“You can always talk to me.” I go completely still. I didn’t mean to say it, but now that I have, I know it’s true. “I—I’d love to hear about him. Or you…you can tell me anything. I mean, I know about the panic attacks already. How much worse could it get? We also—er—there was this thing. The nothing thing which we are never going to talk about. But I feel like I…well, I thought about it. All week.” Shut up. Seriously. “I’m just trying to say that if you need me, I’m here. But not like that. Shit. No. God. I just mean we’ve already been through some things, and we’ve known each other for a while, and if you’re struggling, I promise I would always keep everything confidential.”
Philippe swivels around in his seat to face me, and my hands fall away automatically. “Would you massage my shoulders too? Brush my hair back? I liked that. It was nice.”
“I shouldn’t. That nothing thing can’t happen again. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t be…that was very—uh—forward. This is work. We’re at work. I would never have—before…”
“By confidential, do you mean you’d write it down in your electronic diary therapy thingy as a scathing rant and accidentally send it out?”
My face flames and I cross my arms, but at the same time, I know what he’s doing, and I’m thankful for it. He’s not talking about it. The nothing. The thing that wasn’t a thing. “No. I’m done with that.”
“Good. I think we’re set then. Can I pick you up at one on Saturday?”
“Sure. If you bring Granny some more of those doughnuts, I think she’d love you forever.”
“They didn’t have a gluten-free option. I was disappointed.”
This I can do. This I can handle. I stalk towards the door, but just before I open it, I turn around. “I’ll find you one somewhere if you really want one. It’s probably the least odious of all the demands you’ve given me.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
I let myself out of the office and stride briskly back to mine. I walk as fast as I can go without raising suspicion as to why I’m actually running through the office with my face burning like it’s on fire. I swear if anyone stopped me now, they’d be able to tell I’m a total and utter wreck on the inside. In a messy, aroused, and longing sort of way.
When I get back to my office, I shut the door and pick up the soft dress with all the feathers. I hug it to my chest and breathe it in. It doesn’t smell like new clothes smell. Instead, it smells just like how it feels. Soft. Beautiful. A little bit like fresh air.
“I hope you do,” I whisper into it, hating myself, because all of a sudden, I know what I’ve been continually denying all week is both true and utterly undeniable.
I have a crush on my boss.CHAPTER 8Sutton“You’re looking at him like you’re thinking about things.”
I whirl away from the living room bay window where I’ve been watching the street and driveway for the past thirty minutes. Contrary to what Philippe thinks, some women are actually ready on time and even early. I’m pretty sure when he said that, he was just trying to piss me off. I think.
“I’m not!” I hope the curtains aren’t swirling and that Philippe wasn’t looking at the window to see me creeping.
“You are.” Granny crowds in behind me. I angle away so she can’t see me blushing.
“I—I’m not.”
“Why’re you just standing here gaping after he pulled up instead of rushing to the door like you normally do?”
“Because,” I hiss. “He’s not wearing a suit. I was just doing a double-take and frantically trying to figure out if I’m overdressed.”
Granny’s lips purse. “Doesn’t matter if you’re overdressed. He spent a fortune on that dress and those shoes, so you’re wearing it.”
“But he’s in jeans!”
Granny titters away. “Ooh, and doesn’t he look fine in those skinny things. They cup his bottom just right. A bottom of steel it is. If I was fifty years younger—-”
“Granny!” I wail. “For the love of—”
“I’m just saying.” Granny grips my hand. “He’s an attractive man. I know you’re doing this for a raise, and we’ve already talked about what I think about that and how you think this is fake and you’re not attracted to him, but I’ve been around long enough to recognize desire when I see it, and I don’t need to be a great-grandma anytime soon.”
“He’s wearing, like, combat boots,” I say to try and divert Granny’s attention off the subject of desire and babies. “To a wedding? We aren’t going to match at all. I’m wearing feathers for goodness sake.”
“He came in a cab, which means he plans on getting drunk, with you too probably. He’s definitely aiming for a late night, and he’s probably planning on his place too.”