Harper
“That will be all, Colton. Thank you,” I say firmly.
Possibly a little too firmly, given the single eyebrow he lifts in response to my pointed dismissal.
I can’t seem to help it. I don’t know what to do or how to act.
My hands feel clammy all day, and I constantly feel like I’m either going to faint or vomit. It's awful.
Feelings are awful. Maybe dying alone is the way to go.
I never get nervous in front of people, and yet somehow, this past week has seen me contemplating prescription-grade deodorant. He smirks before sauntering out of my office, knowing I’ll have my eyes trained on him until he’s out of the door entirely.
Now that I’ve seen him naked, I can’t seem to get a moment of peace without thinking about how good he looked under the uniform.
I already knew part of it from the gym and his propensity to whip his shirt off the minute I walk in.
But the lower half, the lower half was new, and seems to be taking up a lot of my daily thought process.
Probably because there was a lot to think about.
It’s like having mini hallucinations all day. Making coffee? Blink and the coffee bag in his hand is replaced with his cock. Look up at the lights to see what needs replacing? Blink and it’s him under a steady rainfall. I don’t get a minute of peace.
My phone buzzes twice in quick succession from the right side of my desk, and I pick it up to find a text from my sister.
Sadie: You’re blushing
I knew that letting her install a camera in here was a step too far. She insisted after the other night when I dismissed Wade from his post. Thank God I did. Who knows what he would have heard otherwise. There would have been two people I can’t make eye contact with today.
According to sister dearest, if I’m going to dismiss my protective detail, then she gets to have eyes on me at all times.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she planted a tracker somewhere on me, or a ghost app on my phone to keep better tabs on my whereabouts.
The one stipulation I gave for the camera in my office was that I could turn it off and on without her interfering.
My business dealings are all above board and legal, but some of the methods to get those dealings are… not.
Money greases palms, blackmail serves a purpose, and sometimes nice words don’t get you what you want. None of my methods need to be captured for viewing pleasure.
I look up into the camera, giving it the middle finger as I press a button on my phone to turn it off.
My phone buzzes again.
Sadie: Rude
I chuckle, but don’t turn the camera back on right away.
I have always been the responsible one when we were growing up, making sure the bills were paid when our dad disappeared for days, that she got on and off the bus every day for school, helping with homework until her big brain outgrew my own capabilities.
I may have been a makeshift mom in many ways, but Sadie has always been the more nurturing of us, always wanting to make those around her happy instead of merely content.
When my laptop was dented, I came in to find a replacement a few days later, brand new and exactly copied over so everything was right where it was before.
When I’m sick but insist on coming in to check on things, she makes sure the temperature in my office is turned up and I’m given a rotating schedule of tea and water throughout the day.
She is thoughtful in every way that counts, and I know if she keeps seeing how I react to Colton she is going to want to talk about it.
The only thing worse than having feelings is having to talk about them.
Nope, I’m all set.
Nothing has happened since the night of the bachelorette event after Colton stole that kiss.
And watched me cum on my own fingers while he moaned my name.
A fact he’s sure to remind me every chance he can, not with words but with every touch and gesture.
Every glance and caress of his eyes on my curves.
That he knows how my lips feel and what my breathing sounds like when I shatter.
How I moan when I hit that spot inside me just right.
Yesterday he leaned over my shoulder when bringing in reports and order slips for me to sign, bringing his face close enough that I was forced to breathe him in.
Teak and sandalwood, a hint of spice I couldn’t place.
I want to bottle it up and bring it to Bath a knot forming in the pit of my stomach.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, panic gripping me when my eyes connect with Sadie’s.
She looks dazed, moving to stand slightly behind Wade, like he can shield her from whatever’s inside the crate.
Sadie’s usual jovial persona is nowhere to be found now, hidden within herself as past demons claw their way to the surface.
Wade looks to Sadie quickly, checking on her as she uses him like a human barricade, before he takes a knee next to the box, hands working to remove the rack inside meant to lock the bottles in place.
“After we finished unloading the bottles from the crates, the other volunteers started bringing the bottles to the floor and storeroom to stock,” explains Sadie, pausing to recollect the events that led them here.
“But Wade and I stayed back to carry the empty crates out to the trash pickup area, when we realized they…felt wrong.”
I give my sister a puzzled look. What is that supposed to mean, they felt wrong? Were the crates falling apart? Had bottles broken and leaked through the bottom?
“It’s just easier if we show you,” Sadie finishes, gesturing to where Wade manhandles the crate.
He lifts the slat he holds away from what looks like the base of the crate and steps back, waiting at Sadie’s side once more.
I freeze. The toughest person I know is my sister, and she doesn’t want to say what is waiting for me when I look inside.
Wade, a veritable crime-fighting superhero, is silently looking down, not wanting to make eye contact.
I will one of them to tell me, but the room remains silent. I take a tentative step forward, running through a list in my head of the possibilities, striking each option down as quickly as they come to me.
If it were a bomb, they wouldn’t have brought it to me, and certainly the sense of urgency would be slightly higher.
It could be a threat, maybe a weapon from a pissed-off politician or celebrity that was denied membership, but again, they would have told me.
Sadie would be forming plans and strategies to strike back or shore up defenses, not shaking.
I lean over slightly so I can peer into the crate.
Please don’t be a head.
Please don’t be a head.
Please don’t be a head.
It’s not a head. When I look up, the pained expression on Sadie’s face makes sense. Wade’s confusion and concern about what he stepped into with this job is suddenly crystal clear.
I lean down and reach into the crate, pulling out one of several clear-wrapped bricks of white powder with me as I stand.
“This is not what we ordered.”