“Right. They’re ready to move forward?’
I nod, tilting my head slightly to show him a little more neck.
“But you haven’t set up the call yet?”
“They’re just waiting on a time.”
“And you followed up with uh…Four Points already?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “They met with the lawyers, and they’re going over the contracts.”
He should have at least one hand on me by now. Even if it’s just on my shoulder, it should be there.
I watch him swallow, and I wait for that touch.Anywhere.
When it doesn’t come—again—something inside me that’s already begun to fray, unravels. “Is everything okay?” I ask at a normal volume, which I’m proud of.
Still, he startles at the question. “What?”
“Am I not doing it for you anymore? Are you gonna fire me?”
He visibly pales, and I think I’ve struck a nerve—which means I might be right. I could throw up.
“Evan. What the hell are you talking about?”
“You want me to spell it out?”
“No—I—no.” His hand moves immediately to my lower back and strokes upward. It stops just shy of hitting the skin at the nape of my neck.
“You’re being weird.”
“You’vebeen weird,” he counters.
“It doesn’t have anything to do withyou.”
“Well, if you won’t tell me what’s going on, how am I supposed to know that?” he whispers with some urgency. “Is this about your ex?”
I shake my head. I can’t think about Hunter right now. “You’re acting like I have the plague.”
“I’mnot,” he says, his voice almost pleading, his eyes—whoa—can’t look there right now. Isaac’s baseline is super intense, and when he getsthatlook—that’s when I start to picture sex dungeons and ball gags, and on rare occasions—a honeymoon suite in Greece. “You can talk to me.”
That’s not really part of our routine. “We’re not–”
“I know you like to compartmentalize this, but wecantalk.”
I never said Ienjoyedcompartmentalizing our working relationship, but I do remember the conversation I think he’s referring to. It happened the day after I decided it would be a great idea to blow him one night when we were here late preparing for a board meeting. The following day—after the board meeting, we’d come into his office to debrief and, rather than going over my notes, we started tearing at each other’s clothes. A couple of hasty kisses and a rough fuck later, I felt like I needed to set some ground rules.
I hadn’t called it “compartments” though. I wasn’t half that articulate at the time. I think the word I used was buckets. The boss/assistant bucket, the mentor/mentee bucket and the fucking bucket. None of the buckets were “you can always talk to me.”
So maybe that was an oversight on my part? But why would he want to hear about my stupid life? He’s the CEO of a multi-million dollar company. I’m a glorified secretary. Plus, he’s like ten years older than me. His undateability is like the safest thingabout Isaac. I can be whatever I need to be in this office without worrying he’s going to reject me because the rejection is already baked in. Up until now, I thought I was okay with that, but maybe I’m not? Or maybe I’m just not ready to let this go—this safe space.
But I guess I need to know. If I have to readjust my expectations regarding our working relationship, the sooner I can wrap my mind around it, the better. Then I can decide what I need to do from there.
“Did you hit it off with your date?” I ask.
He goes dead silent. I flick my gaze up, and he’s no longer looking at me. Or he is, but he’s looking at where his hand is.
Gravity shifts, taking my stomach down with it. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
