Best Friend With Benefits

By B. B. Hamel

Henry broke my heart years ago. I never forgave him for what he did.
But now I have my dream job, and it turns out we'll be working together.
He's even hotter than I remembered.

And he still wants me.
I need to resist that delicious jerk's charm.

What a huge mess. Back in high school, we were inseparable. Henry was my best friend and a little bit more.

But he broke my heart. One day we were close, and the next he was ignoring me in the halls.

Fast forward ten years. I just landed my dream job working for an online news organization. It's my chance to report on serious issues.

Except I'll be working very closely with Henry.

He's the producer on my first story. I never thought I'd see him again. But he's back, and he's all grown up: cocky grin, muscular body, hands that have a ton of experience. I can't stop picturing all those nights we used to undress each other in the dark.

I need to keep it professional. But Henry isn't making that easy.

He wants me again. And he's not being subtle about it. If I give in to him, I know I'm going to need more than just one night.

I'm in for the best mistake of my life.

Best Friend With Benefits is a steamy romance with hot scenes and bad language. It's only recommended for readers 18+.

Best Friend With Benefits is a STANDALONE, full-length novel. No cliffhanger. Guaranteed HEA!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: B. B. Hamel
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201356460

B. B. Hamel

B. B. Hamel writes steamy stories that make fans squirm. As an Indie author, fan support means everything. For more information, visit BBHamel.com.

Book preview

PROLOGUE: VIVIAN

"H ave you been dreaming about my cock all these years?" he whispers in my ear.

This is pretty wrong, even for me.

We work together. That’s basically breaking every single rule I have for the workplace, which admittedly is pretty lax overall. But still, I have my one rule, and I stick to it. I don’t sleep with coworkers, especially not when I’m out on assignment.

But on top of that, and more importantly, it’s freaking Henry. He’s the guy that broke my heart all those years ago, destroyed me out of nowhere, and made my senior year a living hell.

He’s all grown up now though. That handsome, boyish kid grew up into an incredibly attractive, muscular, rugged looking man. I can still get glimpses of that teenager I dated a long time ago, but he’s all man now and it’s hard to see him any other way.

So I’m pretty stupid for getting myself in this position, right? I should probably walk away.

I gasp and shake my head but he pulls my hair and I can feel his smirk against my neck. Come off it, Viv. You pretend to be so prim and good, but I know that’s just for the cameras. He grabs my hair and pills it back, hard, making me gasp. I know what you’re really like. I know you, Viv.

Not anymore, I whisper, but my heart is hammering as he roughly presses his hand down the front of my jeans, finding my dripping pussy.

Just like I remember. You’re still a teenage girl down here, you tight little slut. He presses his fingers deep inside of me and I gasp.

Don’t be an asshole, I moan as he fucks me slowly with his thick, strong hands.

Don’t pretend like you haven’t been dreaming of me fucking you for years, and maybe I’ll be nice.

Fine, I say, pushing back from the wall. His hand slides out from my jeans as I whirl on him. You want the truth?

He grins and pushes me back against the wall, pinning me there with his hips as he grabs my hair and tips my head back. Go ahead, give it to me. What’s the truth?

I stare back at him defiantly. I haven’t wasted a single second on you since the day I left town.

He grins and he knows I’m lying. I know he can see right through me, he always could, but I can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing the truth. I can’t let him know that I haven’t forgotten him, not even for a second. I’ve had my own life since high school, of course, but I never really let him go, not completely.

And now that he’s back, all of those feelings are back, too. But he’s such a cocky asshole, he doesn’t deserve it.

You’re fucking sexy when you lie, girl, he says.

And before I can answer, he crushes my mouth with a kiss, stifling any resistance I have left.

That bastard. He broke my heart back then and now I’m stuck with him, working in close quarters together. I didn’t want this, not even a little bit, but I have no other choice. It’s a good story, and I’m not going to be the one who backs down.

So when he cups my breasts and tells me how badly he wants to watch me swallow his cum.

I know I’m screwed, because I want to taste it just as bad.

1

HENRY

"Y ou see the new girl yet?"

I lean back in my chair and eye Greg as he gives me a big, stupid grin. Not yet, I say. Some of us have to work, you know.

Oh, come off it. You field producers always act like you’re better than the rest of us.

Greg is older, in his mid-fifties, and he’s been doing this reporting thing since before I was born. Still, we’ve been working together now for five years, and he trusts me. He’s balding, getting a little heavier, but he still knows what he’s doing. The old beat reporter is still buried in there, behind the lazy desk jockey he’s become. He’s my mentor, in a lot of ways, but I’d never fucking tell him that.

I grin right back. That’s because we are.

He sighs, shaking his head. You know, Henry, if you weren’t so damn good at what you do, I would have fired your ass a while ago.

I know, I say and laugh. But who else are you going to get to travel to all the shit parts of the world?

Nobody, he admits.

See, we’re beautiful together. You sit on your lazy ass and edit my stories while I go out and risk my damn life to find them.

He groans and rolls his eyes. Were you ever in danger in Indonesia?

No, I admit. Nice place, actually.

And what about Berlin, before that?

No, I admit again. Although those Neo-Nazis were pretty rough guys.

Quit pretending like your life is always in danger.

I shrug and lean back in my chair. Maybe not those last two assignments, but you remember Afghanistan. You remember the Ukraine, Colombian terrorists, Spanish separatists, gang violence in Detroit.

Had to pay you overtime for Detroit, he grumbles. Fine, okay, I get your point. Still don’t know why you can’t let me talk about the new reporter girl without giving me shit.

Fine, okay, I say, laughing. I feel a little bad for being a dick. Go ahead. What about her?

He looks at me for a second. She’s smoking hot.

I groan and laugh again. That’s why I give you shit.

He grins and shrugs a little, looking sheepish, but I know he can’t help himself.

Greg is the Editor-in-Chief at World Beats News. We’re a gritty little online outfit specializing in short-film style news reporting all over the world. I’m a field producer, which means I go out with teams to produce and report on whatever story gets assigned to me. More often than not, they’re pretty fucking dangerous, since Greg knows I can handle my shit.

But lately, I’ve been restless. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve spent the majority of my twenties traveling all over the world. My apartment is practically empty, since I live out of hotels, and my love life is just as empty. I sleep with plenty of beautiful and exotic women, but that only keeps you satisfied for so long.

I see the old, grizzled producers, still traveling the world after all these years, and I wonder. What would my life be like if I didn’t become like them? They’re all heavy smokers, unhealthy as fuck, addicted to the thrill, and completely alone in this world.

I have ambitions, dreams, goals, but I also want something more than endless hotel rooms and near-misses.

What’s her name, anyway? I ask him.

Vivian. She’s a Harvard girl, been around the block a bit. Wrote for the Times, did a couple years at Vice, and now she’s here.

I frown at him. That name sounds familiar, but there are a million girls named Vivian in the world, though probably not that many that also went to Harvard.

What do you have her doing? I ask him.

He frowns and opens a folder. Let’s see. Nothing you’d be interested in. He leafs through it and pulls out a sheet. Here we go. Opioid epidemic. We’re sending her to a town in Alabama that was practically destroyed by it.

Sounds fun, I say.

He raises an eyebrow. The chances of her getting shot are pretty slim. So I doubt you’d be interested.

I shake my head. Don’t assume. Who’s producing for her?

Nobody right now.

I glance down at the floor, my mind racing. I can’t imagine it’s actually her, actually Vivian from my past, but what if? I know she wanted to be a journalist, and she definitely went to Harvard, but I haven’t been following her all these years.

I haven’t wanted to follow her. I haven’t let myself. Because I know that if I let myself look her up and find out what kind of happy, amazing life she’s living, I know I’ll only be fucking hurting myself. So I’ve ignored her, pretended like she wasn’t out there somewhere, although I’ve had her in the back of my mind, even after all this time.

The one that got away. The girl who’s heart I broke and trampled over. The one thing I partially regret, although I did it for the right reasons. At least I think so.

What’s her full name? I ask him.

He grins at me. Got a crush on her, Hank?

Don’t call me that, I grunt at him.

Whatever. Her full name’s Vivian Cross, from Michigan originally, it seems. At least according to her bio. He hesitates a second. Say, aren’t you from Michigan too?

Yeah, I say as I’m suddenly transported back in time. I can see her all over again, that perfect smile, those full lips, that thick blonde hair, that perfect body, the way I felt around her, driving in my piece of shit truck, and now she’s back.

It’s her, it has to be her. Vivian Cross, the one that got away.

I’m going to produce for her, I say, standing.

Wait, hold on. I was going to assign her Jeff.

I stare at him. No. I’m doing it.

He hesitates. You sure?

Yes, I say. You owe me and you know it.

He sighs. There something I should know here?

No, I say, leaving his office.

Greg will make it happen. I’ve done a lot for WBN and he knows it. He owes me a million favors at this point. I’m sure there’s going to be some gossip about this, since I’m not normally the type to take a job like this, but I don’t fucking care.

Vivian is back. And I can’t help myself. As I head back through the halls to my little temporary cubicle, practically empty since I never spend any time in it, I can’t stop thinking about her.

I don’t know what I’m going to feel when I finally see her again. And we’re going to be working very, very closely together. I have to produce the show while she does the on-camera reporting, plus a lot of the writing. We build this segment together.

I don’t know how she’s going to react when she sees me again. I’m afraid she’s going to be angry, and frankly I wouldn’t blame her, not after what I did. I made her life hell back then, not really because I wanted to, but because I had to. She doesn’t understand because I was too stupid back then to try and explain.

No excuses now, though. We’re grown and we’re adults, so we’ll work together and get this done. Maybe this is a mistake. I can already see a million different ways this can go wrong.

But I can’t help myself. I have a chance to see Vivian again, and I’m going to take it.

2

VIVIAN

New city, new life, new beginning. I hate moving, but I know it’s the best thing for my career.

After graduating with a journalism degree from Harvard, I moved to New York City and worked as a reporter at the Times. After that, I floated around working for online publications like Vice and Buzzfeed, mostly just doing some freelance stuff, but that money wasn’t great. And I wasn’t doing the sort of reporting that I’ve always wanted to do.

I don’t know how many Buzzfeed quizzes I can possibly write in my life. And Vice just wanted me to write about sex all the time, which is fun and stuff, but not what I pictured when I was fresh out of school.

I want to do something serious, something with real consequences. There are a million important stories out there that need to be reported, and I want to be the one to do it.

So when I got a job with World Beats News, I didn’t hesitate to move to Philadelphia. I left behind all my friends and my life in New York and I followed my dream.

Now I’m living in a crappy little apartment right off Passyunk Avenue, which is actually a cute neighborhood. All of my things are still in boxes, which admittedly isn’t all that much. I sigh and look at myself in the mirror, at my white blouse and pencil skirt, and I wonder for the hundredth time if I’m doing the right thing.

I don’t know a lot about WBN, although I’ve seen some of their reporting, and it’s damn good. They had a piece about the Ukraine a couple years ago that was fantastic. I’m going to get the chance to do some serious reporting, and although I’m not familiar with much of the staff at WBN, I know they’re a legitimate operation. Sure, the pay isn’t the best in the world, but it’s real work. It’s real reporting.

I just don’t know if I’m ready for it.

I straighten my skirt, grab my bag, and head outside. It’s early, but I don’t want to risk being late for my first day. I hurry to the subway, manage to get a pass, and head onto the first local train that shows up.

WBN is headquartered in a cool old building right off Market Street. I have to ride the subway and switch from the orange line to the blue line then ride it all the way down to Second, and from there I have to walk another block north. It takes me about a half hour, which isn’t bad, and I’m right on time as I head up a steep flight of stairs. The office is above a record store, which I’ll have to check out later, but for now I’m focusing on the task at hand.

First days are always awkward. I’m the new girl here, and I have to expect a little bit of discomfort. I’ve gone through first days before, it’s not a big deal. I still can’t help but feel like I need to prove myself, though.

This is a real website doing real news. They’re not writing clickbait puff pieces about avocado toast and cat gifs. Sure, I did some real serious journalism with the Times, but never like what WBN does. I’ve never traveled for a story and spent weeks researching it firsthand, but that’s exactly what I’ll be doing here.

I reach the top of the steps and head through a door. I come into a small waiting room with a single secretary sitting out front. She’s young with dirty blonde hair and long red nails, and she smiles as I approach.

Vivian Cross for Greg Tanner, I say.

Hi Vivian, I’m Meggy, nice to meet you. She stands and shakes my hand. He’s expecting you, head on back.

I smile and thank her before walking through the halls. WBN’s office looks just like any other office in the world. It’s filled with cubicles in the center, with a few offices around the outer walls and a large, glass-enclosed conference room toward the back. There are some people working already, and a few look up as I pass.

Greg’s office is at the very back of the building. I knock once before