I remind her. "I'll text. As soon as I get there."
"I know," she says. Her voice steady, but her fingers twist together at her waist.
I step into her space, cup her face, and press my forehead to hers. "Green, yellow, or red? Pick any color, and I'll come home."
She smiles and nods. "Green."
I kiss her. "Green it is." I force myself to step away just as Demi arrives. After a brief greeting, I leave.
The drive to the office is a blur of red lights and intrusive thoughts. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. Every scenario runs through my head uninvited, wondering what her parents will do.
They could call the licensing board, the police, or pull strings I can't see. But what bothers me most is the thought of Blue spiraling the second I'm not there to anchor her.
Will I have to choose between my career and the woman asleep in my bed?
Focus.
Compartmentalize.
It barely works. I'm inside the building within ten minutes of leaving the house. I skip pleasantries and nod at security, then get into my office after the elevator makes several stops.
It's still before eight. So I relock the door and go into my office. The first thing that catches my eye is the hourglass Blue gave me. I reach for it, flip it, and set it on my desk in front of me, watching the sand fall.
A third of it's fallen when a knock on my door tears me out of my trance.
Amy steps across the doorway with her tablet tucked against her chest, professional as always. "Morning, Dr. Mercer. You're in early."
"Couldn't sleep," I answer honestly.
She studies my face for half a beat longer than usual. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," I lie smoothly. "What's up?"
She glances at her tablet. "I wanted to know if we could schedule a meeting soon?"
"For?" I arch my eyebrows.
"I thought since it's been a little over a month, we could discuss my work performance. I also have some ideas about how to make some tasks a bit more efficient if you're open to it?" she asks.
Blue's texts from yesterday flash through my mind, teasing, breathless, and utterly dangerous. A memory I didn't ask for surges forward. Blue's under my desk, hidden, pliant, trusting me with every vulnerable inch of herself.
My body reacts instantly, hard, sharp, unwelcome. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second and shove the image away with force. This is not the time, place, or right headspace.
My throat turns drier as I throw a spark on gasoline. "Like a performance review?"
Amy nods, her brown eyes twinkling. "Yes. Blue told me it would be a good idea to get it on your schedule, or it won't happen."
"Blue?" My cock throbs, pushing against my zipper. Images of her glistening skin under my desk consume me.
Amy smiles. "Yes. She called to tell me she was almost done with the skirt she's creating for me. Isn't that awesome? Anyway, the conversation somehow morphed, and she suggested I ask you for a performance review."
My dirty Bluebird.
My face flushes.
Amy adds, "I'd love your feedback and to see if there's anything I can improve on. I really love working here and want to make sure I'm fulfilling the role as you wish."
"You're doing great," I state, and I mean it.
