It was a spur of the moment thing I hadn't even prepared for.
But the kiss had been good.
Better than good, if I were being honest.
Her mouth had been soft and warm, and for a moment—a brief, reckless moment—I'd forgotten we were standing on a stage in front of hundreds of people.
I'd forgotten the cameras and the crowd.
In the moment, I wanted more, to lean into that physical contact and to pull her closer, take my time exploring that mouth, learning what made her breath catch.
But I'd forced myself to pull back, to remember where we were and who was watching.
And she didn't hate it.
I walked to my desk chair and sat down to think.
This was dangerous territory.
She was my employee, twenty-four years old to my forty-eight.
The power dynamic alone made any attraction I felt deeply inappropriate, but add the age dynamic and I was no better than a predator, a cradle robber.
My father would have a field day with this if he knew—another example of his son's emotional immaturity, his inability to maintain proper boundaries.
I rubbed my face with both hands trying to get myself to snap out of it, but I couldn't stop myself.
The door opened, and Ember returned carrying a glass of water.
She'd composed herself somewhat, though she didn't make eye contact.
Her expression remained neutral as she crossed to the window and began tending to the small potted ferns I kept on the sill.
I watched her water each one while the swell of hormones in my body kept me on edge and ready to make a bold move that would certainly land me in a heap of trouble.
"Ember," I said quietly.
There I was using an informal address, which was far from my worst mistake, but added to the growing pile of bad choices… I was on a downward slope into something I knew I'd never be able to control.
She didn't turn around. "Yes?"
"Did you mean what you said? That you didn't hate the kiss?"
She stood stock still for a second, empty glass hovering over the last fern, and then she straightened.
She cupped the glass with both hands and slowly turned toward me with a rose-colored tint on her cheeks, but it was her dark lips that drew my attention.
She was turned on too, and the blood rushing to her face betrayed her.
"If you weren't my boss," she said slowly, "I'd have gotten your number."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she turned and marched out of my office, and it was a good thing because her simple reply had made me rock hard.
I would've gotten right up and asked if she'd like to give it another shot, and that would have been career suicide.
My father's voice hammered in the back of my mind with sharp disapproval.
You're too old to be chasing after girls half your age. Grow up, Nathan. Act your age.
