Page 92 of Pierced

“Yeah? What?”

I suck at my teeth. Which is gross and a terrible habit. But can’t be helped just now. “Uh. It may be within the realm of possibility that… uh. Je… t’aime. Myrtle. J’aime motherfucking vous. It would seem.”

Telling someone you love them in a language that is not the native tongue with which you’re used to speaking to them doesn’t make it any less difficult, turns out.

Her eyes widen just fractionally. “Yeah?” she asks.

“Yeah. I mean, maybe? I mean, yeah. I think so. Yes.”

Silence. Which is always what one wants to hear, after…

“OK. Well,” she says, “I…” I lift an eyebrow at her. “I think…”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re pretty cool too.”

And then she leans in and kisses me. On the fucking nose.

Holy shit.

I think I just got Pierce-d.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - MYRTLE

The weekend was perfect. Candlelit dinners, and soft music, and walks through Vail Village. Sexy, but not overly so. Except for the sushi, which was… kinky. Or almost kinky. Turns out Pierce and I both love sushi and he kept tasting the rolls as he was placing them on my body, then holding them up to my lips for me to try. He’d take a bite. I’d take a bite. And pretty soon we were too full to play the rest of the game.

I stop to smile here. Because it was fun. And maybe a little bit romantic. And also quite ridiculous. Which is sorta who Pierce and I are, in a nonconforming kind of way.

We also had sex. A lot. I feel a little bit like Goldilocks right now. Smack in the middle of who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.

I think about this as I drive into work, not minding the traffic. I don’t even mind the thought of work—which is a big deal. Because I’ve dreaded going into the office for months and today is the very first day where I feel like I know my place.

And I don’t care if other women hate this idea. That a man—not just any man, but this particular man—is what makes my world feel complete. I do not care. Every woman is allowed to be her own woman. And if, to some, that means that they must feel complete without a man in their life, cool. Good for them.

But I’m not one of those women. I like this feeling and I’m not going to make excuses for it.

I like him. I like being near him. I like sharing things with him. And I like working for him.

I have spent my whole life before finding Pierce defining myself with sharp lines and clear rules and you know what? I’m done.

I’m gonna be whoever the fuck I want. And I want to be Myrtle, Pierce’s right-hand man. Woman, whatever. I’m going to tell him that today. I’m going to tell him I want my old job back. That I do not come into work for money, or accolades, or obligation.

I come into work for him.

That’s it. That’s all there is to it.

Just him.

His McLaren is already parked in his spot when I pull in next to it. And it occurs to me that he must, on some level, feel the same about me. We didn’t discuss work at all over the weekend, so I’m guessing now. But he gave me this parking space the very first day I was hired. Right next to his. Literally, because my space is to the right of his.

So he must’ve felt this… thing we have right from the beginning because my space supersedes all the other VPs as far as parking accommodations go. And I know it’s dumb, but work hierarchy is a real thing. It’s telling and I should’ve noticed this before today.

I should’ve noticed a lot of things before today. That I am happy serving him. Not as his subordinate, because he’s never asked me to submit at work. But as his partner.

No, we’re not equals. He is the boss. But I have never felt a power struggle in our relationship.

We are in this together.