“Let’s say a company prioritizes comfort for individual employees,” Morgan counters. “That can work, but it makes the company slow. It’s no longer on the cutting edge. It’s no longer a company shaping the future. The movers and shakers quit and move to another company ready to do whatever it takes to stay ahead. So, in the end, their job stability hasn’t improved at all—and the company subsidizes the remaining mediocrity.”
“How can you be sure that’s actually what you’re doing, and you’re not getting rid of the people that kept you on the cutting edge in the first place?”
Morgan grins, unruffled. “That’s why it’s the hardest part.”
I narrow my eyes, point a finger at her. I don’t like how she just twisted this around so that I agree with her, but I’m kind of in awe of it. “Tricky. You’re tricky-tricky.” Fuck, this is why Iwas trying to moderate my wine intake.
Morgan puts a hand over her heart, a mockery of sincerity. “Thank you for noticing.”
I excuse myself to find the restroom, and I mostly walk in a straight line.
The bathroom is decked out in gorgeous green tile that looks handmade, with gold faucets and a stack of cotton washcloths instead of paper towels. The hand soap smells like bourbon, somehow. It all feels like a dream, especially now that I’m wine-drunk.
I return to find a decadent chocolate dessert at my place, and Morgan’s already started to eat hers. Arcs of chocolate make a delicate sphere around a perfect cube in four layers: graham, nougat, ganache, mousse. There might be chili flakes in the chocolate—it’s sharp and balanced. Another life-changing flavor.
I probably shouldn’t drink any more, but the bottle of white is now empty, and I eye the half-portion left in my glass.
“No sense letting it go to waste,” I mutter aloud.
Morgan chuckles.
“I’m serious,” I say. “This bottle probably cost more than I spend on food in a week. Or a month.”
Morgan quirks an eyebrow. “You can take the rest of the bottle home if you don’t finish it.”
“That’s athing?”
“Of course it’s a thing. I paid for it.”
“You can just… walk out with half a bottle?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. A whole new world. Did you finish yours?” I lean forward, narrowing my eyes at her bottle of red wine, which is also empty.
“You helped.”
“Shit, that’s true.” I lean close and whisper loudly, “I didn’t know they refill it for you. I don’t usually drink so much.”
She snorts and rings out a genuine laugh. “I can tell.”
“You sure think you know a lot about people,” I quip. Shit, what’s gotten into me?
“Lots of experience,” she counters.
“Well, I’m full of surprises.”
“I can tell,” she says, quieter this time, with an almost predatory angle to her lips.
My heart picks up. I think if I weren’t so drunk, my cock would be tightening in my pants. Fuck, this is bad. I’m sure I’m reading into things that aren’t there. She’s a CEO and I’m a peon—and a brand new one at that.
“I didn’t say they were good surprises.”
She laughs again. There’s a barking edge to the sound, a reminder of the beast within, and my heart thrills at it. Fuck, I’m just making things worse. I just need to sober up, to get control of myself.
“I’m sure you won’t disappoint,” she purrs, then she takes the last bite of her dessert. The way she slides the fork across her tongue, my cock finally does tighten.
Morgan breaks the silence by saying, “Early day tomorrow, better get back.” There’s almost a little reluctance there, a promise of what the night could become under different circumstances.
