Page 20 of One Little Favor
At work, I almost always wear my hair up in a bun because I can’t stand when it falls forward into my face while I’m on my computer—which is pretty much all day. It’s the same reason I never wear bracelets or any of my collection of fun earrings. They just distract me from doing my work, and I can’t afford distractions. I need this job too much.
But tonight? Tonight I’ve left my hair down and curled it into loose waves that fall past my shoulders. The freckles across the bridge of my nose are less noticeable with my makeup, and my eyes look bigger with the eyeliner and extra mascara I’ve added. My earrings are big and bold.
“No.” He shakes his head. “You look exactly how I imagined you’d look.” He gets up from his seat at the bar and reaches out, tucking my hair behind my ear and leaning in to kiss my cheek. “You’re absolutely stunning.”
His breath is warm in that space where my cheek hits my ear, and I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of longing that has me instantly wet. I consider telling him as much, but my stomach grumbles and I’m pretty sure if I mention how wet I am for him, we’ll be heading straight home. I need to eat and hydrate before what I hope will be a very long night of sex.
As Tom looks me up and down, what I imagine he’s noticing most of all is the way my dress hugs every curve of my body. The red formfitting dress skims along my body all the way to my knees, and the way the fabric is draped from under each arm, across my chest, and then off each shoulder makes my breasts look bigger than they actually are. I’ve got a very athletic body, but the way this dress hugs me, especially my hips and butt, makes me look like I have some curves.
“What do you want to drink?” he asks.
You, I almost say, remembering how I was down on my knees in front of him in his office earlier.
“I’ll take a Sidecar,” I say instead, and while he orders the drink, I glance around the restaurant. I’m glad I wore this dress, because everyone is as dressed up as I imagined they’d be given how upscale this place is. Even on a Sunday night, it’s packed. And I’m immensely glad that Tom and I are here without his brother and sister-in-law.
As soon as my drink arrives, the hostess comes over to let us know our table is ready. There’s a moment of awkwardness once we’re seated across from each other, and then Tom says, “I don’t like being this far away from you” and reaches his hand across the table.
I set mine in his, and remind him, “For the last year, we’ve never once been this close. Before today, I mean.”
“Yes, but now that I’ve touched you and tasted you, I can’t get enough. It’s actually—” He pauses, and I don’t say anything, because I want to know what he’s thinking. “—probably going to be a problem when it comes to seeing you at work.”
“It’s funny to think about pretending to be your girlfriend outside the office, and then pretending that nothing happened when we go back to work tomorrow,” I say as I glance down at my menu. I don’t remind him that technically I’m off work this whole week, because of course I’m going in to help hang the curtains and shelves, and arrange the furniture once it arrives, even though his brother isn’t visiting after all.
He lifts my hand in his, sliding our palms against each other so he can lace our fingers together. He squeezes my hand, and when I look up at him, his eyes are narrowed and he looks borderline pissed off. “There wasnothingfake about what happened in my office earlier, or about this date. For me, anyway.” He takes a deep breath. “Is that what you want? For this all to be fake?”
“No.” I don’t even think about my response before it slides between my lips on a breathy exhale.
“Good.” He strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. Just that one word has me remembering how he whispered “good girl” in my ear right as I came apart earlier today. I’m so keyed up remembering how it made me feel—validated, powerful, and in control—exactly the opposite of what I expected I’d feel if anyone ever used those words in that situation.
“I just don’t know how this is going to work, Tom,” I tell him honestly. “I work for you. This is definitely a violation of company policy.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he says, as if it’s possible for me not to worry that getting involved with my boss is going to result in me losing my job. “I’ll talk to people and work it out.”
“What people?” The alarm in my voice has his eyebrows raising.
“HR, the other partners ...”
I’m shaking my head so adamantly that he stops what he’s saying and his eyebrows crease together. I’ve only ever seen this look when he’s concentrating intensely, trying to figure something out.
“Tom, no. Donottalk to HR about this. They were super specific when I was hired about me not getting involved with you in any kind of a nonprofessional capacity.”
I can’t read the look that flashes across his face at my statement, except to say that he does not look pleased.
“Who,” he asks, taking a deep breath after that word, “was super specific?” He takes a sip of his drink, but it doesn’t make him appear any more relaxed. He seems pissed off, ready to pounce.
“Why do you seem upset about this?”
“Who, Avery?”
“Mitzi,” I say, referring to our head of Human Resources. “When I signed my contract, she said she’d added a clause in there specifically about nonfraternization.”
He glances down at the glass in his hand, then back up at me. His shoulders visibly relax.
“I’ll take care of that. I’m not going to sneak around with you and make it seem like what’s between us is something to be ashamed of or to keep hidden. I’ve waited for you for a year—”
“Wait, what?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he says and then clears his throat, “I’ve been somewhat obsessed with you since you started working for me.”
