Floor-to-ceiling windows highlight the light brown chest of drawers and matching dressing table. Niki’s clippers still sit on them. As I check my messages, I run my fingers across the buttery soft wood of his furniture.
There are photos of my parents at the zoo with Tabi, but my smile falters when I catch a couple of messages from Niki.
I don’t want to remember the things I said and did last night.
I suck in my lips and open the first message cringing.
Niki: Good morning. I’ve left paracetamol and toiletries outside your room. We’ll sort out clothes for you, but grab a top from one of my drawers for now. I’ll have brunch ready when you come down. I can drive you home this afternoon when I drop Graham off with the dog sitter before I fly to Monaco.
He’s thought of everything.
Niki: And don’t worry about last night. You were a delight.
He’s trying to reassure me, but my pulse quickens, and my stomach churns. What did I do?
Scratches sound at my door. I open it to find a jowly faced Graham sitting next to the sealed bag of items Niki mentioned. If Graham had eyebrows, they’d be raised in expectation.
“Come on, boy. Maybe you can give me the confidence to face the music.” I grab the bag and he waddles in behind me. “I don’t suppose you remember what happened last night.”
He snuffles as I pick him up and place him on the bed for cuddles.
It’sseveral hours later. I’ve only got to be around Niki for a short time, and hopefully most of that will be spent with food in my mouth. I can’t talk if I’m eating.
You can blush, though.
Graham trots behind me as I walk to Niki’s kitchen. The house is a mixture of soft furnishings and bare spaces. It should be covered with pictures of the Niki I’ve loved spending time with since becoming his assistant. But there’s nothing.
I pause outside the kitchen door. I fumble with the hem of his hoodie, which sits at my thigh.
Pieces of the previous night are forming coherent moments, and I don’t want to suffer as he forces himself to make eye contact or see the uncomfortable way he stands in my presence.
It can’t be as bad as riding his fingers and running out his door.
I shove my fists in the hoodie pocket as Graham barks.
“Shush, I’m building up to it,” I whisper.
When I look up, I’m frozen by Niki’s big blue eyes as he gazes at my outfit. There’s no awkwardness in his stare or broad-shouldered stance.
“Afternoon. Come and eat.” He has a glint in his eye. “Eat food.”
“Obviously,” I say breezily, although I want to find Graham’s dog bed and hide in it.
“Obviously.” His smile threatens to undo my professionalism.
Not that standing in my boss’s house in my underwear and his hoodie after he picked me up and took me to his bed suggests professionalism.
Or sucking his dick and wanting to taste him again.
I grit my teeth and will the horny, hungover brat in my head to shut the fuck up.
“Take a seat.” He points to the chair with an empty plate in front of it. There’s also a glass of water, a Diet Coke, and a latte. “I wasn’t sure what you’d eat, so I prepared pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, and yoghurt.”
“Toast and pancakes sound good.” I’m painfully quiet, and he stares at me.
“You look a lot better than I do after a night of drinking,” he says as he prepares the food. “When I was your age, I recovered a lot quicker. Sorry—I promised myself I’d listen to you and not blurt out whatever I was thinking.”
He gives me a side plate of toast before filling my empty plate with pancakes and pointing out the toppings.
