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“I’m not ready for that yet.”
“Then, just say so. I can take a shower in the hall bath.”
“Why don’t I take a shower in the hall bath, and you take one here?”
Foster pauses to think. “Whatever you want.”
I look across the room, adding, “I’m sorry.”
Cupping my chin, he brings it forward. His eyes are blazing. “There is no reason to apologize. It will take time to get used to the fact that we love each other.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
He raises his eyebrows and smirks suggestively. “You do, do you?”
“And you want me.”
“I do, but I won’t push you. Let’s get moving. I have an early call.”
Foster is all business when we arrive at the office. Pecking me on the cheek, he steps off the elevator while stating, “Lunch at noon.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a chuckle.
He smiles and heads to his office, and I go to mine. Inside, I close my door, remove my coat, and sit down to boot up my laptop. My husband’s voice filters through the wall as he conducts business on a conference call. I can imagine Foster pacing the office as he rattles off figures to the people on the other line, and I can’t help but smile to myself. Foster Black, my boss, who started out as a bastard, turned into a pretty okay guy. More than an okay guy—a guy I’ve fallen in love with despite not knowing him that well, not yet anyway.
Rather than work, I spend my morning cruising websites looking for lingerie and bikinis. I am giddy by the time Foster pokes his head in my office to ask if I want to get lunch.
“What were you working on?” he asks as I close my laptop.
“It’s a secret.”
He smirks. “I assume it isn’t work-related.”
I put my finger to my lips, exaggeratingly saying, “Shh, don’t tell my boss, he might fire me.”
“Not a chance. I have reservations at Savoureax.”
“The place owned by Sawyer Walsh?”
“Yes. You’ve eaten there?”
“Not a chance. Too rich for my blood.”
Foster steps further into my office, closing the door behind him. As he approaches my desk, I sigh dreamily. His tailored black suit fit him like a glove. He rounds my desk and gently tugs at my hair, so I will tilt my head up for a kiss.
“You don’t need to worry about money,” he assures as he pulls his lips away from mine.
“I know. I’m not talking about before.”
Foster reaches into the small closet near my desk and retrieves my coat as I rise and smooth my blue pencil skirt. Anticipating it, I watch as he pauses, hanger in mid-air to stare appreciatively at my legs. I stifle a laugh because, as much as he denies it, he loves my legs a bit more than anything else.
“Bundle up,” he directs. “It’s windy, and the temperature has dropped.” He helps me into my long black wool coat, then buttons it, and pulls up the collar.
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
“I should thank you. You took care of me when I was sick.”
“Who would’ve if I hadn’t? I did what any wife would do.”
