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A splintered edge

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Daryl Dixon has never had a boss like Beth Greene.

He's worked some for shitty, lazy ass people in his life time, going from one shit job to the next with every new town that he moves to, his brother having left him two towns back and then joining up with him again three towns later, as has always been their way. He's had more bosses than he can count in his twenty-five years of working.

Never in all that time has he encountered someone like Beth Greene. Most of his bosses have been men, with the occasional woman thrown in the mix too, but they were all docile and limp, in his opinion, no substance to them, just a machine that ran a business and went home to cats because they devoted so much of their life to their companies, rather than dating.

Daryl's pretty sure Beth is in the same boat since she's at the office before he is and very often, a lot later than he is. He always thought being CEO of the company meant palming off all duties to assistants and the people paid to work for the company, like him. Beth Greene isn't like that though, not at all and he sincerely doubts she goes home to cats.

An empty house, maybe and an empty bed, definitely because if the Ice Queen was getting laid, maybe she wouldn't be such a fucking bitch. Speak of the devil, Daryl thinks as the office falls silent, the usual tell-tale sign that the bitch herself has walked in. His desk is right outside her office, so she has to see him but seeing her round the corner still makes his heart sink.

Because the very worst thing about Beth Greene is how fucking sexy she is.

The bitch knows it too because there hasn't been one day in Daryl's miserable time at this job that he hasn't seen her in some variation of tight skirt or skin hugging dress. Today, it's possible she plans to stop the male population's heart, including his own because she's got that damn skirt on again, the one he didn't get out of his head for a week. A leather white skirt and to pair with it, a deep red and sheer blouse. Underneath, all her skin is on show, if he dares to look hard enough and there doesn't seem to be any qualms from his boss about the material of the shirt because she's wearing a bra made up of ribbons, practically.

The damn thing is a complicated series of black straps, curving over her shoulders and wrapping around her perky little breasts. The fabric wraps around her very edges of her breasts, leaving nothing but a tiny circle to cover her nipples. On her feet and clicking against the floor are two thin black heels, open at the front so he can see her fire engine red toes. To make it all so much damn worse, as if he wasn't already staring at the swell of her ass and the dip of her spine in that fucking skirt, moving on to that flimsy piece of material she calls a bra, her blonde hair is razor sharp, cut to her shoulders and swinging hypnotisingly.

The near silver of the colour is maddening against the red blouse. In contrast, the white skirt is havoc against the bare, golden legs he can see and her bright red lips are fucking stunning paired with her popping blue eyes. She's a whole box of delicious goddamn sin, red and wrapped up and everything, to the point, like practically every morning, Daryl has to take a moment to bite down on his knuckle and look up at her under his lashes.

He's afforded this beautiful moment for a full five seconds as she takes a message from a timid new girl, who has unfortunately not yet learned not to talk to Beth until she swallows down the contents of the Starbucks mug she's carrying. As she wraps it up, the new girl shrinking under Beth's biting voice, Daryl sits up straight and shakes his mouse, trying to look busy.

Typing away, he glances up briefly as Beth comes into view before he stops, giving her his attention when she stops at his desk, just before her own office. "Mornin' B- Ms Greene."

She sniffs, curling her hand tighter over her to go coffee mug and Daryl has to keep his face straight when he sees that her nails are sharp and squared, painted the same red as her toes and her goddamn lips. "I assume you cleared your to do list, Mr Dixon?"

He fumbles, trying not to look unorganised but confused. "S'only nine am Ms Greene. I got in five minutes 'fore you."

Beth sighs like she's dealing with a simpleton and he can't see her feet but he hears the sharp, impatient tap of her heel. "I meant for the weekend, Mr Dixon. I have a business trip on Friday, through to Monday and I left you a to do list. The accommodation and the travel, confirmations of which I was expectin' in my inbox this mornin'. "

He tries not to flush and clears his throat instead. "No, yeah, I gotta chase that up but I did it, 'fore I clocked out last night."

She nods, taking the time to sip her coffee and he squeezes his thigh under his desk when a red lipstick print is left behind on the lid. "Do that, Mr Dixon an' have it to me in the hour. Marylene is due to get back to me about attendin', so be ready to alter the reservation."

"She can't bunk with you? You got the pent house," Daryl says before he can think and then regrets it when she nails him with ice blue eyes lined with thick strokes of black wings.

"Not that I should have to explain, but I meant adding her name to the reservations, not bookin' her another room. The suite had four last time I went."

I know, I booked it, Daryl snipes in his head but outside he dips his chin. "I'll send her a follow-up email an' I'll have everythin' to you as soon as I'm done."

"In the hour," she reminds him, taking a step away and towards her own office. "I won't be impressed if I have to remind you, Mr Dixon."

He nods again until she's in her office, closing the door behind her and then reappearing a moment later to turn her blinds. He turns his back to her and loads up his computer, which he hasn't yet had the chance to do and scowls at the black screen.

"Name's fuckin' Daryl, Beth."

Hours later, not long back from lunch, he sighs as he finally gets on top of his to do list and then Beth's door flies open behind him and his heart sinks because that always means she's got her panties in a twist and it's either his fault, his problem to fix or both, which never ends well for him.

Gritting his teeth, he looks up as she comes clicking around to his desk and tries to smile, but it feels thin and fake. "Sup?"

"Don't 'sup' me!" Beth snaps, hands on her hips and he feels his balls ache in his trousers. "You booked Marylene for that meeting nearly three weeks ago and didn't put it on the calendar."

Sometimes, he gets clicking and frowns a lot and tries to pretend he cares, but he's already so done with today that he nods. "Sorry."

"Sorry? That's it? Who's gonna come with me to New York on Friday now? Marylene was the only one free!" She fumes, still glaring at him.

He tries not to look anywhere except her eyes, but he's still getting tighter in his pants. What is it about this fucking woman? "Why you gotta take her anyhow?"

Beth huffs and paces as she speaks, hands still on her hips. "I need someone to be the social one. The meetin' is all weekend and they get together on the night to have drinks and such. I don't want that. I want to deal with the meetin' an' move on. I send Marylene to all of them, they know her well now an' they request for her to come."

Daryl shrugs unhelpfully because this woman is so damn unhelpful to his life. "What're you gonna do?"

"Me?" She shouts incredulously, rounding on him again. "Why haven't I fired you yet?" She asks a little more seriously.

He shrugs again. "You did, last week. Twice."

She huffs and paces again. "Should take my own damn advice. No, this is your problem, Dixon, deal with it. You'll have to come with me."

His heart plummets straight to his balls. "Nah, I'll find someone else."

A weekend with Beth Greene? No fucking thank you, his blood pressure can't take it.

"No," Beth snaps and there's a horrible, determined gleam in her eye that made her a fucking CEO in the first place. "You're comin'," she says and nods to herself. "Make the arrangements."

"I gotta fuckin' life, Greene!"

"Language!" She throws over her shoulder as she storms away.