Page 35 of Saved By the CEO

The second thing is exactly why the first happened. Mr. Bennett occupies far too much of my brain these days, and that is a problem. I simply cannot develop a crush on my boss. It would literally ruin me.

Which is also why I finally applied for the opening at Atlas Development.

The weird thing is, I feel guilty about it. Like I’m going behind Mr. Bennett’s back. Which, technically, I am. But I’m surprised by how bad I feel. I’ve been his assistant for three years. We’ve gone on countless business trips together. Sat through what must be thousands of meetings. I know exactly how he takes his coffee, what he likes for breakfast, and which dry cleaner to call when he spills something on himself—which, believe it or not, happens fairly often.

He’s a little clumsy.

It’s cute.

Oh, shut up.

Anyway, we haven’t exactly been friendly, but we’ve been something. A team, maybe. Despite everything, I feel a small, annoying sense of loyalty to him.

Unfortunately, loyalty alone isn’t enough to keep me in a job forever.

Besides, I needed to submit that application for my own sanity. I can barely go into Mr. Bennett’s office anymore without turning bright red. We can’t keep doing this forever.

At least, I hope we can’t.

I also had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Shaw to discuss our new arrangement. She wasn’t thrilled. Apparently, the hospital prefers that treatment be conducted under supervision, something about safety protocols and liability. At the same time, she admitted that dragging us to the hospital every four days might not be the most practical solution.

So she let it slide.

Then the conversation took an absolutely horrifying turn.

We started talking about the future. According to Dr. Shaw, they still know very little about the virus. It’s only been around for a few months, and researchers are still trying to understand how it works. But one leading theory is that pregnancy might be a permanent cure.

Pregnancy.

Cue the screeching violins from Psycho.

I informed her that I was not, under any circumstances, interested in producing a tiny Bennett. She assured me that current evidence suggests any pregnancy would suffice.

Which is why I just texted Josh to tell him I’d love to go on a third date.

Not because I’m looking to get knocked up yet. Obviously. But if there’s even a chance I’ll need a long-term partner sooner rather than later, maybe I should start taking dating a little moreseriously instead of waiting, say, ten years, which had been the original plan.

Because I am not going to let Mr. Bennett finger me in his office every four days for the next decade.

TEN

We had sex.

I’m lying in Josh’s bed, staring at the ceiling. One of his arms is slung around my waist, and his soft snores brush against my ear.

It wasn’t bad.

No, I’ve definitely had worse. He was sweet. Gentle. Told me I was beautiful and cuddled me afterward. It was nice.

Nice.

That’s a perfectly good word. People like nice. People build entire relationships on nice. And our third date was genuinely enjoyable. We went to an Italian restaurant, drank wine back at his place, talked for hours, and eventually ended up in bed. At no point during the evening did I think,Fuck this guy, he sucks ass.

That has to count for something.

Right?

I didn’t come, but that’s all right. We can work on that. I can teach him. Give him some pointers. Show him what I like. That’s how normal couples do it, right? They communicate. They learn about each other. They don’t just magically know every weak spot on someone’s body the first time they touch them.