Page 40 of Whispered Promises

Make sure you get time to eat. Shouldn’t be skipping lunch.

His response reads terse and blunt, but after getting to know him a bit already, it’s hard not to laugh knowing he’s probably sitting there scowling at his phone. We’ve had two meals together so far; each time he plates up the food for me, picking out the best bits and making sure I’m fed before he is. I bet the idea of me skipping lunch is pushing those big, growly buttons of his.

Me

Good thing you’re so good at making sure I’m well fed.

GymAlpha

Got to make sure you’re full and satiated.

Pure heat hits me at the thought of how full he could make me feel. The rest of him is oversized…surely what’s in his pants is too.

My laptop pings with a reminder to let me know I’ve got five minutes left, and just like water to a flame, the warm feeling is snuffed out. I sigh loudly.

Me

I’ve got to head into the meeting. ttyl x

Shoving my phone back into my bag, I grab the laptop, papers I’d printed, and a bottle of water from my desk, then walk over to Peter’s enclosed office. Knocking on the door, I enter when he looks up from his laptop screen.

“Rosemary, take a seat. I’ve just ordered some food. It should arrive shortly, but we will get started in the meantime,” he says, waving a hand at the chair placed in front of him. Placing my laptop on the desk, I take the seat and hand him the first resume from the stack of papers I’d printed.

“She’s a strong candidate, has experience at a similar company, and has been a PA for six years. Prior to that, she was an office manager at the same company for four years,” I list, then clasp my hands together as I wait for him to glance through the details.

Thirty minutes into our meeting, a loud notification comes through on his phone, and he stops to check it. “Ah, the food’s here. If you can go and collect it, Rosemary?”

Please would be nice.

“Yeah, sure.” Pushing up from the chair, I head out of his office, down the hallway to the front door, passing my desk on the way and wishing I could hide underneath it.

Once I locate the delivery driver, I take the bag with a thanks, noticing it’s from the local Turkish restaurant. My heart sinks. Most likely, he’s ordered meat, even though I keep reminding him that I’m vegetarian. He doesn’t seem to care. My thoughts turn to Brynn, and his sweet, caring way of making sure I’m included and have plenty of options to eat.

Exhaling loudly through my nose, I head back into his office with a polite smile pasted onto my face.

“Here’s your food,” I comment, and place the bag in front of him on the desk, then sit down in my seat.

“I ordered for you too; even paid for it.” His words are a dig that has my spine straightening, and a niggle of guilt over feeling ungrateful tries to take hold.

Saying no isn’t something I find easy to do, especially not to someone of authority i.e. my boss. And not whilst he’s staring at me so intently, an eyebrow cocked almost mockingly as he waits for me to take the cardboard container from him.

“Thank you,” my reply is automatic, the politeness in me not allowing me to forget it.

“Good, now eat and we can get back to work,” he commands, and it irks me.

When Nate does it, it makes me feel all languid and cared for; he says what he says to look out for me. When Peter says it, I get the intense urge to tell him to fuck off. I’m worried one day I might run out of patience and come out with it.

I swallow back the frustration that pulses thickly in my throat, full of all the words I want to say but am too weak to. When I open the container, a hunk of meat lies next to a bed of rice and halloumi.

The empathy in me is too strong and potent to be able to comprehend eating another living creature, so I stopped eating meat at a very young age. I know many mock the choice—shit, many people have mocked me to my face. I’ve never questioned or pushed their reasons for why they eat meat, nor do I have an opinion on those who do, but people seem to like to make harsh judgements with even harsher words regarding my choices.

Would it be easier if I could force myself to eat meat? Yes. But I can’t do it.

With hesitancy, I pick up a wooden utensil and scoop a forkful of the rice and guide it into my mouth, chewing and swallowing it down before moving on to a piece of the salty cheese. We continue to eat in tense silence. My body feels hyper-aware, and I can feel the tiny pinpricks of his gaze watching me.

Wiping my mouth on a napkin, I sit back. “Thank you for the food, but I can’t manage to stomach anymore.” I sigh, as I lean back, trying to pretend I’m too full to continue.

It’s another lie.