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I hadn’t thoug
ht this through. He was a guy, which meant he was going to be blowing up my phone every time he jerked off, which I knew guys did frequently.
But . . . I kind of liked it. Knowing he would always have to think of me whenever he was close to coming. I gave him permission last night, but what would happen if I said no next time, denied his orgasm? Would he drive right over to my place and demand I give him what he wanted? What would happen if he said no . . . to me? Oh, shit, this was going to be fun.
I heated my lunch in the break room and was working on the GoodFood business card design when my phone chimed with a text message from Logan.
I chuckled to myself. Yes, I did.
At four-fifteen I retrieved my proofs of the GoodFood rebrand from the color printer, and marched them into Logan’s office.
“Do you have a minute?”
He looked at me like he couldn’t remember my name. Always the actor.
“Proofs?” He cleared the paperwork on his desk to make room for them.
This was our first test on whether or not we could keep our personal feelings compartmentalized. I set the sheet down on the desktop, my eyes watching his. He scanned it quickly.
“Thank you so much for wasting the ink in the color printer.” He shoved the proof back at me, displeasure verging on disgust. He thought this was a joke. I held my face steady and pressed my lips together, and the color drained from his face. “This is a real proof?” In his shock, his gaze went back to the artwork and searched for something redeeming. He came up empty.
“Evelyn, this is terrible.”
My face widened into a smile. “I’m sorry I wasted the ink, but I had to know you wouldn’t hold back.” I put the real proof down on top of it.
He looked pissed-off. And relieved. “You’ve worked with me long enough, you should know I don’t do that. Not here.”
I felt my face flush.
He evaluated the proof critically but said he liked the direction I’d taken with it and sent me back with some changes he’d like to see before presenting it. I’d been at my desk less than a minute when I got his text message.
I took the train home. I was turning into a full-on addict around him, so some space might not be a bad thing. God help me, I cleaned my apartment. I actually hung clothes up and put the dishes away, which did make the place seem a little bigger and distracted me while I waited for his call like a desperate teenage girl. At nine forty-five I changed into a tank top and cotton pajama pants, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed, the phone beside my pillow. I wasn’t a morning person in the slightest, which meant I had to force myself into bed early so I could tolerate waking up at six thirty.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad now that I’d see him every day.
His call came right at ten o’clock. “Hey, sorry, dinner ran really long.” He sounded like he was walking.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re just heading home now?”
There was the sound of a car door slamming shut and the engine starting. “We’re going to need to get our story straight.”
“What?”
“They asked a lot of questions, like how we met, how long we’ve been together. If you want kids.”
“Interrogated you, did they?” I hoped he could hear the smile in my voice.
“You think they won’t do it to you? Think again. Yours will be worse.”
“So what did you tell them, boss?”
“I tried not to lie,” he said. “I told them we work together, but I didn’t mention I was your manager. I said we’ve been dating a few months. Okay?”
“It’s fine, I guess.” It’s not like we’d never met before this past Saturday; we’d been working together for over two years. “What about children? Do I want them?” I loved that he was forced to reveal this information, because everything about him screamed he wouldn’t give it up easily.
“Yeah,” he said, “you do. Which reminds me, are you on the pill?”