Roman's Having Sex Again Read online

  Roman’s Having Sex Again

  Nikki Ashton

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About Nikki Ashton

  More Books By Nikki Ashton

  Copyright © Nikki Ashton 2017

  All Rights Reserved ©

  ISBN - 978-0-9956678-1-5

  Roman’s Having Sex Again

  Published by Nikki Ashton

  The right of Nikki Ashton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. A reviewer may quote brief passages for review purposes only

  This book may not be resold or given away to other people for resale. Please purchase this book from a recognised retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Roman’s Having Sex Again

  First published February 2017

  All Rights Reserved ©

  Cover design – ebook-designs.co.uk

  Edited by—Bernadette Kearns of Book Nanny Writing &

  Editing Services

  Formatting by—JC Clarke from The Graphics Shed

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

  This book is dedicated to all those women who struggle to conceive, or never conceive at all. I can’t give you hope, but I may make you smile.

  Nikki x

  ‘Oh God, please kill me now,’ I muttered to myself as Mr. Barlow, my boss, continued to drone on about terms and conditions of sale. He was selling his building and structural engineering business to a guy who had recently returned to the area, and had been banging on to the new owner’s accountant for the last hour. As his PA, he wanted me there to take notes. To be honest, all I had written on my pad was: ‘blah, blah, blah’. I just hoped he didn’t ask me any questions later.

  ‘Are you okay, Sarah?’ he asked, as I squirmed in my chair.

  I nodded and smiled, not really meaning it. I felt uncomfortable having had to sit for over an hour already. I was also feeling a little sad, because although Mr. Barlow was a bit dippy at times and wasn’t the best businessman, he was always jolly and treated us all fairly, and I was going to miss having him as a boss. So, no, I wasn’t okay. Life was changing and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  ‘Sarah’s recently had an operation,’ Mr. Barlow told the stiff-backed accountant. ‘She’s only been back a week.’

  Yep, definitely kill me now. Not only did I not want everyone knowing that I’d recently had an ovary removed, but my bloody name was Summer, not Sarah. At seventy-five, Mr. Barlow was a little doddery and always called me by his granddaughter’s name. It was easier to answer to it than explain otherwise.

  As my boss continued to chatter on, the accountant’s mobile phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, looking down at it. ‘Mr. Hepburn has arrived.’

  Yipee, I thought, another boring old fart to add to the mix. A little over two minutes later, the door was flung open and the most beautiful man I had ever seen walked in. He was tall, broad and confident, and if someone had asked me to describe my ideal man, well, he would most definitely be it. With chestnut-coloured hair, perfect stubble and dark-brown eyes that I would happily lose myself in, he was simply knicker-wettingly handsome.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Had a few issues that needed sorting on a job.’

  ‘No problem, Mr. Hepburn,’ his accountant smarmed, with a thin-lipped smile. ‘We were just discussing the finer points of the sale.’

  Mr. Beautiful held his hand out to Mr. Barlow. ‘Nice to see you again, Richard.’

  ‘You too, Roman, you too.’

  Oh my God, he even had a sexy name!

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking at me with twinkling eyes. ‘We’ve never met before.’

  ‘I do apologise, Roman,’ Mr. Barlow said, with a shake of his head. ‘This is Sarah, my PA.’

  Mr. Beautiful took my hand in his and shook it, and I couldn’t ignore the zing of electricity that shot from his palm right down to the pit of my stomach—and lower, if I was being honest. He gave me a soft smile and then turned back to Mr. Barlow and the accountant.

  ‘Okay, Nigel, fill me in on what you and Richard have come up with.’

  As I shifted in my seat, he gave me a quick glance and I saw him take a deep breath, before blowing it out slowly.

  He was so damn sexy that the only thought in my head at that point was: ‘Oh shit, there goes my remaining ovary.’

  It was the first working day of the week, and, with a slight feeling of dread, I turned on my PC. Today was the day that Mr. Hepburn started as my new boss, and I was as nervous as hell. He’d seemed a perfectly nice guy at the meeting a couple of weeks ago, so it wasn’t that I was worried he’d be an awful boss: it was because I already had an almighty crush on him. Throughout the meeting with the accountant, we kept snatching glances at each other, and, each time I did, I found myself getting turned on just a little bit more. So by the end of the almost two-hour meeting, I couldn’t have felt more horny if Jamie Dornan himself had been giving me a lap dance.

  As I worked through the day’s worksheets, I heard voices in the corridor outside my office. My stomach gave a flip, nervously anticipating meeting the man who would now be paying my wages. Trying to look industrious, I put my head down and carried on typing.

  ‘Ah, and here she is,’ Mr. Barlow said gaily. ‘My marvellous PA, Sarah. Sarah, your new boss, Mr. Hepburn.’

  I looked up with a ready smile and almost peed my pants. Standing in front of me was Mr. Beautiful—Roman—looking just as handsome as that day at his accountant’s office. As he approached my desk a small, knowing grin appeared on his gorgeous face, and he flicked out his tongue to wet his lips. My heart rate quickened, and I could feel the heat creeping up my neck as he held his hand out to me.

  ‘Sarah, nice
to see you again, and call me Roman.’ He took my hand and gently rubbed his thumb across the back of it as he shook it. ‘I look forward to working with you.’

  Swallowing back the sigh I sooo wanted to let out, I smiled. ‘Thanks, Mr. Hepburn, but my name’s actually Summer.’

  ‘Oh of course it is,’ Mr. Barlow said, wafting his hand at me. ‘I always get it wrong. I have a granddaughter called Sarah, you see, Roman.’

  I looked up at Roman, expecting to see a sexy smile. Instead, his face was thunderous, and I had no clue why.

  ‘Summer!’ Roman bellowed from his office so loudly that it rattled the pictures on the walls. ‘Get in here now!’

  Rolling my eyes, I scraped my chair back from my desk and walked to the doorway. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I didn’t say, ‘Summer stand in the doorway’; I said, ‘Summer get in here now!’’

  Resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at him like a toddler, I plastered on a smile and took one step forward so that technically I was standing in the office. Roman looked at me, shook his head and huffed loudly.

  ‘Where the hell is the report for The Palisade’s development? I asked you to put it in the folder on the shared drive, and it isn’t there.’

  ‘It is,’ I stressed, moving towards his desk. I leaned forward and brushed his hand away from his computer mouse, making a couple of clicks. ‘There.’

  ‘That’s not where I asked you to put it.’ Roman snatched the mouse back and clicked on the file. ‘That folder is called “Shopping Centre”. I asked you to call it “The Palisades”.’

  I looked down at him, my eyes wide with frustration. ‘Seriously, how many shopping centres are we actually working on?’

  ‘Just do as I ask in future, and don’t backchat me.’

  I shook my head and returned to my desk leaving a grumpy boss muttering away behind me. I had no idea why I stayed working for him as we seemed to wind each other up without even trying. Mr. Barlow had been lovely and never raised his voice. We had mutual respect for each other.

  I’d thought that Roman was grumpy on that first day—once Mr. Barlow had left—but he was a pussycat then compared to how his mood had declined over the last month or so. He’d gradually been getting more impatient and testy. Finally, yesterday, when I came in late after a visit to the dentist, he hit the roof: bawling and shouting that he had needed me to help with the details of a new contract—information that I had already added to the shared drive and also emailed to him earlier. Me being me, and unable to hold my tongue, I gave it back to him with both barrels. And so, a shouting match ensued. It lasted for a good ten minutes before he told me to get back to my desk and do some work. I had waited with bated breath all day for him to tell me I was fired, but he didn’t: he simply carried on all day ordering me around and being a miserable sod. The memory of those furtive glances and how nice he’d seemed at his accountant’s office all those weeks ago was getting hazier, with every mean comment he made.

  As I continued typing up the Statement of Works Roman had given to me for another of our contracts, I tried to get my head around why he was so angry with me all the time. Fifty people worked for Roman—if you didn’t count the contractors he used—made up of forty tradesmen and ten office staff, including me. Out of all those people, I was generally the only one he didn’t get along with. When clients or other members of staff came to see him, he was Mr. Charm himself. I knew that we were under pressure with The Palisades project, and, as I worked the closest with him, I put our somewhat fraught relationship down to that. Yet it had all started off so well, until his mood had flipped like a wet fish on a river bank when Mr. Barlow had introduced us that first day. Well, I was getting to a point, where I just wanted to tell him to stick his job up that tight little ass of his.

  The Palisades project was a small, thirty-unit shopping centre which our company was building. We had been experiencing some problems with it, the latest being the discovery of a Marsh Harrier’s nest in the reed beds that skirted the edges of the shopping centre on one side. Not only were Marsh Harriers a protected species of bird, they were rare in the North-West of England, and so the building work on that side of the site had been halted for almost three weeks, despite the fact that no Marsh Harriers had actually been spotted near the nest. This meant that we were unlikely to reach the deadline and would therefore incur huge financial penalties. Losses that could potentially ruin the company.

  As I read back over what I had just distractedly typed, the office door pushed open and a gorgeous, long-legged, brunette sauntered in: Tiffany, Roman’s younger sister. She had visited her cantankerous brother at least once a week over the last month.

  ‘Hi Summer,’ she greeted me brightly. ‘Is he in?’

  ‘Hi Tiffany,’ I replied with a genuine smile. ’I think he’s on the phone.’ I looked down at my telephone and did indeed see the light for Roman’s extension glowing red.

  ‘Okay if I sit and wait then?’

  I nodded and got up to make her usual green tea that she liked. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I had to wonder how Tiffany and Roman could possibly be related. Like Tiffany, Roman was gorgeous, and even covered by his designer suits, you could tell that his body was ripped: the glimpse you got of his corded forearms when he rolled up his shirt sleeves was a tempting sight. Despite the fancy packaging though, they were extremely different in temperament. Tiffany was not only beautiful, but also a decent person: always happy, polite, and interested in how I was. She was the complete antithesis of Roman, and she seemed perfectly lovely to me.

  ‘So how are things going with The Palisades?’ Tiffany asked. ‘I know Ro is stressed about it, but he won’t share anything about what’s going on.’

  I sighed and passed Tiffany her cup of tea. ‘Nothing has changed really; we’re still waiting to hear when we can continue building.’

  ‘There must be something you can do?’ She smiled at me as she took a sip of her drink.

  ‘Roman is looking into flipping the plan, building on the other side instead.’ I wondered why he hadn’t shared any of this with her, because Tiffany obviously cared.

  ‘And is that feasible?’ she asked softly.

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ I shrugged. ‘He was working with the architect yesterday and is meeting with the planning committee tomorrow.’

  At that moment Roman’s office door burst open.

  ‘Summer, where the hell … oh hey, Tiff, I didn’t realise you were here.’

  Tiffany’s face lit up as Roman took a step towards her: it was so bright she could have short-circuited the national grid, even more so when he bent to kiss her cheek. Blimey, she really did love her big brother.

  ‘I wondered whether you fancied lunch,’ Tiffany said.

  Roman rubbed a hand over his face and then let out a strangled grunt. ‘I can’t, Tiff. I’m really sorry, but I need to get this plan finalised before my meeting tomorrow.’

  Her face fell briefly before she plastered on another sparkling smile. ‘Okay, no problem, it was a last-minute idea anyway.’

  Roman’s face softened. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’ll go and get something instead, and bring it back here,’ Tiffany said, as she put her cup on the edge of my desk.

  Roman hesitated momentarily, before shaking his head. ‘Tiff, seriously, I’m fine.’

  ‘No, Ro, I’m getting you something. You never eat properly.’

  ‘Tiffany,’ Roman warned.

  ‘Roman?’ Tiffany beamed at him and I had to wonder how someone could be so smiley when she was dealing with someone so argumentative.

  ‘But I don’t want anything,’ Roman groaned, raking a hand through his hair.

  ‘Well, I’m getting you something. Summer?’ she said, turning to me.

  ‘I’m fine thanks, Tiffany,’ I replied with a smile nowhere near as glowing as hers. ‘I’ve got some sandwiches.’

  ‘Okay. Well, I’ll pop back later then.’

  ‘Whatever, Tiff, do what you like as
usual, and leave whatever you get with Summer,’ Roman said waving a hand in my general direction. ‘I’m going to be really busy.’

  ‘Alright, will do,’ Tiffany replied brightly, winking at me. ‘See you later then, Summer.’

  Tiffany left and, Roman, like the miserable troll he was, retreated back under his bridge. I couldn’t understand why he just couldn’t give her a little bit of his time. It was his loss, though, as she evidently cared about him a great deal. He was her big brother and she idolised him. I know I did mine, even though I didn’t wholeheartedly like how Dylan treated his ‘girlfriends’. I sighed. Who was I to criticise how my brother conducted his love life? I might not agree with his conveyor belt of women, and his one-night stands, but women were attracted to him like teenagers around a Primark sale, and were always desperate for more, so he must be doing something right. The most action I’d had in the last few months was … none. Not since finishing with my boyfriend of three years. When I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome and told I’d have to lose an ovary, Alex had dumped me, two days before my operation, because, according to his text—I kid you not—‘he couldn’t cope with the thought of not being able to have kids’. That was a joke. And an excuse: he hated kids, and avoided his sister’s two boys at all costs.

  As I pondered this, Roman’s office door burst open.

  ‘Summer, where the hell is the latest blueprint that the architect sent over yesterday!’

  From where I was sitting I could see the cardboard tube propped up against Roman’s filing cabinet. Biting my tongue on the sarcastic comment I was dying to make about him having painted-on eyes, I heaved myself up from my chair with a sigh and considered how much money I would need to just take off backpacking around the world.

  Yep, my life was shite, and more boring than an iced finger. It’s basically bread, for goodness sake, where’s the cream? To top it all off, my boss, Roman ‘The Ego’ Hepburn, hated me.