MAKE IT KNOWN

A Not-So-Cliché Office Romance

by Ami

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epigraph:

"...Who could refrain,
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage to make love known?"

— From Macbeth by William Shakespeare

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playlist:

Spotify @AmiTheDarkLady

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Prologue

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It had been a long couple of years. Gavin Stone downed the last of his beer, feeling the sudden urge to order something stronger.

A tired sigh. For the millionth time, he wondered what the hell Mattheson had been thinking.

"I know you can handle it, Stone. I wouldn't give you this job if I knew you weren't capable of kicking its ass."

But the old frog never bothered explaining exactly what made Gavin so capable before he croaked.

And that's why Gavin needed a drink. Because on Monday morning, he was gonna be in charge of four new journalists, fresh out of school and just starting their careers, and as editor-in-chief it was his job to know shit. They were going to look up to him, and he needed something to show for it.

He scrubbed a hand across the stubble coating his sharp jaw. If it hadn't been for Trisha's gentle but firm support and her killer instincts, he wouldn't have made it through these two years in such good shape.

The world thought The Press was doing just fine. That he was doing just fine.

But Gavin was drowning, and nobody knew it.

He was just about to flag over the bartender for a refill when someone slid onto the stool to his right, and when he turned and caught a glimpse of her he nearly lost his breath.

Christ. She was beautiful.

Straight, shoulder-length brown hair, the same soft brown of morning coffee. Smooth, perfect skin; straight, pert nose; full, pink lips.

Her dress was loose and tight at the same time, he could see the faint suggestions of those curves beneath the thin navy fabric. The colour stood out against her tanned skin.

And then he realized he was staring, but it was okay because she was staring too. And then he met her gaze, and those warm, chocolate brown eyes pierced into his soul.

He felt his skin heat up, felt something heavy pass through the air between them.

She crossed those long legs, her dress pulling up to sit a few inches above her knee. Beige sandals with a heel, painted toenails.

He forgot all about alcohol, after just one look at this woman.

"If you're gonna keep staring, you should probably buy me a drink," she said, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips. Something about the subtle, almost natural gloss she was wearing made her mouth look completely edible.

Shit. Gavin ran a hand through his messy hair, tossing her a small, crooked grin. "If that's how this works, I think you owe me a drink too."

He watched her sharp eyes float down the length of his face, and then she raised a dark, perfectly-arched brow. "Fair enough."

Gavin caught the bartender's attention. "Another beer, please. And whatever she wants."

He watched the small, triumphant smile tilt up the edges of her lips, listened to the melodic sound of that sweet voice as she ordered a martini.

He had not been planning on this happening. He came out tonight to get hammered, alone, not to get laid. But there was something magnetic and irresistible about her, and he needed to find out more.

"You look like you've had a hard week," she noted casually, and he couldn't help but chuckle. He either looked as tired as he felt, or she was perceptive. Probably both.

He turned to face her a little, leaning an elbow on the bar and letting his gaze roam across her face. Something about the way he was looking at her made her flush, and he couldn't help thinking it was kind of cute. "You have no idea."

She shrugged, rotating on her stool so her knees just brushed his, and heat travelled up from where they touched to the rest of him. He felt his heart beat faster in his chest. It was ridiculous, how attracted he was to her.

"You wanna talk about it? Or do you want to forget about it and talk about something else?"

Something about the bright intelligence in her eyes or the angle of her head, tilted a little to the side, made him think she was an exceptionally good listener.

"Usually people come to bars and get drunk to forget, not to remember." And maybe he was being an ass, but damn it, when was the last time he flirted with a girl? She was not part of his plan for tonight, and he didn't really care much for surprises.

Even if they were so fucking gorgeous.

"Another fair point." She thanked the bartender and took a long sip of her drink.

"I'm Gavin," he offered, to make peace. But she seemed like she had thick skin, like she could handle idiots like him just fine.

Suddenly, he didn't want her to go.

"Melanie." She gave him a small, innocuous smile. Like she wasn't trouble.

"So, Melanie, what are you drinking about, tonight?"

She shrugged one of those slender shoulders. "Starting a new job Monday. Enjoying my last weekend of freedom before the grind."

Of course she was a hard-worker. Dedicated to her new job, diligent and ready to avoid distractions.

And so he talked to her. About mundane, inconsequential things, for a long time. Their stools edged closer and closer together over the course of their conversation. She didn't bring up work, and neither did he, because tonight they were both going to forget.

And fuck, she was driving him insane. A small hand on his arm, just for a second, her thigh pressed against his, the warmth of her a few inches away, close enough to touch.

And she was funny and sly and clever. She made him laugh.

Eventually they fell into silence, laughter dissipating into the heaviness around them. And then she looked at him out of the corner of those thick lashes, a silent challenge in her dark eyes, and he wanted to reach out and run his fingers through that soft hair, tug her against him and taste her.

She looked at him like she wanted him to. Oh hell.

She bit her lip, met his eyes. He felt the sparks in the air between them, an electric pull. And then she was leaning in, and he was leaning in, and his hands were gripping her hips and then her lips were pressing into his and fuck, she felt good. Her fingers were in his hair and his tongue was in her mouth and she smelled like heaven, like something warm and completely intoxicating.

And when they pulled away for breath, she had his t-shirt in her fingers, and her lips were wet from kissing him.

"Are you going to take me home?" she asked breathlessly, something wild in her eyes.

Damn it. She was asking him to fuck her, and he wanted to. He didn't do one-night stands, but maybe he could make an exception, for her.

"Do you want me to?" He had to ask. He ran a hand through his now tousled hair, gaze roaming hungrily across her face.

She stood up, shakily, onto her feet, and he got up with her, pulling her close to his chest. She was warm and soft and the way her curves melted against him was sinful. "Yes." A small, innocent breath.

And he realized that she was a million times better than anything he could've drank tonight, and that waking up to her tomorrow morning would be infinitely more satisfying than a vodka hangover.

***

They stumbled into her apartment, hands roaming everywhere, faces attached. Her lips were soft, her mouth was warm and wet and she tasted so damn sweet.

And she was a complete stranger, he realized at the back of his mind.

Normally, he would care. Normally he would be more careful, but those small hands were tugging at his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, and then her fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, and so right now he didn't care about anything except her.

And the way she sighed against his skin, the breathy, innocent sounds that left that pink mouth of hers as he planted a wet kiss onto her neck, peeled her dress off her shoulders... he trusted her and he had no reason to but he did anyway.

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His fingers trailed over every inch of her bare skin, and then so did his mouth.

She was soft and feminine, her curves fit perfectly beneath his hands, and the wanton sounds that left her, those sighs of pleasure, made him want to devour her.

So he did.

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The way her back arched, pressing her bare chest against him, the dark tips of them hard and aroused as she came, moaning breathlessly and spasming beneath him, was like nothing he'd ever felt or seen before.

Something about her—about the way her fingers dug into his back and her lips trailed softly across his chin, his collarbone, the flash of heat between her legs, so impossibly tight and wet—was different, and he knew it.

I'm so screwed.

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Those bright, soft, endless brown eyes, smart and knowing and brilliant, would haunt his dreams, and he knew he'd never forget them.

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