Page 41 of Fair Trade

He responded to that last one with an attachment.

A photo of a massive bed that I can only assume is his. It had a cushioned leather headboard and expensive-looking sheets. Yet what immediately caught my attention was the massive Bernese Mountain dog in the middle of his bed. The email stated, “The only one allowed to warm my bed.”

And that’s when I learned that Nick had a dog. A gorgeous, goofy-faced furball. The kind of dog you can spoon while rubbing their belly.

Not exactly the hounds of hell I would have picked for a man like Nick, but again, he seems to be full of surprises.

But I’m not naïve. Because even if he isn’t sleeping with all his dates, it doesn’t mean that he’s not sleeping with someone else.

A man like that wouldn’t know the first thing about celibacy.

Not that it matters. Because as much as I feel this push and pull between Nick and me, nothing will ever come of it.

He is my boss.

I am the first female general manager in Major League Baseball. I have little girls who look up to me and more than a few grown men waiting to see me fail.

I refuse to become a cliché.

A woman who made it to the top, only to have the validity of her accomplishments questioned because she’s now sleeping with a powerful man.

Not sleeping. Slept.

Past tense.

I’ve held out strong these past few months, not giving into my unbridled desire to have his hands all over me again.

Although I spend half the time I’m in Nick’s presence planning my true crime documentary interview answers, because the way he pushes my buttons while I’m leading my meetings makes me think that life behind bars isn’t as bad as they make it out to be.

And while I’d never admit it to another living soul, his relentless questioning has made me better at my job. Sometimes I need to slow down and look at things through a different lens. I’ve realized I sometimes rev myself up before a meeting in anticipation of someone trying to go against me, and in doing so, I miss opportunities for collaboration.

I’ve spent so long clawing my way to the top that I fear I may always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. Someone to walk in and announce, “Sorry, but the jig is up!”

I live my life under the pressure of knowing that every move I make is being dissected by camera crews, journalists, and fans around the world.

But Nick is always there. And the sparring we do in these meetings tends to keep me focused and grounded. Nick is someone I’m not afraid of going head to head with. Which is how he’s become the only person in my life with the ability to challenge me in a way that doesn’t feel threatening.

Maybe it’s because I know that he slept with a night light until he was nine or that lately he’s been on the hunt for the best Dominican food in the city.

All because of these damn emails.

I’ve managed to say things that I’d never to say to his face, only to continue our bickering like business as usual the following day at work. And our touches are subtle but laced with reined-in violence.

Like when he pulled out my chair at the head of the conference table, only to push it in a bit too deeply, causing my breasts to momentarily rest on the table as I leaned forward. Or when I walked around the table, dropping off materials in front of my seated staff, only to lean over Nick a tad longer, enticing him with the view of my cleavage right before I sank the heel of my stiletto into his shiny black shoe. Hard.

The muffled grunt as he bit his fist put me in the best mood that lasted the rest of the workday.

But these emails? This is the only place I allow myself to be a little reckless. Where I don’t feel like I have a million eyes on me. Where I am allowed to be myself.

Which is why I hit Reply, not fully thinking through what I’m about to type.

I let out a low, evil laugh.

Nick wasn’t lying when he said he would replace my damaged clothes and underwear.

After I was drenched in sangria by Nick and my entire team, I had to toss every single piece of clothing in the trash.

But when I got to my apartment later that night, I had ten new sets of suit pants and jackets.