What if I am not enough?
Oh, fuck. What if I don’t matter?
Maybe I’m just the first distraction. The forbidden nanny.
A post-breakup palate cleanser with big boobs and a passport.
And sure, that’s all this is supposed to be. I know it, my vagina knows it, my brain’s been preaching it nonstop. But there’s this one tiny, stupid part of me that keeps dreaming differently.
And it’s killing me.
The receptionist takes pity and shows me how to use the coffee machine. I show my appreciation by knocking back three espressos. Now I’m over-caffeinated and spiraling, digging myself a mental grave with every dumbwhat-ifI can think of. There are so many of them.
Insecurity and regret flood me, slow and steady, until I’m not even sure blood’s running through myveins anymore. Actually, all the blood is gone. I used every drop of it to paint all the terrible scenarios I could come up with.
Basically, I’m doing everything I shouldn’t do right before meeting the sexiest man who’s ever looked at me twice.
This is fine, I tell myself. Totally fine.
No red flags here. Just one emotionally constipated Brit who probably got more insight in fifty minutes than everyone else in this clinic combined.
And no, of course I’m not falling for him. That would be absurd.
Except… Something’s shifting. It’s not just about a list of the sexy things I want to learn anymore.
Not simply about feeling wanted or claiming back some confidence.
I want to be more than a warm body he gets to hold while he remembers what connection feels like.
I want to be the reason he never forgets ever again.
Of course I want to matter.
And that—fuck. That’s the terrifying part.
Preston steps out of the room, and I stand. Damn it. I should have something prepared for this moment. A confident greeting. A casual one-liner. Something cool, effortless.
Instead, I’m vibrating with caffeine, wearing ass-floss panties, and ten seconds away from crying. Great.
He shakes hands with the doctor, and I hear them discussing the next session. Amazing, he’s starting treatment. “Get in touch with my assistant, she’ll find you something,” she sayswith a grin.
“Oh,I’mhis assistant. I’ll get that done, thank you,” I blurt from where I’m standing. Close enough to hear them. Not nearly far enough to justify that volume. Nerves and caffeine have officially staged a coup against my common sense.
Get a grip, Mia.
Grace? Poise? Never heard of either.
“Thanks again, Dr. Beck. See you next week.”
She nods and calls her next patient in.
Preston strides toward me and wraps one hand around the nape of my neck, the other slipping to the small of my back as he pulls me in.
I tense. PDA. Out in the wild. I’m not sure how to feel about it, because we’re supposed to be a secret, and this feels quite the opposite.
I just introduced myself as his assistant, and now he’s hugging me in a very…unassistant-like manner.
We need to discuss the rules I’ve written, the ‘define boundaries of professional behavior’ list. It’s right there between ‘shag boss’ and ‘don’t catch feelings’.
