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Okay, how long will it take her up there? Five minutes? Ten? I have until then to get this damn erection down and myself under control. I just have to think about something else.
Like where she is. Dad’s apartment. His presence seemed a tangible thing there, evident in the awful minimalist furniture and abstract art on the walls. How can such impersonal furnishings so accurately reflect him? I’d never even been there before, and yet it was as if I could feel his presence.
Oh, look at that. My dick’s back to normal.
The elevator lift runs after a few minutes, and I control my response to seeing her as she walks back in the room, the way I have all morning, slipping my professional mask over my face. I can act respectably around her. As long as she doesn’t spill water all over herself again.
She’s wearing an oversized white button-down, the sleeves hanging well past her hands, though she has the bottom tucked into her skirt.
“Could you help me roll these up? I can’t for the life of me do it myself.”
My jaw clenches, steeling myself for her approach as she rounds my desk, awaiting my help.
I turn my chair, hesitating for a moment before starting in on the right sleeve. Her inner forearm is unbearably soft as I roll the fabric to her elbow, unable to help touching her the slightest bit as I continue.
This close, her body heat warms me, the subtle rise and fall of her chest distracting. I can’t stop myself from inhaling that intoxicating perfume of hers, noticing how her red curls are tucked away in a clip on top of her head today, a few tendrils loose, making perfect spirals past the porcelain skin of her neck. If I leaned in a little more, I could press my lips to that neck, find out how she tastes…
I jerk back, realizing I was swaying toward her, and quickly do the left sleeve, concentrating on finishing the task as fast as I can.
“You’re all finished,” I tell her, returning my chair to its place and turning away so I don’t have to look at her anymore. I’ve got some Marilyn Monroe bombshell vision of her in my head, when the poor woman is just trying to do her job.
“Thank you.” She rests her hand on my arm lightly and I jerk back, my body too sensitive to accept her touch.
“Listen, Emma.” My voice is shakier than I’d like, but I need to get this out now before it keeps happening and I slip up. “I know it’s unintentional, but you’re getting a little too far in my personal space. I’d like to keep this a professional work environment.”
Though I’m not looking directly at her, I still catch her mouth opening and closing several times, her lower lip trembling the slightest bit, the hurt expression across her face. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”
“I know you didn’t,” I cut her off. “I’d just like to establish our boundaries now. I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us.”
She nods, her head cast down, fair skin flushed with embarrassment. This is the awful part about managing people.
“It doesn’t have to be a big thing,” I continue. “We can still work together like normal.”
“Right,” she whispers. “Thank you for telling me.”
There’s an awkward silence in the air as neither of us knows what to say next, and she eventually turns and exits the room, returning to her desk.
I rest my head in my hands, massaging my temples. As bad as it was in the moment, it was the right thing to do. It’s better to set the tone for our working relationship at the beginning.
I mean, under other circumstances, would I be interested in her? Absolutely. But these aren’t other circumstances. She’s my employee who reports to me. I’m in a position of power over her. It would be terrible publicity if it got out. And I’m not that kind of boss. That kind of man.
I won’t be.
* * *
I leavethe office for lunch, needing to clear my head, and drag my feet as I head back in, unsure what kind of reception I’ll receive.
Thankfully, Emma gives me a bright smile as I step off the elevator, all earlier discomfort gone.
“Hi,” she says, standing and rounding her desk as I approach. “I, um, just wanted to apologize and promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. I hope there are no hard feelings.”
“No, not at all.” Something within me eases, the tension between us clear, even as another small part of me mourns the loss of knowing she won’t touch me again.
God, what’s wrong with me? I ask her to stop, and then when she says she will, I’m disappointed? Get a grip.
“I really want to be a good assistant for you. Especially now that it’s just me and you.”
Right. She’d told me about Vivian officially starting her vacation earlier. With the two of us brand new to these jobs, it’s like the blind leading the blind. We don’t need any kind of awkward tension added to the mix.