The way he looked at me across that table today, steady and unflinching, like he could pin me there with his eyes alone. I imagine him standing in front of me now, taking this same piece of chocolate between his fingers, pressing it past my lips, watching me suck it down with his thumb resting at the corner of my mouth. My thighs tighten as I climb the stairs.
The thought flips, quick and dangerous, into something filthier—his hand replacing the chocolate altogether, his voice low in my ear telling me to open wider, take more.
Heat spikes through me, shameless and hungry, and by the time I reach our floor, my body’s buzzing in ways that have nothing to do with the promotion.
I push into the apartment and find Dani exactly where I knew she’d be, curled up on the couch in Christmas-print pajama bottoms, hair twisted on top of her head, already clutching a wineglass like a pro. “Hey, I already poured yours,” she says, lifting a second glass toward me like a saint.
I kick off my shoes and flop beside her, stealing the glass in one swoop. “You’re an angel.”
She grins, eyes glinting. “Now let’s get this party started.”
I take a heroic gulp, the red warming all the way down, and try to keep a straight face, to bury the news until later. But Dani tilts her head, studying me, and I know I’m sunk.
“Spill,” she orders, tapping the rim of her glass with a painted nail. “You’ve got that look.”
I play innocent, swirling the wine. “What look?”
“The one where your eyes are throwing confetti. I’m a journalist, Liz. Reading people is literally what I do for a living. Now spill before I burst.”
She leans closer, and my grin finally breaks free, wide and unstoppable.
Rolling my eyes, I let out a laugh. “Fine, you caught me.” Standing up again, I do an exaggerated twirl. “You are looking at the new personal assistant of the one and only Jonathan Clark, owner of Clark M & A!”
Dani shrieks and bounces up and down on the couch cushion. “No way! See, I told you it would happen soon. I could just feel it.”
We both cheer as we clink our wine glasses together, and I find my seat next to her once more. “Wait,” she says again. “How did it happen? I want to know everything. You go from not being noticed to being promoted in a week.”
As I go into every small detail of my morning, the only thing I leave out is how insanely handsome he is or how he makes me weak in the knees. It’s a total cliché from every story or show I’ve watched about work.
A woman falls in love with a man, she gets special treatment, everyone else around is jealous and holds hatred, and the woman always gets hurt in the end. I don’t want that for myself.
Dani holds onto my every word as if I’m telling the best story she’s ever heard, and I take advantage of the opportunity, not having many people in my life who listen to what I have to say.
People kind of listen, but they’re usually waiting for their turn to speak, not actually hearing me. Dani truly is my best friend.
“Well, is he handsome? We already established he’s successful, but is he at least eye candy?” Dani asks, leaning in.
Scoffing, I wave her off. “Looks aren’t everything. Besides, I’m there to do a job, not ogle my boss. I worked too hard for all that.” Before I can stop her, she jumps up and runs into her bedroom, returning a few seconds later holding her laptop.
“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” she remarks, dropping back down on the couch and pulling up her search engine. “Let’s do some digging on this, Jonathan Clark, shall we?”
Her fingers work fast as she types in his name and begins to scroll. “Whoa…” she whispers. “This is your boss?”
We both look at the picture featuring an ever-so-handsome Jonathan Clark in his best suit, standing and shaking hands with one of his previous clients as they hold the contract to a building. I instantly recognize the document, since it was sent to me to send out to the client beforehand for approval.
“Yes, and I know he’s handsome,” I reply. “But this is the big break. This job means way more than some little crush.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself. “Strictly business, although heisunfairly gorgeous.”
Dani chuckles as I get started on the prep for dinner. The kitchen smells like garlic and butter by the time I’m elbow-deep in cooking.
My so-called “sinful pasta night”—extra cream, too much parmesan, and enough chili flakes to make us sweat. If I’m going to celebrate a promotion, it’s not with takeout.
Dani is now parked at the counter with her laptop open, fingers flying, her glass of wine sliding dangerously close to her elbow. Every now and then she hums like she’s found something juicy.
“You know,” I say as I drain the pasta, “I’ve worked my ass off this year just to keep afloat. Grandma’s home isn’t cheap. Neither is helping Mom cover the bills when her hours got slashed. Dad and Karl are killing themselves pulling overtime, and here I am—trying to hold the seams together with an office paycheck and crossed fingers.”
“Mm-hmm.” Dani doesn’t look up, but she nudges her wine out of harm’s way. “You’re basically Atlas with a manicure.”
I laugh, tossing pasta with sauce until the steam fogs my glasses. “More like Cinderella with rent due. Without this job, I don’t think I could do it. And even with the promotion, I bet Sunday dinner will be the same. Dad will ask Karl about work, and no one will even remember where I spend my forty hours.”
