Mark My Spot Read online

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Anna Joung – All rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DESCRIPTION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DESCRIPTION

  Emily

  My goal is to work as a legal administrative assistant while still painting, build up my repertoire until I could have something more than one painting to have in my galleries.

  Painting is what I want to do and I'm witty, focused, and driven to achieve it.

  But I couldn’t do that if I was drooling all over my boss. My terribly sexy boss that I would love to drool over. Oh, my god. Stop!

  Mark

  It was just a normal morning routine and another boring day at my father's law firm. Until I stepped through the company's double doors. She was the first thing I noticed. Her long golden hair and her soft, supple curves that the dress stretched hungrily around her waist and flared slightly over her hips. Oh, she's a beauty and I have to have her.

  I'm hooked!

  CHAPTER 1

  Emily

  I knew it was a bad day to wear the blue knit wrap dress when my supervisor Melinda gave me a quick look from the crown of my head to my matching blue suede shoes.

  In contrast, she was wearing a somber grey pantsuit with a crisp white shirt beneath. Her polished black pumps matched her thickly rimmed glasses and she was thumbing through a pile of briefs before her, her fingers flicking through the papers as she rounded the corner from the copy room. She startled me - I was normally the first person to arrive in the morning. To have her there was unnerving.

  To her have there disapproving of my outfit was downright scary.

  “Good morning, Melinda-“

  “You’re wearing that?” her voice was clipped and low, with a touch of rasp to it, like she had chained smoked in her younger years. I set my bag in my chair and looked down at my dress, smoothing down the front. It was my favorite dress and, though she didn’t approve of bright colors in an outfit at work, she’d never reacted this way to my attire before.

  “Yes, what’s wrong with this?”

  “Nothing,” she responded. She walked around to the other side of the desk where we both sat and set the folder on the desk in the empty space between us. “But we have a big day ahead of us and it’s important to make sure that we-“

  “Aren’t dressed in color?”

  “…are prepared.”

  I turned on the screen of my computer and aligned my planner next to the keyboard. I cast a quick glance around the lobby to make sure everything was in order. Part of my job as assistant to Melinda was to arrive early to make sure the lobby looked the part for a top legal firm in Philadelphia. Everything looked like it was in order.

  “What are we preparing for?” I asked absently, twirling the phone cord around my fingers while my computer was loading.

  “The McClinton case,” Melinda responded. “Mr. Harris called me last night to inform me the firm had the case.”

  “Hooray,” I told her, but she ignored me, continuing.

  “It’s a very high profile case. Mr. Harris will be handling it personally, with the help of his son. It will mean a lot of paperwork for us to do.”

  “How nice for the firm,” I said beneath my breath, but she didn’t respond. She put a finger on the file between us and slid it closer to me. The computer before me finally loaded and I clicked on my email, ignoring the files.

  “Mr. Harris will most likely call me back to his office often to take notes for them, which means you’ll be manning the front desk alone until the case is solved. If you’ll start with those files, I printed out some material for the rest of the firm,” she said, straightening her glasses. “It would be appropriate for us to look the part for the firm.”

  I put my palm on the file and pulled it towards me. “No wearing colors, Melinda, got it.”

  “That would be preferable, yes.”

  At that moment, the front door to the firm opened and Mr. Harris walked in with his son behind him. Mr. Harris was a tall man with broad shoulders, despite his advanced age, and a thick head of light grey hair. Though he carried himself tall, his shoulders were beginning to show the first signs of stooping and his hands were unsteady carrying cups of coffee. According to Melinda, who loved her firm gossip, Mark Harris was being groomed by his father to take over the firm. The firm had been in their family for a few generations. Mr. Harris had a sharp, attractive face even with the wrinkles. I hadn’t shared more than five words with him.

  Trailing behind him, in the middle of a phone call was his son, Mark Harris. He was every bit as tall and broad as his father, but he was younger, in his early thirties. He carried himself with the same importance, the same sense of strength as his father, but Mark was more confident in the way he moved, in the way he did everything. Even with the impeccably tailored suits, the lines of his muscles pushed against the fabric. He was looking down as he approached the desk, following his father. Melinda told Mr. Harris good morning beside me and he responded in kind, curtly.

  Mark Harris looked up from the ground as he passed the front desk and leveled me with deep brown eyes, followed by a smile that showed rows of straight, white teeth. My stomach clenched. Everything about that smile left me feeling flushed, exhilarated. It was the pretty kind of smile that gets into your head and leaves you feeling breathless hours later. Still on the phone, he continued to follow his father down the hall to the right of our desk, where the offices are. He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled again. He never said a word.

  Then again, he rarely said anything to me. Melinda was the one that usually got the exposure with them, as she was technically the firm’s legal assistant. I was her assistant, more of an office assistant than a legal one, and I only saw them, the two Harris men and other lawyers, when they were passing through the office.

  Every time he walked by me, he smiled. Specifically at me. Specifically never at Melinda, who then took that moment to tap her fingers against the files.

  “Don’t forget to make these packets.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Mark

  She was wearing that tantalizing little blue dress today. That absurdly perfect shade of blue that matched her eyes to a T. She was sitting down, too, behind the desk so I couldn’t see the entire effect, but I knew which dress she was wearing from the neckline, which was stitched in a darker shade of navy blue. With her long golden hair and her soft, supple curves that the dress stretched hungrily around her waist and flared slightly over her hips, she was a beauty. She was impossible to miss, even behind the monstrosity of a receptionist desk in the lobby of the firm.

  She was the first thing I noticed when I stepped through the double doors. She was the first thing I noticed anywhere. A pl
easant woman’s voice sounded in my ear, asking to confirm lunch reservations for my father and me to meet the client for the McClinton case and begin the long, boring discussions of the company’s disability policy.

  Like every morning, Emily was gazing back at me, her bright blue eyes locked on my face. A smattering of freckles across her nose were just barely evident in the fluorescent lighting of the lobby and her lips, pale pink and sumptuous, were parted.

  I held her gaze as I turned to walk down the hallway, trailing after my father’s receding back. I risked another glance over my shoulder, our morning routine, our ritual. Her eyes were still on me, I smiled again.

  “Sir, we’ve confirmed your reservation. We’re looking forward to serving you at 1:30 this afternoon,” the woman said.

  “Great, thank you.” I shut the phone and slid it into my jacket pocket. That blue dress was held together with a small knot at her waist. How hard would be it to unwind it, I couldn't help but wonder.

  I quicken my pace to match up with my father. He is fumbling with the keys, stubby arthritic fingers struggling to find the key. I fish mine from my pocket and unlock the door for him.

  “Lunch has been confirmed,” I told him as the door swung open. He fixed me with a frown and walked into the room. He hated it when I helped him. I suspect it made him feel weak, though he’d never admit it. He had lasted a long time as head of the family and the firm, but god knows age was catching up to him.

  He grunted at me, walking over to his desk where he sat down with a sigh. Crisp, pale sunlight drifted in through the large windows behind his desk and he began turning on his computer, peering through a pile of documents. His office, like a larger, darker version of mine was sparsely furnished, which just two chairs before him, a single wall of bookshelves lining the wall that we share on the right.

  “I’ll drive us there,” I offered him, standing in the doorway to avoid unnecessary conversation.

  My father grunted again. The beginnings of cases leave him in the most pleasant mood. When he didn’t respond, I stepped backward, making to shut the door behind me.

  “Marcus,” he said, his voice low. “Send in Melinda, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And shut the door behind you.”

  The door shut with a snap and I sidestepped, stopping in front of my office, which I left, unlocked. It was warmer in there than my father’s office. I rarely shut the blinds or drew the curtains. The warm air in my office made me feel like I was in a pocket of summer. With a pale blue sky, stitched in dark navy… I walked to my computer, leaving my door open behind me.

  I noticed her on her first day, just a few weeks ago. It was a surprise really. When Melinda said she wanted to get a new secretary to help her more effectively help us, I thought she would find a little intern from the local college, a soft-spoken, yes-ma’am of a young adult with barely any experience in picking up phones.

  What I was not expecting was Emily.

  Emily Haines.

  Beautiful, voluptuous Emily Haines, impossible not to notice. I could feel her each morning looking at me, watching me notice her. Watching me notice her noticing me. We hadn’t spoken, not really beyond the standard good mornings and good evenings exchanged in passing. For her, I imagined she was shy judging from the blush that liked to creep into her cheeks. For myself, it was the issue of her working at the firm. Even a hello to her felt dangerous.

  Somehow, I knew that our first exchange beyond hello, from the moment I met her, would be so much more than hello.

  The computer screen lit up before me and I typed in my password, pulled up my email to a slew new messages from clients. I scrubbed a hand through my hair and settled in to answer them.

  An hour and a few dozen emails later, the door opened to my father’s office and he walked slowly away, the door shutting behind him with a snap again. Coffee break, most likely. I could use one, too. I stood up abandoning the emails and walked to the door, only to immediately collide with someone.

  Emily in her blue dress.

  The impact made me stumble and she dropped the pile of papers she was carrying. They scattered to the ground and she looked up at me in shock, her eyes widening. We stood frozen for a moment, less than a few inches apart. I could feel the curve of her breasts barely pressing against me through my suit.

  The final paper fluttered to the ground, and she blinked at the sound, startled, and quickly stepped back, her blush creeping into her cheeks. She shifted one long piece of golden hair behind her ear.

  “Oh, Mark - I mean, Mr. Harris, I didn’t mean to-“

  I couldn’t help but smile as her lips formed my name. I wanted to hear it again.

  “Mark is fine,” I told her as I crouched down to help her scoop up papers.

  She crouched down too, perfectly poised on her blue heels that matched her dress. “No, I can’t call you that.”

  “Yes, you can. I insist.” I wanted my name falling from her lips often.

  “Mr. Harris, that would be inappropriate.”

  “Mr. Harris is my father. I’m Mark.”

  She looked at me dubiously. We stacked the papers together and I stood first, holding a hand down to lift her. She was shorter than I was, even in heels, and she tilted her chin back to look up at me. Her lips were parted again. I felt my cock begin to harden in my pants, and she trailed her eyes over my face.

  “Thank you for your help, Mr. Harris,” she said quickly, taking the pages from my hand and adding them to her pile. “I need to get these to…”

  She indicated my father’s shut office door before she continued, “…that Mr. Harris for his signatures.”

  I slid my hands into my pockets and leaned against my doorframe as she spun on her heels and walked away, dress skirt swinging from side to side with each move. She paused at the shut door and rapped her knuckles against it. When no one answered, she frowned at me over her shoulder and I gestured her forward with a hand.

  “You can go on in,” I told her.

  Uncertain, she twisted the knob and pushed the door inward. “Mr. Harris?” She walked into the empty office and I pushed myself from the doorframe, following her inside.

  In the middle of the room and turned to face me with a frown. “He’s not here.”

  I nodded. “He stepped out just a few minutes ago.”

  A scowl touched her face and she frowned, lifting the papers in a gesture. “You could’ve told me that before you told me to just waltz in here.”

  “I could do a lot of things,” I said to her. Her frown dropped in place of surprise, her mouth making that lovely little “O” shape. I approached her, stopping close enough for me to count the freckles across her nose. She held the papers between us.

  “What can you do?” She asked softly, and my pants felt tighter at the sound of her voice. Her pale blue eyes were watching my lips.

  “I can…sign those papers for you.”

  “Is that all you can do?”

  I closed my fingers around the other side of the stack of papers so we were both holding on them and I leaned my face towards hers. She tilted her chin farther back to meet me, her eyes catching the rays of the sun filtering through the window, and, god, I wanted to give her everything.

  “For now…” I murmured, gently tugging the files from her. I crossed the space to the desk, coaxed one of my father’s pens from the cup beside his computer, and began signing the papers. It was sobering to remember you were in your father’s office. Distance, I told myself. You both still work for the firm.

  With the papers signed, I handed the folder back to her. She took them slowly, murmured a quick thank you, and left the room. I watched her disappear down the hall until she was out of sight.

  The sight of Emily in that blue dress was enough to make me forget the rule of her working at the firm.

  Shit, I was in trouble.

  CHAPTER 3

  Emily

  Oh, my god.

  Oh, my god.

  I handed
Melinda the papers, freshly signed, and she took them without a word, her attention on her emails in front of her. She normally took any papers first thing in the morning to Mr. Harris, leaving me in the lobby to answer phones and respond to the firm’s general emails, of which we received hundreds with the firm’s prestige, mostly inquiries for small cases. Today, though, an important phone call came in right when she was supposed to take it back. She took one look at the phone and answered it before I could, sending me down to get the day’s signatures.

  I had never done that before.

  More importantly, I had never been that close to Mark Harris.

  Oh, my god. He was so much sexier up close. His thick, dark hair with that single piece the flops over his forehead, sometimes falling over his eyes, which are a deep honey color up close. I hadn’t noticed that before. His lips are the perfect shape and his smirk lifted one side first, then the other, and was marred by a little white scar. I wanted to trace my fingers across the little scar. I had to refrain from reaching up and touching it in the office.

  I felt intoxicated, invigorated, even now. I could feel my nipples tingling beneath my dress.

  I exhaled through my lips and became aware of Melinda beside me, speaking quietly and quickly into the phone. She spoke for a few seconds more before ending the call.

  “Okay,” she said to herself, turning to me afterward. “You got the signatures? Great, thanks. I’ll take care of those. Now, I know you made copies this morning, but I need more done.”

  I jump to my feet. “Great, yeah, I’ll take care of it.” The thought of being by Melinda while excited was far from preferable. I took the stack of papers she made and hurried to the copy room, the tiny little alcove by the kitchen. I wanted to focus on calming down.

  Inside the room, I exhaled again, drawing it out the way my roommate, Phoebe had taught me. She was an eccentric yoga instructor with about two thousand candles in the house and little rocks for healing and auras on every surface. She knew of my shameful crush on Mark. She’d known about it since day one when I returned home gushing about how attractive the manager partner’s son was. She’d clapped her tiny hands together and encouraged me from day one to pursue it.