“It also doesn’t imply that I’d be worth anything if kidnapped and held for ransom, because it implies that you don’t care about me, because I will say, out loud, with my words,I’m just his housekeeper, not his girlfriend, and he doesn’t care about me.”
If they don’t believe me because of their own assumptions, that’sreallynot my problem, now is it?
His fist cracks when it clenches against the table. “I’d feel more comfortable if I went with you the next time you need to go out.”
“What?”
“But, inevitably, seeing us together in any capacity will result in more fuel for this fire.”
“What?”
“So, I say we just let the assumptions simmer until they grow dull, then we can peacefully bring it all to a mundane close.”
“Huh?”
He huffs, pushes his chair back, and rises—eliminating my superiority as his arms cross, too. “What?” he grumps. “Where did I lose you?”
“At the beginning, but also at the part where you said you—a billionaire with a million and one things to do—would feel more comfortable following your housekeeper around on her errands instead of just, I don’t know, putting a security guard on me or something.”
“I’m plenty secure,” he grumbles.
My eyes fly down his broad chest to his massive crossed arms. They could eliminate me via gentle hug. “Yeah, I can see that.” Untangling my own arms, I take a step back and plant my hands on my hips. “The bottom line is: no, I am not comfortable pretending to date you. If I’m approached by anyone, I will tell them the truth. If they persist in making up lies, I willhateit, but at least they won’t be my fault.”
For the first time in the years I have interacted with this man, he ignores my personal space to step in close…and uses my given name. Leaning over me, he murmurs, “Is there something about me that’s repulsive to you, Mirabelle?”
Since I’m not in a good mental space right now, I forget myself, my position, and my senses. Because what do I say in response tothatquestion?
Obviously, the full, unencumbered, impolite, and honest…truth.
“Yes.”
?
I’m not fired.
In case you were wondering.
I don’t knowhowI’ve not been fired after blatantly telling my boss that I do, in fact, find him repulsive, but here I am, still employed.
Now that I’ve had some time to calm down, I recognize I was attempting to communicate that I find his willingness to lie repulsive, but in the moment I did not exactly clarify.
And I didn’t exactly get a chance to explain myself, because his expression settled into something distant…and a little haunted, perhaps…before he muttered,I see, picked up his plate, and returned to his office.
He’s been there ever since, and he didn’t look at me when I brought him his other meals. He merely grunted acknowledgement and kept working.
Now, curled up in the center of my new living room, I stare at the shag carpet beneath me while Fawn sprawls on the couch, scrolling on her phone.
Blinking at and running my hands through the soft blues of the rug, I review the day’s events.
After this morning, Mr. Anders hasn’t said another word to me. He took his pre-workout, but he never left his office tospend his usual hour in the gym. He remained stoic, distant, and simmering with a collection of emotions I still can’t figure out.
“Maybe I am fired,” I whisper.
Fawn lowers her phone and stares at me. “What?”
I meet her eyes.
“Wejustgot settled in. Why would you be fired all of a sudden? You’re the best worker I’ve ever met. You’ve created a meal plan down to the gram of the nutrients Damion needs. Anyone who’d fire you is a total moron.”
