Private Chambers

By Cleo Peitsche

Maisie’s dominant bosses won’t budge: for her protection, she must marry one of them immediately.

On paper, they’re perfect. Ethan Brennbach, Trent Banno, and Raphael Lattimore are rich, gorgeous lawyers. The powerful billionaires give Maisie exactly what she needs, from every angle imaginable.

But after overhearing them arguing, she knows the devastating truth.

They don’t want her, not forever.

Unable to tell them the truth, soon she’s acting out. But her bosses have their own carefully laid plans.

They will bring Maisie under control, one way or another...

This office menage romance contains one curvy submissive and the three dominant men who are driving her crazy with their protectiveness and their secrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cleo Peitsche
• Release date: Jul 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370156177

Cleo Peitsche

If Cleo isn't writing (or reading!) erotica, she's probably sitting on her balcony, watching the wind blow through the trees. She loves snowstorms, piña coladas, horses, and pasta primavera. If she won the lottery, she would hire an assistant to take care of the technical side of e-publishing so that she could write all day.Some random facts about Cleo:1. Thinks life's too short to forgo HEAs and HFNs.2. Sprained an ankle joining the mile-high club. (Never again!)3. Favorite writers include Cormac Mccarthy, Junot Diaz and Rachel Caine.4. Gets weak-kneed for bookish guys who know how to fix things with their hands. *swoons*

Book preview

1

Maisie whirled through the empty conference room, gathering abandoned coffee mugs, crumpled, dirty napkins, and fallen chunks of glazed cinnamon rolls. Last night’s manicure was already chipped—not that pink fingernails did much to offset the ugliness of her janitorial uniform.

She made a second pass to collect the newspapers. As she was dumping them into the recycling bin on her cleaning cart, a word caught her eye.

Ballystock.

She glanced around, but she was still alone in the bright room. Her arm snaked out for the paper.

Fire Destroys Murdered Man’s Mansion—Norman Ballystock’s New Home Goes Up in Flames!

There was a photo, a mess of charred timber marring a meticulous stretch of landscape.

Holding her breath, Maisie skimmed the article, irrationally terrified that her name would appear. It didn’t, of course.

Maisie frowned.

She could think of three people who were capable of arson, or at least arranging it. Ethan Brennbach, Trent Banno, and Raphael Lattimore. Her former bosses. Her dominant lovers.

The men who were insisting she marry one of them—and she wouldn’t even get to choose which one.

They had promised to make the Ballystock problem go away. Was the fire their work? If so, why?

Those men never did anything without a damned good reason.

A cold feeling churned in the pit of Maisie’s stomach. She shoved the newspaper into the cart and wheeled it into the hall.

It was lunchtime, and she needed to get some air.

Twenty minutes later, she was in a nearby department store, holed up in the dressing room.

A hollow knock sounded on the door. How are those working for you?

Great! Maisie called out, forcing a cheery tone into her voice.

She was standing in her bra and underwear, trying to talk herself into putting her offensive uniform back on.

Let me know if I can grab anything for you.

Maisie glanced at the time. She still had half of her lunch break left, but shopping wasn’t the escapism she’d hoped it would be. Her jittery nerves just wouldn’t settle. I’m done, but thanks.

She looked one last time at the gorgeous, expensive dresses. On an impulse, she ran her fingers down the front of a particularly pretty one, letting the black silk whisper seductively against her skin.

It was so sensual, it bordered on obscene.

She wanted it. Needed it. Bad.

But she couldn’t afford it.

If she gave in and married one of her billionaire bosses…

No fucking way, she gritted out.

The knocking sounded on the door again. Do you need another size?

No. Thank you.

With great effort, Maisie turned toward the gray heap of polyester she’d tossed on the floor. That right there? It was defeat.

It was all her faults laid bare.

When her bosses had chosen the janitorial job as her punishment, they’d known exactly what they were doing. If only she hadn’t disobeyed their orders by returning to the building after she’d been fired and ordered to stay far away.

Don’t dwell on the past. It was her new mantra.

And what was trying on new clothes if not proof that she was focusing on the future? The cleaning job was temporary. Then she would never scrub another public toilet or mop up after a bunch of entitled executives ever again.

Wrinkling her nose, she pulled on her uniform.

The scratchy fabric settled heavily on her limbs. It was both stiff and clingy, a combination that defied every law of nature. Even though she’d washed the uniform several times on the hottest water setting and with generous pours of detergent, she couldn’t exorcise the chemical stench.

In her worst dreams, she walked onto the sixtieth floor and everyone crowded around, pointing and staring. When she looked down, she discovered that she wasn’t naked; oh, no—she was wearing the goddamn uniform.

Sometimes she worried that it was seeping into her, becoming permanent.

She lowered her head as she approached Fortune Tower. She didn’t want anyone at LB&B Law to see her like this.

Maisie Novau, out in the wild. The familiar deep voice cut through the background noise.

Her gait faltered, but only for a second. She began walking faster.

Maisie. Now his voice was commanding. And it carried; several people were turning to see what was going on.

Slowly, she faced Ethan Brennbach. His dark blond hair seemed freshly trimmed. It made his jaw look even squarer, his gray eyes more arresting.

It also highlighted the taut, scarred skin on the right side of his face.

Ethan was the owner of Fortune Tower and one of the wealthiest men alive. He hadn’t been the one to come up with this diabolical punishment—the janitorial job—but he’d sure gotten on board quickly.

Oh, um, hi, she said.

Her heart was galloping away at a million miles an hour, and not just because he was sinfully hot.

Ethan, Trent, and Raphael didn’t know it, but Maisie had overheard one of their private discussions.

At the time, she hadn’t fully understood what she was hearing, or that it involved her at all. They’d deliberated their plan in such harsh, negative terms that she’d assumed it was about one of them copping to a crime in order to save the others.

Yeah, they’d made marrying her sound like a prison sentence.

Anger curled around her body, and she worked hard to keep the shame from showing in her expression.

When the men had explained that she should submit to a marriage of convenience as protection against the police investigation, she’d said she wasn’t going to marry any of them.

Ethan’s reply? We’ll see about that.

Delivered in his deep, commanding voice.

He really believed that any woman on the planet would be thrilled to walk down the aisle with any of them, regardless of the reasons. But there was no way in hell she was going to marry some guy who didn’t want her, regardless of how rich or hot he was.

The anger ticked up a notch.

What’s wrong? Ethan asked. A dangerous fire lit his gray eyes. Are you ashamed of being seen with me?

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth.

Ethan Brennbach was 6’3" of muscle and power wrapped in an expensive tailored suit. His eyes seemed to have hooked into her very soul, and now she couldn’t drag her gaze away.

The man was hot. Infuriating, but hot.

Even the scar turned her on. She’d heard conflicting versions of how he’d gotten it, but in every story, Ethan was heroic, saving someone else’s life.

You didn’t answer my question, he said. Are you ashamed of me?

Of course not.

All of this was a cruel ploy to force her to linger in plain view of the bustling lobby while dressed in the oversized janitorial uniform.

It was all part of her punishment. They used to spank her when she was acting up. Spanking was always fun.

This? It was agony.

Walk with me, Ethan said, and she had to accompany him toward the doors.

I guess you’re busy up at LB&B, she said in desperation, trying to appeal to his workaholic nature by reminding him that his time was better spent elsewhere.

We’re always busy, but I can spare five minutes. Even though the right side of his mouth didn’t lift as much, his smile was devastatingly gorgeous. Or ten. For you, Maisie.

Fuck.

She reached up to tuck her curly hair behind her ear before remembering that it was all pinned back for work.

Well, she could think of one topic he wouldn’t want to discuss: Ballystock.

Is there any news about you-know-who? she asked, wondering if Ethan would mention the fire.

He didn’t reply.

Good. She just had to push a little harder. Did Byron leak the footage? The footage of Ethan, Trent, and Raphael blackmailing and threatening Norman the night of his disappearance.

At the mention of Byron Ballystock, the dead man’s grieving brother and the assistant chief of police, the brightness in Ethan’s face darkened to a somber smolder.

No.

Maybe he’s changed his mind about releasing the footage, she suggested when they were inside the spacious lobby. It screws you guys over, but it also tarnishes his brother’s image. Norman basically admitted to raping underage girls.

Ethan shook his head once decisively and glanced around as if to verify that no one was close enough to overhear them.

"Your terminology is wrong. He’s not releasing or leaking it. He wants it entered into evidence."

Ethan just wasn’t going to go away, was he?

What about the fire? she blurted.

Ethan stared levelly at her. Neither confirming nor denying.

A little shiver tiptoed up her spine. If they had set the fire, it clearly hadn’t been enough to get Byron to back off. Isn’t there something you can do to stop him?

Ethan scanned the surroundings once more, then his gray eyes returned to rest on her. There is.

So, it was going to be like that, with the bosses thinking up their strategies and Maisie always on the outside.

But then Ethan said, Since you’ll be married in the next few days, then I suppose we can talk more openly about our plans.

A wry smile twisted his lips. Maisie felt another surge of her earlier anger.

Except… Ethan dragged out the word. I just remembered—you’ve decided you won’t marry any of us.

A light sweat broke out all over her body, and her hands turned clammy. She didn’t want him pushing her on that point again, because then she would have to tell the truth about what she’d overheard.

I…

You see, Maisie, I would love to share our intentions for handling Byron Ballystock, but so long as you insist you won’t marry us, we’ll have to keep you far away.

That’s your plan? You’re going to freeze me out until I give in? That’s blackmail.

One of his eyebrows lifted. Extortion, actually. But haven’t you been paying attention? We’re not above blackmail. He smiled cruelly. To answer your question, no, that’s not my plan.

You don’t even want to marry me. I mean, you guys in general. One of her rare blushes scorched her cheeks.

You can’t possibly know what we do or don’t want. His voice was gentle as his eyes searched hers, and Maisie had to look away.

Because she did know what they wanted. There wasn’t any doubt about what she’d heard; this wasn’t some silly misunderstanding.

Ethan leaned in close, and his scent washed over her. Pine, citrus, and wood smoke.

Arousal shot through her veins, faster than any drug. Her uncontrollable reaction only made her angrier. She wanted to hate him, so why did she long to fall to her knees and worship his cock with her mouth? Her hands clenched into fists so tight that her nails gouged her palms.

Don’t worry, he said. After you’re married, nothing will change. The four of us will continue as before. If you ask nicely, I’ll even let you keep scrubbing the floors in my building.

You’re an asshole, Maisie hissed under her breath.

Oh, fuck. She froze. That was a line she never should have crossed. She stared hard at her thick-soled black shoes and prayed he hadn’t heard.

Follow me, Ethan growled.

That deep voice. The irresistible dominance.

He turned and walked briskly away. Maisie’s body felt like it was pulsing with arousal and fear. Dizziness made the air swirl as her heart beat fast, working overtime.

She followed him, her feet heavy, her mouth dry.

Ethan was heading for the deli.

He planned to make her walk through there in her easily identifiable janitorial uniform.

She hurried to catch up to him, and she tapped his arm as he reached the door. Please, sir, she whispered.

He looked down at her. Please what?

Please don’t make me go in there. She glanced past him. The deli’s interior was crowded, but she immediately recognized two people from LB&B Law. Probably, there were more.

Ethan turned to face her, his shoulders squared as his large, muscular body loomed over her. It didn’t matter that he was wearing an expensive suit, that he’d attended some of the most exclusive universities, or that he was one of the wealthiest men on the planet.

When Ethan Brennbach looked at Maisie like that, she was helpless. It was his power. The outcome would have been the same if he’d been dressed in a caveman’s animal pelt or a faded pair of jeans.

He moved to the side and opened the glass door. The smell of roasted garlic and sourdough bread floated out.

After you, he said, and his eyes were so cold that Maisie shivered even though she was flushed and overheated.

2

Still holding the door , Ethan dipped into his pocket and pulled out a thin fold of crisp hundred-dollar bills in a silver—or was it platinum?—money clip.

He peeled away one of the bills and held it between two stiff fingers in a condescending gesture.

Get in line, he said. "You’re going to order two dozen muffins. Then you will deliver them to LB&B, where you will see to it that every assistant on the sixtieth floor receives one. I’ll serve

Reviews for Private Chambers

[Anne Baker · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

God just can't wait for the next part of this series. Fabulous read