Purely Professional by Elia Winters

disobedient schoolgirl rather than a professional woman in the workplace? And what did it say about her that she was getting turned on?
    Right after lunch, while Bridget was in the middle of editing an article by one of the new freelancers, her phone buzzed with a text message from the number she’d just put in her phone the day before. She couldn’t deny the little flutter of anticipation in her stomach.
    Free tonight? Max had texted.
    Sure.
    I’m picking you up at your house at seven and I’m taking you out to dinner. Wear exactly what you’re wearing.
    It didn’t invite refusal. That should probably annoy her, but this was part of the game, right? All right , she texted back.
    Be good. She didn’t reply.
    Bridget worked diligently on her paperwork, trying to distract herself from the persistent throbbing between her legs, but five o’clock took a long time to arrive.
    * * *
    Max rang the doorbell at exactly seven o’clock that evening. Good looks and punctuality were a winning combination.
    Max smiled warmly in greeting, his gaze sweeping quickly over her body. “You look nice.”
    “So do you.” He wore a blue button-down shirt open at the neck and a pair of gray trousers; Bridget noticed how well those trousers accentuated his ass when he turned to walk her to the car.
    “How was your day?” He opened the door for her.
    She slid into the smooth leather seat of Max’s Audi. “It was okay.” She didn’t want to reveal too much. “The Audi suits you.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You can tell a lot about a person by their car. An Audi is classy but sporty, not too ostentatious, but with a touch of flair.”
    He grinned as they pulled out onto the road. “And that’s me?”
    “As far as I can tell. But it would be more accurate if the trunk were full of rope and whips.”
    “Who says it isn’t?” he countered, smirking, and Bridget had no reply. He glanced over at her. “What do you drive? I never see your car.”
    “I keep it in the garage most of the time because I take the train to work. But I have a Mini Cooper.” After a pause, she added, “It’s orange.”
    “Of course it is.”
    Bridget wondered what he meant by that.
    When they pulled onto the highway, her curiosity was piqued. “Where are we going?”
    “The Blackthorne Grille. Have you ever been?”
    “No.”
    “It’s a nice place. Quiet, out of the way. Food’s great. I go there a lot.”
    “Alone?” The question slipped out before she could stop herself, and she wasn’t even sure why she’d asked it.
    Max looked over at her with an odd expression on his face, not quite amusement, not quite irritation. “Sometimes.”
    After a few minutes of silence, Bridget spoke up. Max clearly wasn’t going to initiate the conversation. “What’s the plan for tonight? Aside from dinner.”
    “You’ll see.” Everything he said was noncommittal, much to her annoyance. She hated not knowing, although the uncertainty was turning her on a bit. Was that part of his plan? Was there even a plan at all?
    They pulled into the Blackthorne Grille a few minutes later. It looked like a standard upscale grill done in brick with wood accents, very warm and cozy. When Bridget slid into her seat in their corner booth, she noticed the high seat backs gave a sense of seclusion.
    Max ordered a bottle of wine without looking at the wine list. How often did he really come here?
    “I hope you didn’t get your fill of pinot noir last night.”
    Bridget willed herself not to blush. “It’s fine.”
    “I recommend the steak or the seafood.” Max set his own menu aside. “Both are always delicious.”
    “You come here a lot,” Bridget said. It wasn’t a question.
    “A fair amount. What are your favorite restaurants?”
    She paused. “Well…I don’t eat out for dinner too often,” she admitted. “Helen and I get lunch in the city all the time, but mostly I cook dinner for myself. Cheaper, you