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She shrugs as we step out into the lobby, and I tug her to the north-facing doors. “It’s about a twenty-minute walk this way.”
“Well, no, wait. I need to get my vest.”
“Your what?”
“So I can look respectable.”
“I don’t…” I trail off, following her out the opposite doors to her car, where she opens her back seat and grabs an ugly gray vest that she puts on over her T-shirt.
“There.” She holds out her arms. “See?”
“No.”
She pats at the material. “The nips are covered.”
I blink a few times, not understanding, but in lieu of explaining, she asks, “Do you want me to drive since we’re right here? You can find out how my bonus drives on the road.”
“No.” I curl my fingers around her wrist once more, leading her around the block in the correct direction. “We’re walking.”
“Because this isn’t a date?”
“Because it’s a nice day… And this isn’t a date.”
“Good. Because you didn’t ask,” she says, though she doesn’t pull out of my grip right away. Lets me brush my thumb over her knuckles before letting go.
“And you’re not wearing a bra.”
She lifts her index finger like I’ve got the idea now, and we both go quiet as I lead us to cross the street. Once we’ve walked a few blocks, I can’t take it anymore. “What’s with the vest?”
She quirks her brow. “I told you. It covers my nipples. People get freaked out by hard nipples. Are you one of those people? Since you’re so obsessed with the vest, you probably are. I should’ve checked if there was a uniform requirement.”
“There is no uniform requirement.”
“I know that, but you’re uncomfortable with my not wearing a bra.”
“No…” I tug on my shirt. “I’m not uncomfortable with you not wearing a bra. I mean, if I were, I would’ve said something.”
“So, you’ve noticed?”
“What? No.” I do a double take at her. “No.”
She giggles. “I don’t care if you have. That’s my whole point. I don’t like wearing bras. The wire and seams are a sensory nightmare for me, so I avoid them at all costs. But boobs make some people uncomfortable, and I want to make sure you’re not one of those people.”
“No. I like yours. I mean them. I like… I mean—Fuck, Millie. Don’t make me keep going.”
She bites into her bottom lip, snorting quietly in laughter, and I tug on her pigtail. “I think you like to see me suffer.”
“No. Never, but you being all flustered… It was cute.”
I think you’re cute, I don’t say.
Because that would be inappropriate. Telling my assistant she’s cute is inappropriate. Thinking about the buds of her hard nipples and her legs wrapped around my waist is wrong. She’s my assistant.
I am her boss.
And this is not a date.
Merely another bonus I’m giving her.
