.

The woman in front of me looks like she is leaving a spin class, or maybe I’d peg her more as the hot yoga type. Whatever it is, she holds her head high as she stands in a mass of people who all wear business attire.

My phone vibrates again. Knowing I have a few minutes before it’s my turn to order, I pull it out. Excitement runs through my veins when I see the notification is another email from Beck. I’m liking the thrill of wondering what he responds back with a little too much for someone who shoved him away yesterday when he so clearly wanted more. More meaning me pinned underneath him as he did every single dirty thing he’d promised he’d do to me.

My meeting is over, yet I have no assistant here and no coffee.

These are both problems.


When I told you to dress to impress, I still meant you needed to show up to work.

My patience is wearing thin.


The second email comes in less than a minute after the first.

I begin to type a response back to him, but I realize it’s probably better to make him wait. He can sit and stew in his conference room a bit longer, wondering where both his assistant and his coffee are. I’m determined to do a good job at being his assistant, wanting to earn the large paycheck I’ll now be receiving, but I can’t help but toy with him a little. He makes it too easy. It’s too fun to make him actually show emotions.

When I get to the counter, I order both Beck and I coffee. I bite back a smile when I add a little extra to his. Not a lot, but just a tiny little something extra to spice up his boring coffee order.

The baristas are quick. In no time, I have my coffee and I’m ready to head into work. I delicately balance the drink carrier between my hands as I walk down the street. Beck hadn’t been wrong when he’d mentioned how close the coffee shop was to the office. That was probably the reason that so many people in business suits waited in line. I bet a lot of them work in the same office as me, or one of the towering buildings next to it.

Tom gives me a huge smile as I pass by his desk on my way to the elevators. I walk up to the counter of his desk and gently set the coffees on the lip, careful that I don’t spill anything. Reaching into my purse, I grab a small pastry bag from inside. I set it on the tall counter in front of me, sliding it across to him.

“I thought you might be hungry,” I explain, as Tom’s eyes light with excitement. “It’s no homemade bread or anything.”

“It’s perfect, Miss Moretti.” He opens the bag with enthusiasm, pulling the scone out and admiring it.

“How’d you know the bacon cheddar was my favorite?”

I shrug. “It was a wild guess.”

“You were already on my good side, but I appreciate you thinking of me this morning, Miss Moretti.”

My hand waves dismissively before grabbing my coffee again. “Catch you later?” I ask, taking a few steps back.

“Don’t let Mr. Sinclair be too hard on you,” he responds.

“I’d never.” I turn and walk to the elevators, waiting with a fairly large group of people to go up.

My phone alerts with another message from my bag, but I don’t risk freeing one of my hands to reach and grab it. The last thing I want to do is spill the coffee floors away from the person it’s intended for.

People spill out of the elevator as we climb higher and higher, stopping frequently to let people off. Eventually, we make it to the floor I need.

My stomach rolls a little with nerves as I take a step off the elevator. What do I do if Beck is currently in a meeting? Do I just stand awkwardly? Wait in his office? He hadn’t really filled me in on what to do once I got here other than give him his coffee, of course.

I’m busy worrying about what to do when I see him lift his arm in the air from a seat in one of the conference rooms. The crystal clear glass lets me see through as he pushes his large rolling chair away from the table and gestures for me to come in.

I awkwardly smile, not looking forward to making my entrance in front of the table of what’s got to be at least ten men and one woman.

“There you are.” Beckham hastily gets up from the chair, opening the glass door for me and ushering me inside. He leans in next to my ear. “About fucking time,” he growls, low enough for no one else to hear. He plucks his coffee from the tray, holding it in his hand as he faces the group of people all watching us carefully.

“Everyone, I’d like for you to meet my new assistant, Margo Moretti.” He looks over at me, his eyes blazing a hot trail down my body. Heat prickles up my spine as I think back to him watching me dress this morning, on the tension in the small closet space. His lip upturns slightly in an appreciative manner. Hopefully that means he likes what he sees.

I plaster on my best smile. “Nice to meet all of you.” I’m praying that Beck doesn’t go through every single one of the people sitting at the tables and introduce themselves. There’s no way I’d remember their names if so many are being told to me at once.

“These are some board members and investors. We’ll do introductions another time though. Let me show you to your office.”

He walks to his seat at the table, grabbing a legal pad from the table as well as a cup of coffee identical to the one I just gave him.

I wave goodbye to them as he guides me back through the door we came through.

“I see you have coffee,” I say through a tight-lipped smile.

Although there’s humor in his eyes, it doesn’t reach his mouth. He’s all business in this boardroom, that cocky smirk of his I’ve seen more and more throughout the duration of our first weekend together not making an appearance.

He brings it to his perfect full lips, ones that I’ve felt strong and sure against my own. His throat bobs up and down as he takes a large gulp. “Ah,” he says, finishing the drink before tossing it in the trash next to him. “My assistant was late. I couldn’t go into the meeting without anything, so Ezra and I stopped earlier.”

I gasp, following him through the rows of people working at desks. “That traitor.” Now I understand the apologetic look on Ezra’s face as he dropped me off at the shop. I should’ve known they’d already been once just by the cup of coffee he’d been drinking from.

We weave through the people, Beck occasionally stopping and introducing me to various associates before moving on. Unlike my previous job, there’s not a cubicle here in sight. It’s far more open, allowing people to have conversations and not feel isolated.

I’m expecting for my workspace to be in the throng of people on the floor, but he takes us to the very back of the line of personal offices, where he’d shown me his own office yesterday.

He stops in front of his office, giving me a casual smirk.

I take a sip of my coffee, narrowing my eyes at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t say anything, he just opens the door and points me inside. “It’s no longer my office,” he declares as I walk past him. “It’s now yours.”


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