Page 11 of The Boss

"Hmm."

"And I would prefer it if you wouldn't do this."

"Do what?"

"Allude to our time together."

"You were comfortable enough to discuss me."

"Jaden and Lea don't know."

Matthew stands up and walks around the desk, stopping just close enough that I have to lift my chin to look at him. His gaze drops to my mouth, and he lets it linger before dragging it back up to my eyes. "That's all for now."

I nod, grabbing and clutching my notepad like a lifeline and picking up the pen. Barely holding myself together, I walk to the door.

"Ms. Olivers? Just so we're clear," he says. "I don't make employees redo coffee unless it's terrible. And I've never denied anyone a lunch break."

"T-that's good t-to know."

"Although, I do occasionally require overtime."

A few hours later, Jaden and Lea are at my desk while I pack up my things. One second, it's just the three of us, and the next, Matthew appears from out of nowhere. I didn't hear him walk over, and the sudden proximity makes me jump.

"Working late tonight," he says. "You'll need to order dinner."

Jaden's face is a mask of horror. "Overtime?"

"I'm afraid so."

Lea looks up from her phone with the expression of someone who's just been told Christmas is cancelled.

Matthew glances between them, taking in their obvious horror.

"Not you two," he says. "Just Vivian and me."

3

MATTHEW

Iwalk back to my office after Jaden and Lea leave, their horrified expressions still playing in my head. Twenty-four hours ago, if someone told me I'd be manufacturing reasons to keep Vivian here past normal hours, I'd have suggested they seek professional help.

Right now, I'm the one who needs help.

I've been here three days and I'm slowly losing my mind.

The problem isn't that I want her. I'm thirty-seven years old—I know what attraction feels like. The problem is that wanting her has somehow infected every other part of my brain.

Yesterday during a presentation, Vivian leaned over to point out a discrepancy, and her hair brushed my arm. I lost track of what Davidson was saying mid-sentence and had to ask him to repeat the last five minutes. Davidson looked at me as if I’d told him he'd model the next collection of handbags.

I don't lose track. Ever. My focus is the one thing I've never had to work at. I lock in the moment I step into the building. But for three days straight, half my attention has been on the woman sitting twenty feet away, and the other half has been on trying not to think about what she sounds like when she comes or the taste of her pussy.

This morning's confrontation didn't help. When I told her she hadn't seemed unimpressed Friday night, watching her face flush while she scrambled to maintain her professional composure was better than coffee. And when she fired back about my question being unprofessional … Christ. The bar version of her broke through, and I've been replaying it ever since.

I texted her. I don't text women I'm not dating. I certainly don't flirt with employees. But I thought about the "not really that hot" comment, and before I could talk myself out of it, I was typing. The fact that she ignored the messages tells me everything I need to know about how rattled she is.

Good. At least I'm not suffering alone.

Vivian appears in my doorway with two bags of takeout and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. She's changed out of her heels into flats, and it doesn't take long for the memory of her slipping out of her shoes to resurface.