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I could see that. There were times when she would send me copies of emails from my agent or publisher and ask me to break down what the terms meant, or what this process was like, or how things worked. She was relentless in her thirst for information. I’d never met anyone who soaked so much of it up so eagerly. Reminded me of myself when I was in college, but I’d been wanting to know so I could use it to build my career. So I could have a leg up on everyone else. Cadence wanted to know just because she was curious and that was something…remarkable.

Cadence’s phone went off, startling both of us.

“Shit. It’s later than I thought. I should get out of your hair. You’re probably sick of me.” She stood up and let out a little laugh.

The thing was…I wasn’t sick of her. I didn’t want her to go. For a moment, I wondered what she would say if I asked her to stay for dinner. If she sat at the breakfast table while I cooked for us. Asked her to set the table. Poured her a glass of wine and asked her how her day was. Except I already knew because her day had been spent with me. Perhaps she’d say something about her mean boss and I’d play along. Later on, I’d let her eat all my fancy ice cream while we sat on the couch and then…

“Have a good night,” Cadence said, slamming my racing thoughts to a screeching halt.

What the fuck had I been thinking? It all started normal and then got…strange. Uncomfortable.

“Good night, Cadence,” I managed to say. She waved and headed out the door while I stayed glued in my chair.

What. Was. That.

Chapter Thirteen

Cadence

I told myself that I wasn’t going to send her any more messages unless she sent me one first, but I couldn’t help myself.

If I were a worm, would you still let me be your assistant?

Sending her shit like that was always fun because I liked getting her responses.

Why would you be a worm, and why would I have a worm working for me? Is this like the cockroach book? She responded.

It’s just a silly thing. But would you? I asked.

Cadence. A worm could not be my assistant. How would you type. I could almost hear the impatience in her message, and it made me giggle.

I’d scoot along the keys. Or I’d hop on them. I’d make it work. I responded.

This is an utterly ridiculous conversation, Cadence. She sent.

Eloise had been saying my name more and more lately, and it was doing all kinds of things to me. Allll kinds of things. Good things that were actually bad things.

She didn’t know I was flirting with her, but I was absolutely flirting with her. There was no other way to look at it. I was flirting relentlessly and shamelessly with my boss, and only the fact that she was straight and oblivious to queer flirting was saving my ass.

If she knew, I was absolutely going to get fired.

I had to stop. Had to stop flying too close to the sun.

And then she’d call me Cadence, with her voice or in her messages and I would completely fucking melt.

She was going to destroy me, and I was absolutely going to let her.

This could only end one way and it was going to end with me losing this job.

* * *

“Does anyone call you El?” I asked her at the end of our morning meeting. We’d kept them up, and after we went over business, I distracted her from getting to work with usually inane questions.

“Camille does. Sylvia does sometimes. Why?”

I shrugged. “Just wondering. I know you don’t like my nickname, but I was wondering how you felt about nicknames in general.”

She studied me for a beat. “I’m not against nicknames.”