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How do we keep it going, though?
We've talked more, but we both tiptoe around the main subject. What are we? Where are we going? And most important of all, what happens after this ends? Because, let's face it, he's not known for long-lasting relationships.
Once the affair becomes old news for him or someone more interesting comes along, that's it. I can't even leave my job without a Plan B.
If I quit without something comparable guaranteed, I'm fucked.
And not in the good way I've been fucked lately.
The bad way.
Sighing, I close my journal and put it away in the drawer. Today, I’m wearing a long, flowy skirt—a first at work. I decided to take a chance and do something different… but the naughty part of me says I’ve only done it to wear an easy-access outfit. I also didn’t put on underwear, and that makes me feel particularly transgressive.
Maybe after this affair is over, I'll tell Emma all about it. After I pick up all my pieces on the floor. Fuck. I've done it. I've fallen in love with Archer Cromwell.
My heart skips a beat. Shit. Leave it to me not to understand the assignment.
Fuck.
"Hey," Archer says, popping his head out of his office. "Sarah's birthday party is in five days."
Right. I meant to buy the dress not once but twice, but I was deliciously derailed. Or deliciously railed, depending on how you look at it. Then, I totally forgot to do it. Buying branded clothes online has never worked for me.
He walks up closer to my desk. "What should we get her?"
"She asked for no gifts, remember? If anything, donations should be made in her name to a charity of her choosing. I’ll take care of it."
He nods, rubbing his hands together. "Wonderful. Also?—"
I pick a pen from my pen holder and click it. "Yeah?"
"Buy a new dress for the occasion."
"Should I use the company credit card?" I ask casually.
Anything and everything I get for him or for me, I have carte blanche to use the company credit card he gave me in my name when I started working for him. But a dress for a date night that doesn't sound as fake as it once did seems different.
"No. Use mine," Archer says, reaching into his back pocket, grabbing his wallet, and handing me his black American Express. “Feel free to buy whatever you want.”
I clear my throat. “Whatever I want? What am I, a low-key sugar baby?”
He chuckles. “You’d make an inexpensive sugar baby. Take my credit card and do some damage.”
“You’ll regret it, sugar daddy,” I say playfully.
“I doubt it,” he says.
A rush of affection surges through me when our eyes meet. It’s like we’re in our own little world, and no one else belongs in it. “Daddy,” I tease.
“Watch it,” he says, a delicious edge coating his voice. He closes the distance between us, checks the long hallway to make sure no one is watching, and dips his head to kiss me.
I’m still recovering from the kiss when he disengages, returns to his office, and closes his doors. I touch his credit card and slide it inside my purse. I must be mad to think his personal Amex versus the company card is an undying declaration of love. Couldn’t it be, though? These are modern times. It’s not like Archer will write poems for me. I need to be realistic.
A few minutes later, I will myself to finish some tasks when I hear a female voice as high heels clank through the office.
Archer doesn't have any in-person meetings for the next two hours. Who could this be? Did Emma not veto people again? No wonder her manager is on her case.
"May I help you?" I ask the stranger. I square my shoulders, recognizing her the closer she gets.
