“Bye!” I reply as they head to the door, and then outside, theirvoices fading as they go. They are 100 percent going to spend the next hour talking about Grant and me.
“Did you do your sister’s laundry?” Grant asks.
“Oh my god.” I drop my head on my desk.
“You washed and folded your adult sister’s clothes?”
“Do you think she saw? Does she know?” I ask, ignoring his question entirely in favor of much more pressing details.
He shakes his head. “No. I’ll lock up. You stay put.” Just before he heads out into the lobby, his eyes do that thing where the humor gives way to that dark, knowing glimmer. That heat.
I spend an excruciating couple of minutes waiting, tied to my chair, while Grant takes his time making sure the offices are empty. When he returns, he shuts the door and leans back against it, watching me.
“Can you take this thing off me now? Please?” I beg, feeling silly and excited. We both know how easily I could remove the belt myself.
“Are you going to stay in your seat like a good girl? Stop getting up and running around and doing everything for everyone?”
“Yes.”
His head tilts at a curious angle. “You’re lying.”
I’m about to deny it when the truth hits me. He’s right. I am constantly running. The only time I’m not is when I’m at home working on my book nooks. And even then, I’m keeping busy. Busy hands, busy brain.
“I see what you’re doing, Grant.”
“Do you?”
“You’re trying to get me to… do less extraneous stuff. Just stick to my job?”
“Will you?”
“There’s no way my extracurricular activities fall under your purview.”
“Actually, Sunny, I’ve decided to take a personal interest in your extracurricular activities.”
Whoosh. All my blood rushes to my bottom half, leaving me lightheaded.
“Oh?” I manage.
When he sinks to the floor beside my chair this time, there’s a strange tenderness in my chest and my throat. I feel swollen and full and off-kilter, like there’s too much or too little oxygen flowing to my brain.
“Grant.”
“Yes, Rae?”
“What are we doing?”
He stops moving, my trench coat belt now stretched between his hands. Only his eyes shift up until they meet mine, the connection like a hit of something illicit. Bigger, better than anything I’ve ever felt.
He exhales, mouth open, so silently I wonder if my hearing’s gone. And then, still quiet, he says, “On the floor, Sunny. Now.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Rae
GRANT FOLDS HIS JACKETin half and drops it onto the hardwood floor. “On your knees, right there.” After locking the door, he goes to my supply closet and grabs a ruler and the container of miniature wooden clothespins I use for hanging little signs around the office. Never once did I picture they’d be remotely kinky. “What are you doing with those?” I ask.
He ignores the question. “Safe word?”
