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“Maybe or maybe you’d reach your deadlines on time if you were a bit less chaotic.”

“That’s it,” I said dramatically, throwing down the pen. “I’m going to quit writing, give away all of my money, and start delivering pizzas. Are you happy?”

“It could work. I mean, you don’t need much money for clothes, being that you’re only half dressed most of the time, but how would you keep yourself in Scotch?”

I was so turned on by that, I almost chased her out of my office.

Luckily she didn’t seem to notice.

I didn’t recover.

The rest of the day passed in distracting snapshots of Ro: An oblivious Ro bending over her desk to grab a contract for me to sign. Ro with her head down, focused on work, her thick eyelashes falling into dramatic shadows on her cheeks. Ro reaching her arms up to smooth loose strands of baby soft, dark hair back into her chignon, the motion outlining her spectacular tits under her ungodly ugly sweater.

Ro, Ro, Ro. Obsessing me. Amusing me. Driving me wild. Making me enjoy each day thoroughly.

I couldn’t seem to stay in my wing of the house one night. I found myself in the kitchen, a shared space, eating her yogurt of all things, at three in the morning.

“That’s my yogurt,” she said, her tone sour.

I turned to watch her as she moved toward the counter. She was wearing an oversized shirt that hid her curves, but it didn’t keep me from obsessing over what might be underneath.

My eyes were locked tight on her as she grabbed an apple, sat down, and started eating it.

“It’s three a.m.,” I pointed out. “What are you doing still up?” As far as I knew, she normally went to bed much earlier than this.

She chewed her bite of apple and swallowed before answering, her tone sardonic, “I wasn’t aware there was a curfew.”

“I can’t sleep, it looks like you can’t either, and I’m taking a breather from work. How about we watch a movie?”

She shrugged. “Why not? Can I pick?”

I was fascinated with what she’d choose so I answered easily, “Be my guest.”

She picked Jojo Rabbit.

I’d seen it, it was a good movie, and I watched her face as much as the screen.

We shared a sofa but sat on opposite sides of it.

For her safety, though she didn’t know that, thank God.

When we got to the part with Jojo’s mother’s shoes, she was crying like a baby, her big Bambi eyes leaking like a faucet.

It was just about too much for me. I was close to my limit.

I wanted to hug her, to pull her into my arms to comfort her, but I was certain that if I did I’d try to fuck her on the spot.

I was, somehow, becoming even more perverse than usual.

When the movie was over, I was just staring at her as she wiped her cute little cheeks.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” I said, trying to distract her without touching her, trying to distract myself. “Tell me some more about your Mayhem books. What is it that you have in mind? The drawings are stellar, now you just need the story. Need some help plotting it out?”

“Not just yet. I’m still bouncing the particulars around, but the gist of it is, I want to make something that makes lonely kids feel less alone.”

Well fuck me if that wasn’t endearing and adorable as hell.

I needed to get away from her. Fast.