“Can’t date? But, you are willing to fuck me on my desk?” He cocks his head to one side.
“It’s different.” I scowl. “You know it’s different. There are complications—expectations?—”
“I’m crazy about you.”
I bark out a laugh. “You barely know me.”
“I want to get to know you.”
I can’t help that my heart gives a little flutter at that. “I need this job. I know I’m not good at it, but I need the money. If we date, and you realize you don’t want me around anymore—” My nose scrunches. “I have rent and student loans and?—”
“What do you wish you were doing instead? As a career?” He cuts me off.
“Cat cafe.” I say it without even thinking. “If I work here, for you, for a couple more years, I can maybe afford to open my own cafe.”
“A cat cafe?”
“With coffee, and little pastries, and couches where you can sit and pet the cats, and a shelf with books by local authors, and craft parties that are cat themed, and I could make my own hours, and be my own boss. I volunteer for this non-profit that is always looking for forever homes for its pets, and I love helping the kittens find good homes—the right homes with people who will take good care of them—” I stop speaking, seeing the wide grin on his face. “You think it’s silly.”
“I think you are passionate, and it makes you even more beautiful.”
His words do make me feel more beautiful. I close my arms over my chest and step away from him. I want to touch him again, which probably means I shouldn’t. I have terrible instincts about these things.
“Let me be your business partner. Give you the capital to start.”
“A business partner who wants to get into my pants?”
“It won’t affect anything,” he insists.
“It will affect everything.” I bite back.
“I’ll pay you then,” he counters.
“What? To sleep with you?”
“To break up with me,” he declares.
I laugh. “What does that even mean?”
“We date. When you decide it’s over. I’ll pay you.”
I laugh again.
“How much are your student loans?” he asks.
“One hundred and twenty-seven thousand.” I know the amount by heart. It’s a constant weight on my shoulder, a number that hovers over me every day of my life. It’s justanother among the numerous dumb things I’ve done. I signed dumb loans. I delayed my graduation. I went to a pricey private school, expecting the prestige to help me land a job. (It hasn’t.) I got myself into this mess with my stupid decisions and poor instincts.
“Five hundred thousand.” Sacha interrupts my mental self-flagellation as he moves around his desk and slips into his office chair. He waits for me to respond, and when I only gape slack-jawed at him, he repeats, “I’ll pay you five hundred thousand.”
I laugh louder this time. Sacha’s face remains serious.
“When you want to end it, I’ll put the money in your account. Enough for your student loans, to start your cafe, and cushion yourself the first couple years, while you are in the red.”
“Five hundred grand? Just like that?”
“I’m rich. It’s not a big deal.” He leans his broad forearms on his desk.
I shake my head. “You aren’t serious.”
