8. Chapter 8
eight
I shouldn’t have done what I did. I shouldn’t have watched the same video Mr. Brooks was clearly interested in. It feels wrong and dirty, and now I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. Even now, as I try my best to focus on the meeting, I keep replaying the scene I saw. But in my mind, it is me and Mr. Brooks.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The pen I hold does nothing but linger above the empty paper. I should be taking notes, but I can’t seem to hear anything they are saying. All I hear is my own heartbeat. I sense Mr. Brooks shifting against me, and my focus scatters all over again. He’s so close, so warm. Why is he sitting right next to me?
Come on, Grace, focus. Earn the promotion you’re given!
A warm hand takes mine and my gaze flicks up, meeting Mr. Brooks’s. “Grace?”
“Y–yes?” I say, and his hand drops to my chair, gripping the side and hauling it toward him. A loud screech fills the room, and deadly silence follows.
My body tenses as my chair nudges against his and my eyes drift around the room. Confused stares burn my skin, but no one says anything.
No, no, no . I feel myself going neon as heat rushes to my cheeks.
Mr. Brooks’s masculine scent invades me, and somehow, it calms me slightly.
“Are you okay?” he asks with a soft smile.
I nod. “Of course,” I say, and his gaze drops to my notebook. A brow lifts, as does his gaze. He tilts his head slightly as if he can see right through me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Never apologize to me,” he says sternly. His words confuse me, but all I do is nod.
“I won’t again, Mr. Brooks,” I say.
“Daniel,” he corrects, and I take a deep breath, letting him lead to wherever he’s taking this.
“Daniel,” I repeat, and the way his name rolls over my tongue makes me want to say it again.
His soft smile crooks slightly. “Good girl,” he muses, and my lips part as my stomach swirls and my thighs clench together.
Oh, did I hear that right? No. No, he’s just… it’s fine.
I make myself focus, or try to, but Mr. Brooks moves a bit and his shoe brushes mine. It’s just a shoe! Why can’t I make anything work in my head today? I feel sick in a completely different way. My stomach is doing flips, my whole body is burning up, and I can’t linger on any thought for too long. I’m losing my mind.
It’s the most useless meeting of my life and for some reason, when everyone else files out, I can’t make myself stand. My legs feel like they’re vibrating, unreliable, and weak.
“Are you okay?” Daniel asks seriously when we’re alone.
I watch as he stands, shaking my head slowly. “Yes, I’m just… maybe, but I—”
“I need you by my side,” he says clearly. “I need all of you here and focused.”
He inches closer. His finger hooks under my chin, and he tilts my head, forcing me to stare into his intense blue eyes.
A shiver teases my spine, and he nods as if my shaking confirms it. “Go home.”
“I don’t have PTO for five more weeks,” I whisper.
“I’m telling you to go home. Sleep, hydrate, do what you need to do so you’ll be in good shape for me tomorrow,” he insists.
“Yeah. I’m just… a little off,” I whisper.
“And I want you better. Should I send soup to your apartment?” he presses. “Have a taxi take you to the doctor?”
“N–No. I’ll… I’ll take care of myself,” I promise.
“Grace,” he says softly, despite something dark and dangerous playing in his stare, “let me take care of you.”
Warmth crawls under my skin as my breath shallows. “I’ll do it. I’ll go home, just like you said. I promise. I’ll come back tomorrow focused and ready to go,” I say.
“Good,” he says as his touch lingers, and I stay rooted on the spot. A shy smile crosses his features as he drops his hand. The heat simmers, my body cools, and it keeps cooling as I grab my things and walk to the elevator.
By the time I get home, I feel somewhat fine. My cheeks still burn as I can’t fully let go of what has happened.
I sigh and head to the bathroom, needing a cold shower, to chug some ice water, and get my shit together. That’s all. So that’s what I do. I squeak as I get in the shower, hating the cold water, but I need it. I need a punishment for dropping the ball at work.
When I can’t stand it anymore, I turn off the faucet. My body is shaking as I grab a towel and wrap myself up. I down a whole glass of ice water, then linger in the kitchen just in my towel until I remember what Daniel said about the meal he wants.
It’s something to do, and it’ll stop me from thinking about porn, about him and all the things he makes me feel. So, I get dressed and get to work, quickly buying all the necessities at the grocery store, and then I work on each bit of the meal, cutting, chopping, cooking, compiling. It’s clear.
Each step has clear, definitive steps that I can follow. They build on one another. Every part of the meal gives me a little relief, drops more stress from my shoulders. I’m only hot because of the stove. I’m bathed in the scents of bacon and sauerkraut. Once the meal is finished, I feel restless. I want more to do.
So I scrub every dish, clean up any spillage, then package the food. I consider leaving some for Ashley, but we haven’t really talked about things like that and I have no idea what she likes.
Exhaling, I finish bagging the Tupperware and glance at the clock. It’s after five. I feel better, feel like my normal self, and I know that Daniel has a meeting at seven. Bosses shouldn’t have to stay so late, and he was so kind today, again, and this meal is best hot.
That’s all it takes for me to get in my car and head to the office.
I take the elevator up, trying to ignore the quiet that I’m not used to. The elevator dings, and I walk onto the empty floor. All the cubicles are empty, and the only light on the floor comes from Daniel’s office.
Nibbling my bottom lip, I walk forward, trying to tell myself to stay calm and prove I can do something right. I gently knock on the door, hoping that I’m not interrupting. I swallow whatever’s left of my concern when the door opens.
“I told you to go home,” he says darkly.
I hold up a bag, my cheeks burning. “And I owed you lunch.”
His eyes flick from the bag to me, and a soft smile plays on his lips. “You do look better.”
“I feel better,” I agree before kicking myself. This is such an awkward conversation. I want to be done with it as soon as physically possible. “You were right. I just needed a moment. So, I relaxed and cooked, and this is best fresh and hot, not refrigerated.”
He hesitates. “I can’t say you’re wrong.”
“When it comes to food, I’m rarely wrong,” I say, mildly proud of myself.
Daniel chuckles. “Pride looks good on you, Grace. Come in.”
As I edge past him, the warmth of his form seeps into mine and I shamelessly inhale, letting his cologne fill me.
I set everything up on his desk, just like last time. Then offer him a fork as I reveal the meal. “I told you I could handle the bacon.”
His eyes peruse me slowly as he nudges his mouse, moving some tabs around before taking the fork. A part of me wants to see what he’s watching. The other half is terrified that I’m going to catch him doing something as naughty as I did last night.
So I force myself to stare at his face and focus on how his thick brows crease slightly together, focus on his full lips and the greyish scruff on his jaw until he takes a bite of the meal I brought.
He pauses, eyes flicking to mine, and I sit down in my usual chair. “Is it too cold? Did I wait too long to—”
He swallows. “Don’t start second-guessing yourself now.” He loads the fork with another bite. “It’s perfect, Grace. Amazing.”
I beam, watching him eat with this smile on his lips. After a few more bites, he clocks my bright smile and stands to move around his desk. My heart rate picks up as he grabs the chair next to me and scoots it closer before taking a seat. My breath hitches as he scoops some of the sauerkraut on the fork and offers it to me.
“I don’t—”
“Try it. You did so well, Grace. Now taste it,” he insists.
My eyes don’t leave his as I move forward and wrap my lips around the fork. His stare darkens again, and his jaw goes tight. I notice a slight bit of pink fill his cheeks, not enough to be a blush, but with his dilated eyes, I wonder what he’s feeling.
I chew, chew again, barely tasting the food since I’m hyperaware of the fact that he’s focusing on my lips.
“Swallow,” he commands, his voice low and throaty.
I obey without question, and he sets the fork down. “You take orders so well, Grace. You’re such a good girl.”
Fuck. My throat becomes tight, and my ribs tighten. Every breath is short and quick. My chest can’t seem to expand fully. Daniel gently touches my knee, and the room spins, my thoughts taking me to the scene I saw on his computer and on mine.
“You have so much talent in the kitchen. I’m missing out,” he groans.
“But… but I cooked for you. How are you missing out?” I breathe.
“I want to see you cook. I bet you’re passionate. I bet you don’t apologize for a thing. I bet you order the ingredients around, take control, and keep it. I’d love to see you in your element,” he says.
It’s the kind of thing I always wanted Bash to say. But picturing Daniel watching me cook, cooking with me, coming up behind me and stroking my hips, turning me around, putting me on the island and burying his face between my legs—
Oh…
“I should go!” I say as I jump up.
“Is something wrong?” Daniel asks.
“No, no. I just… I should get a good night’s sleep so I can focus tomorrow. You know? You were nice enough to let me go home early, so I have to prove myself tomorrow,” I say quickly and head toward his door. “Please, enjoy the rest of the food. It’s all for you.”
I rush out before I can embarrass myself by putting my hand on his, by reading into his words.
He’s my boss . He’s my ex’s dad. That means I have to uphold some boundaries. Even if I’m not sure I want those boundaries.