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There’s been flirting; of course, there has been. Lots of it. The girl is a walking, purring sex kitten. But no hot, stolen kisses, no caressing, not even the comfort of a platonic side hug.
Even the safety of a side hug would turn to fire; the sexual energy between us—you can feel it when you walk into the room.
I’m going to fucking implode.
When I told her we needed to keep things professional and that we’d both let things get out of control, she said she totally understood. At first, she seemed disappointed, but now, she seems almost…
Well, she almost looks…relieved.
I’d be lying if I said my ego wasn’t a bit bruised if I would have preferred she pushed back a little, demanding things stay the same between us.
But that’s not Lily.
Lily shows up to work every morning like some kind of attractive librarian fantasy, little touches like seams going up the back of her stockings. Making me want to follow that trail up, up, up till I reach heaven. A bow just at the top of her waist where the zipper to her skirt hides. Making me want to grab her and tug it down. A blouse that buttons just to the tops of her breasts, showing me just a peek of the curve of her flesh. Making me want to reach down below her collar and put her plump nipple in my mouth for a sexy kiss.
She’s smart too. I knew the first time I met her, saw the flash of intelligence in her pretty eyes. Since the not-a-real-breakup-because-we-weren’t-really-together non-breakup, she’s taken our sexual energy and turned it into something else, a productive work drive like I’ve never seen out of someone her age.
Among countless other tasks and improvements she’s made without being asked, she’s using her art degree to play with graphic design. She’s taken my gray and white ‘old man’ logo for Rockwell Enterprises and turned it into a sexy, edgy new emblem.
One simple dark line zigzagging horizontally like a mountain, an R and E in the perfectly chosen font placed inside the line, tiny words all caps below telling the world, ‘Solid Financial Decisions.’ Playing both on the rock in my name as well as the services we provide.
I love it. I’m proud when I look at it. It makes me feel young, energetic. And most important, it reminds me why I started this business. It wasn’t about money, not at all. The dream of offering the middle class the same opportunity as the top percent to create generational wealth through investment.
She pops into my office, her face bright with glee. She holds a small square cardboard box in her hands. “It came!”
“What?” I ask, having no idea what she’s so excited about.
Practically dancing into my office, she perches on the edge of my desk, handing me the box. “Your mug.”
“I didn’t realize you’d ordered me one.”
“Of course I did, silly. The second you approved the design for the logo, I created one online and ordered a single mug to be sure it’s quality and everything is lined up perfectly.” She taps a pretty fingernail, now a natural pink with a bright white tip—French gel dip, lasts two to three weeks, she told me when she returned from her standing Friday trip to the salon to see Emma. “Open it.”
Folding back the thin cardboard top, I lift a black coffee mug from the box. The new emblem is boldly adhered to the front in a shiny white lacquer.
“It’s perfect.” And it is. She’s done an incredible job. “Order one for all of our customers.”
“Will do.” She takes the mug from my hand, inspecting it herself before asking, “Would you like some coffee, sir?”
“I’d love some.” She goes to walk away, those hips swaying in the back of her tight skirt. “And wash the mug before you fill it, please.”
“Of course I will,” she tosses over her shoulder. “I’m totally on to your anal ways. Though, I wash everything before I use it. Clothing included.”
“Only a monster wouldn’t,” I murmur.
She leaves, a light laugh trailing her.
The second the door closes, I slam my elbows on the top of my table, burying my hands in my hair. “God. She’s so fucking sexy.” If she gets a thick-rimmed pair of glasses, I’m going to come right here at this desk.
The graphic design work isn’t all she’s improved. We have an updated website now, one that plays smooth jazz when it pops up on your screen. A professional headshot of me, the hair around my ears looking more silver than dark, takes up a quarter of the homepage—I could really do without it, but she insists it gives us credibility, that I’m willing to put my face behind my business.
And we now offer feminine products in the bathrooms, so I’ve been told.
She brings me back coffee. Hot with extra cream, the exact shade I like it to be. “Here you go. Enjoy your new mug.”
She goes to leave but I don’t want her to go. I want to stall her, to keep her here longer. “Dinner?”
She turns on her heel, putting that pretty manicured hand on the doorframe. “Yes. Just like every night. Will Claudia be joining us?”
