I’d never been concerned about a person’s perception of me until now. In my pride and arrogance, I believed no one’s opinion about me would ever matter. But with what I felt that night, it seemed like that assumption needed some serious reevaluation.
She was just my worker, my personal assistant, nothing more. Nothing less. Sure, she was my wife in the public’s eyes, but that wasn’t enough reason to make me feel this way.
Who the hell did she think she was, and what gave her the right to toy with my emotions?
I hated myself for making a big deal out of this. It had been two days since the awkward encounter in my basement. Everything should’ve returned to normal by now. But no. Instead, things just got worse because now, she was avoiding me like a fuckin’ plague.
A part of me didn’t see this as a problem. At least this way, she finally knew who she was dealing with and would mind howshe spoke to me. However, I didn’t want to be a dictator or have her living in fear.
Not her.
Deep down, I knew I enjoyed her company—her sass, wits, and guts. Even her stubbornness too. Her withdrawal from me these past two days was the reason I understood how attached I was starting to get to her.
She often worked with me in my office, and I hadn’t realized how much life her presence brought until now. In her absence, everything seemed dull, and even the days seemed to stretch for eternity. With her around, time always sped up really fast, but now, it was just dragging its feet.
The days were longer, and the office was emptier—lonely, dare I say.
Ever since the incident, she’d been working in the library across the hall. She submitted her assessments and progress via email: clean, swift, and professional.
I hadn’t been able to focus on work because thoughts of her kept invading my mind every now and then. I knew that I shouldn’t let myself be distracted by my PA, but I couldn’t help it.
That night, after I finished up in my office, I spotted her in the library on my way to my bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, I saw her at her desk. She wasn’t working. No. She was asleep.
Her head was resting on a pile of documents stashed across the table, eyes shut, chest heaving gently.
My first instinct was to check on her.
Why?
No idea.
I walked into the library, my shoes soundless against the marble floor. The air smelled of aged paper with traces of brandyand the faint scent of fresh flowers. I strolled down the aisle with towering bookshelves on both sides until I reached her desk.
On the table beside her head was a bottle of brandy and an empty glass.
Drinking on the job, I see.
Considering what she’d witnessed days ago, it was understandable that she’d find solace at the bottom of a bottle.
I stood over her, watching her sleep like a baby, unaware of her surroundings. Her dark auburn hair spilled over her delicate face, and I was tempted to tuck the strands behind her ear.
It was way past her bedtime anyway. So, I leaned forward, lifted her off the chair, and carried her in my arms. I thought she was going to wake up after I’d whisked her into the air. But she didn’t.
I took her to her bedroom, and there, I gently laid her on her bed. She let out a quiet groan and adjusted. That carefree movement caused a strap of her nightgown to slide off her shoulder, revealing the skin above her tender breast.
The unexpected sight did something to me that made my third leg twitch in my pants. Nothing perverted, just a natural reaction to her alluring body.
I straightened, fingers scratching the back of my head as I fought back the illicit thoughts creeping into my mind. After a moment, I draped the sheet over her, concealing her indecent exposure.
Out of sight. Out of mind. So they say.
I lingered for a while before walking out of her room and closing the door gently behind me.
***
The next morning, I sat in my office waiting for her arrival. I’d sent for her already and knew she’d walk in through that door any moment from now.
As expected, she did.
