Page 66 of Undeniably Corrupt

I shift my weight, suddenly aware of how small I am with him standing before me. I can feel the heat of his body and smell the scent of his skin. Even after who knows how long in that room, it’s not unappealing, and I don’t get it.

I want to hate him still, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep that up.

“Do you want us to move out?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

“No.”

“I feel like we kicked you out of your house. Were you working or just staying away?”

He steps into me, his voice low and controlled as his hand cups my chin and turns it so I’m giving him my eyes again. “I was giving you space. I thought that would be for the best.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask me that question.”

He’s right. Nothing good comes of this.

“I’ll call Mr. Daniels and tell him you’re working on it, and I’ll text you half an hour before the meeting. Check outside your door in twenty for food.”

He nods, already turning back toward the hall that leads to his closet, and I let him get to it.

An hour and a half later, just before I’m set to text Vander, there’s a knock on my office door, and a woman comes in carrying about ten designer garment bags, informing me that the rest of my clothes, shoes, and bags, along with my daughter’s items, have been delivered to the house.

Damn him. This is too much.

Me: I can’t accept the clothes.

Vander: You can and you will.

Me: Why did you buy me all of this?

Vander: Because I prefer you not wearing clothes you can see through.

Me: I have nice tits and thighs. Shouldn’t everyone be entitled to see them?

Vander: No.

A laugh hits my lips.

Me: Fine. But that means you don’t get access either.

Vander: Wasn’t looking for it.

Me: Riiiiight. Okay there. We’ll just be boss and employee and pretend that buying me designer clothes is perfectly normal. I’ll also pretend that stealing your bodywash and shampoo for my own is totally fine as well.

Vander: Are you doing that?

Me: Maybe.

Vander: Come in here and let me smell your hair and skin.

Me: That’s inappropriate, boss.

Vander: Angel, do you smell like me?

Me: I’m sorry to inform you that you’ll never know unless you smell me directly.

Vander: Again, come in here. I know what you taste like. Now I need to smell you.