Chapter 2
“ H an, are you sure I look okay?”
“Baylee, for the tenth time, yes, you look beautiful.”
“Beautiful? I want to look professional, not beautiful.” I flip down the visor to look at my reflection once again.
“Well, you look both,” Hannah says, zipping in and out of morning traffic.
“Are you sure this dress isn’t too much?” I ask, straightening out the gray tunic I borrowed from her wardrobe.
“Nope, it’s perfect.”
“And my hair?” I ask, touching my high bun.
“Perfect.”
“What about my makeup?” I cringe when I examine my coral-painted lips and smoky black eyes in the visor’s mirror. “This is a lot more makeup than I’m used to wearing.”
Hannah laughs. “Good. You’re now working for one of the most successful businessmen in the United States. You have to look the part.”
“Great,” I grumble, flipping up the visor. “I have to look the part of a stuck-up, corporate snob. That’s not me.”
“It is now,” she sweetly says, making a left turn toward a private underground parking garage.
“Wow,” I gasp, looking out the windshield at the soaring building in front of me. “ This is where you work?”
“This is where we both work,” she corrects, swiping us through the boom gates and looking for a parking space.
Placing my hands on my gurgling stomach, I groan when she kills the engine. “I feel sick, Han. I should have done more research on him.”
“You’ll be fine. Just don’t upset the boss, cardinal rule number one.” She cheerfully reaches for her blazer and leather bag from the back seat while I drag myself out of the car.
As we stroll to the elevator, our heels clicking along the concrete, I gripe, “I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“At least you know his name,” she teases as she pushes the call button.
I nervously cover my throat and blush a deep red.
Hannah winks. “Don’t worry. Makeup works magic. No one will ever know what you got up to this weekend.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Good, because I’d hate for my boss to know that I slept with a random stranger the night of his charity event.”
“Tramp,” Hannah playfully whispers behind her hand.
However, talks of my promiscuous weekend are put on hold when we’re joined by a dozen or so fellow coworkers who step into the elevator with us.
When the elevator doors open and I feast my eyes on Fox Technologies. Hannah nudges me out as I’m in awe of the impressive sight before me. We march down the long carpeted hallway in silence, my gaze darting around the bright open spaces, taking in everything around me.
The walls are painted a warm cream, with beige carpeting and partitioned desks as far as the eye can see. Everyone is so ridiculously quiet, I feel like I need to whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace.
“Wow.”
I walk with my head held high, trying not to squirm when I feel everyone watching me, no doubt wondering who the new meat is. Maybe if I hadn’t engaged in hot AF sex, I would have met everyone. Glancing down at my black heels, I curse when I see they’re scuffed.
“Okay, this is you,” Hannah says once we arrive at a glass door. Dylan Fox is written in a frosted, elegant font, not that anyone would mistake whose lavish office this was.
I gulp.
“You’ll be fine, Baylee. I’m just down the hall if you need me.” She points down the corridor.
“I can do this,” I affirm, taking a deep breath.
“You can.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “Just remember, yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir.”
“I’m going to hurl.” I pat over my stomach, making a pained face.
My cries fall on deaf ears as Hannah turns me and pushes me to the door. “See you at lunch.”
I nod and take another breath before stepping inside the very polished looking office. The reception area is decorated in a stark, sterile white, and I’m almost certain I can see my underwear reflecting off the polished floor.
Three black leather chairs press up against the elongated wall, a glass coffee table with boring business magazines neatly stacked atop it sits a few feet away, and a crystal vase positioned in an inlet along the far wall are the only things this boring office encompasses.
A pretty brunette sits behind an enormous counter and smiles the moment I ungracefully enter. The desk wall she’s behind has the words AUDENTES FORTUNA LUVAT carved into the marble. I have no idea what that means.
“May I help you?”
“H-hi.” I clear my throat, as I sound as nervous as I feel. “I’m Baylee Young. I’m here to see?—”
“Take a seat, Ms. Young. Mr. Fox is just on a business call. He won’t be long,” she says, cutting me off.
“Oh, right. Thanks.” Nervously walking over to the leather chair, I take a seat, tucking my skirt beneath me. The act alerts me to the fact that I have a ladder in my stockings. “Great,” I mumble under my breath.
The immaculate-looking receptionist glances at me. I smile awkwardly, while subtly pulling up my pantyhose.
I was stupid to think I could ever pull this off. Even though my last boss turned out to be a home-wrecking whore, I never felt I needed to impress her like I do Mr. Fox. His reputation for being meticulous, controlled, and anal retentive are all the things I am not.
I’m starting to second-guess myself because if he’s as big an asshole as they say he is, then I know I’ll find it hard to hold my tongue.
The loud intercom buzzes, jarring me from my thoughts. “You can go through now,” the brunette says, gesturing to a grand door to her left.
“Thanks.” Standing, I straighten out my dress. I walk over to the daunting brown door, looking at it like it’s my doom.
My affirmation of ‘you are not a coward’ kicks in, and when my bravery from the weekend sweeps over me, I know I’ve got this. If I can have sex with a nameless stranger, then I sure as hell can do this.
Pushing open the door, I amble in with a staged confidence, hoping my act will be believed. However, that confidence turns to doggy doo when I stop dead in my tracks, almost tripping over my shoes.
No. No fucking way.
I’m greeted by the broad back of Mr. Dylan Fox. He’s looking out the window, appearing lost in thought, butI know he’s very much alert.
“Ms. Young.” He thankfully addresses me with his back still turned because I thump on my chest, certain my heart just stopped beating.
His deep, rough voice brings back all the memories of Saturday night, and I choke… on air, because standing before me is… my tiger.
However, my mysterious Tiger now has a name, and that name is Mr. Dylan Fox, a.k.a. my boss.
Fuck you, fate. Fuck you and your sick sense of humor.
“Ms. Young?” he questions when I stand frozen and mute.
Please don’t turn around. For the love of god, please don’t turn around. This will only work if you don’t turn around—ever.
But he does turn around, and when he does, I know I’m right royally screwed.
“Blue—” But he stops, regaining his slipped composure. Something I sense doesn’t happen often. “Ms. Young?” he asks, raising a dark, groomed brow.
Oh no, he thinks I’m a stalker. He thinks I have gone all Fatal Attraction and his bunny is seconds away from being boiled alive.
“Hi.” I hold up my hand and wave, cringing a second later.
“Hello,” he curtly replies, placing his hands into his pressed slacks pockets.
We stand, openly staring at one another, and I’m almost certain he can see the beads of sweat collecting on my brow. He appears completely unaffected while I’m seconds away from passing out.
“Please, take a seat,” he finally says, pointing to a chair.
I nod, grateful to be sitting, as I don’t trust my legs.
I nervously watch as he unbuttons his suit jacket before taking a seat. He looks commanding behind his huge desk, and I can’t help but remember just how commanding he can be. My cheeks instantly flush, and I lower my eyes before he reads my thoughts.
So how does one do this? How do we address the big, fat, sweaty elephant in the room?
We don’t. “Your credentials are very impressive, Ms. Young. I have no doubt you’ll be able to keep up with my needs.”
I lick my lower lip nervously before finally looking up at him. I see he is perusing over my resume, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you, Mr. Fox,” I reply, feeling beyond weird calling him by his name. “I’ll try my best.”
He lifts those intense eyes, his gaze lingering on my mouth. “I have no doubt that you will.”
I press my thighs together. This is too much.
“You’ll need this,” he says after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
Opening his drawer, he produces a cell phone. He slides it along his desk, and I reach for it, careful not to make contact with his fingers.
“This is so I can reach you day or night. I expect you to be available to me twenty-four seven,” he firmly explains.
I refrain from saying, ‘Yes, sir,’ accompanied with a salute. I instead nod. “Of course. I’ll ensure I have it on me always.”
He steeples his long fingers in front of him. “Very good.” And then… there is silence once again.
I still can’t believe he’s not going to acknowledge our encounter. His detachment ticks me off because how can he be so calm while I’m burning up inside?
Those acute eyes make me once again feel like I’m naked, and I anxiously tug at the pearls around my neck. Mr. Fox watches the movement, shifting subtly in his seat.
I don’t know how I’m going to do this because right now, all I can focus on is how he feasted on my body like a starved man. My cheeks redden, giving away my thoughts. “Will that be all, Mr. Fox?” I ask, unable to sit here a second longer.
“For now, Ms. Young.” His brief response irritates me further.
But I stand quickly, giving him a brisk nod. “Where would you like me to start?”
He swivels in his chair and begins typing on his laptop. “You can start by getting me a coffee. Black. No sugar.”
I glare daggers at him. It’s one thing to not acknowledge who I am. But it’s another to treat me like a slave. Goes without saying, I see red.
“I’m not getting any younger,” he mocks, his head buried in his computer, not even showing me the respect of looking at me.
That pompous… dick.
I grind down on my jawbone. “Right away, sir ,” I sarcastically quip, hoping to get a rise out of him.
I’m greeted with silence.
“I got your SOS text,” Hannah says as I’m frantically pacing the bathroom, biting my nails. “Please stop moving. You’re making me seasick. What’s going on, Baylee?”
But I can’t stop moving because the moment I do, the seriousness of my current situation will sink in and I’ll be sick. “I’ve done a bad, bad thing, Han. Like really bad.”
Hannah looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That’s impossible. You’ve been here for”—she looks at her watch—“five minutes.”
“I… shit!” I curse, running a trembling hand down my face.
“C’mon, just tell me. It can’t be that bad,” she states, hand on hip as she watches me continue to pace.
I spin around, spreading my hands out wide. “It’s worse than bad. It’s a disaster.”
She waits for me to elaborate.
“I…Tiger.”
Her eyes glow in mischief. “Oh my god! He tracked you down?” she says, nodding, thinking that’s the reason for my insanity.
“Well, er, kind of.” I rub the back of my neck.
“Kind of?” She scrunches up her face, confused by my incoherency.
“I-I-I.” Blowing out a deep breath, I stop pacing and brace my hands on the basin. Lowering my head, I finally confess, “Tiger is… is…”
But the words get stuck in my throat.
“Is who?” she shrieks.
“Is… Mr. Fox,” I whisper into the sink, hoping she didn’t hear me.
But she does. “ Excuse me ?”
I sigh as I stare into the bowl, wishing I could escape down the drain. “My hot, multi-orgasm giver, ultimate one-night stander, is none other than my boss, Mr. Dylan Fox.”
There, I said it. And it felt as shitty as I knew it would.
Silence.
“Han?” I ask a second later, hesitantly turning to look at her.
Her mouth is wide open, and her eyes are bulging from her head. “You’re not serious?”
“I so am.”
Hannah shakes her head, and her surprise suddenly transforms to humor. “Sweet baby Jesus, this is a…”
“A nightmare.” I fill in the blanks.
“Hilarious,” she settles for instead.
It’s now my turn to look at her like she’s the deranged one. “Hilarious? Have you not heard a word I said?”
“I heard, and this is funny.”
I raise both eyebrows, not seeing how she could possibly find my predicament funny.
“C’mon, you’ve gotta see the funny side to this. I mean, what are the odds you finally have the balls to have a one-night stand, and it’s with your boss!”
I rub my brow. “I didn’t know he was my boss at the time.”
“And that’s what makes this even funnier.” And she bursts into fits of laughter.
“You’re quite possibly the world’s worst friend.” I splash some water on my face while Hannah continues cackling at my expense.
“I have to quit. I can’t work here,” I utter, watching Hannah wipe the tears from her eyes.
“Don’t be silly. Of course you can. How’d he act?”
“Purely professional,” I confess, even though his professionalism pissed me off.
“And how’d you act?”
“Like a raving lunatic.”
Hannah bites her lip to contain her laugh. “Did he acknowledge you?”
“No.”
Hannah flinches. “Well, that’s a little awkward.”
“Try a lot,” I groan, massaging my temple.
“Baylee, stop.” She grips both my upper arms, shaking some sense into me. “You’re good at your job. You can do this with your eyes closed. It’s probably better that you do,” she adds, pulling an amused face.
I ignore her joke. “How am I meant to do this? I mean, this is so wrong. If anyone ever found out…”
“They won’t.” She stops me from continuing by giving me a light shake. “There is no way he’d tell anyone. And I know you’d rather die. So I dare say your secret is safe.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t want to have a secret. Nor do I want to be a secret. I just want to come in, do my job, and go home. My life has been complicated enough. I don’t need this to add to the ever-growing shit pile.”
She pulls a sympathetic face. “You kind of don’t have a choice. If you want to keep working here, then you’ll have to suck it up and forget you ever met anyone you nicknamed Tiger because that man out there”—she points to the door—“is not him.”
I nod because she’s right. And that’s what blows.
Thankfully, I haven’t seen Tiger, I mean, Mr. Fox since this morning.He’s been in meetings all day and left me to learn the ropes from Alicia, the brunette receptionist.
“He likes his coffee served at precisely eight-oh-two a.m. Not a second later. And he prefers meetings with clients to take place after eight-thirty a.m.”
I nod, chewing the top of my pencil as I slouch in my seat, bored out of my brain.
She looks at my blank notepad. “You should write that down.”
“Oh right,” I say, sitting upright, but seriously, how hard can this be?
I worked for the soulless whore for three years, and not once did I need to take notes or be briefed on what brand pen she preferred. Working for Mr. Fox, our history aside, is definitely going to be a challenge.
“Ms. Pope. Ms. Young,” Mr. Fox addresses us as he briskly marches into reception.
Alicia shoots up while I slouch back down in my seat, ignoring how his deep voice triggers my heart to race. I doodle in my notepad, pretending to be lost in my ever so interesting lesson of, ‘how to please your anal retentive boss.’
“How’d she go?” he asks, shuffling through the documents Alicia presents to him.
“Great, sir. She’ll be ready in no time.”
She?
She is the cat’s mother, and not to mention, I’m sitting right here. His continued aloofness once again pisses me off so I raise my eyes, daring him to call me she again. He meets my challenge and the corner of his mouth curves into a bold smile. It’s gone a second later.
He returns his attention to the perfect Alicia. “Excellent. Have her look over the Fletcher notes. I need them typed up by the end of the day.”
“Of course, sir.”
He completely ignores me, and just as I’m about to stand and give this jerk a piece of my mind, he slams his office door shut, ending a conversation that never started.
My mouth hinges open. That was unexpected, not to mention rude. I can’t help but wonder if this is the reason why he’s gone through so many assistants. Or am I just the lucky one?
I decide to ask. “So,” I say as Alicia sits back down. “How long have you worked for Mr. Fox?”
She brushes her long hair to one shoulder. “Oh, I don’t work for him. I fill in when he’s in need of assistance.”
“I’m guessing that’s a common occurrence then by how well you know the job.”
She nervously shuffles her paperwork, avoiding my gaze and questions. But I won’t allow her code of silence to deter me. “C’mon, you can tell me.”
Alicia shakes her head, her lips pulled into a thin line.
“I promise,” I declare, holding my hand up in oath. “My lips are sealed.”
Just as I think she’s come around, a sharp voice rains on my parade. “Ms. Young, a word. Now.”
I instantly drop my hand, guiltily looking at the doorway of Mr. Fox’s office. Judging by the pissy look on his face, he no doubt heard me begging for dirt.
Alicia quickly busies herself, ensuring he knows she wasn’t an accomplice—traitor.
“Fine.” I sigh, throwing my pen in defiance and standing lacklusterly.
The moment I walk over to him, our eyes lock. However, I don’t allow his bully tactics to scare me. I push past him when he doesn’t budge an inch and tell my disloyal body to stop with the celebrating when we touch.
The door closes behind me, and I stand before his desk, refusing to sit and be reprimanded like a naughty school child. My back is turned to him, but I can feel his glare, and once again, I feel like prey. But I stand tall and pull my shoulders back because if he wants to pretend, then so can I.
“How’s your first day going so far, Ms. Young?”
“Fine, Mr. Fox.” I swallow deeply when I hear his footsteps pad softly on the carpet.
“And you’re finding everyone to be well-mannered and helpful?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good to hear.”
When I feel him come to a stop inches from my back, my body begins to tremble. “I would appreciate it then if you could show the same respect. I don’t tolerate cattiness in my office, so if you have a question, I would prefer you ask me rather than badger my staff.”
So he did hear me. Is he spying on me now? Shouldn’t surprise me seeing as he’s a complete control freak. A trait I thoroughly enjoyed in the bedroom, but now, it just ticks me off.
“Yes, sir.” The defiance can be heard in my tone.
“Ms. Young, this relationship can go one of two ways.”
I remain quiet, indicating I’m listening.
“My way, or no way. You’ll soon see my way is the best for the both of us.”
I bite my cheek as I’m seconds away from telling him his way can suck it.
“We clear?”
“Crystal,” I grit out from between clenched teeth.
“Good. Now seeing as you think there’s time to socialize, I’ll send Ms. Pope home and you can proceed on your own.”
That bastard. I’m going to drown on my own, but I’ll be damned if I admit that to him. “Whatever you wish, sir.”
When he takes a step closer, I can feel his warmth against my back. It reminds me of Saturday night.
“I wish for you to—” But he pauses, his labored breathing buttering my flesh in a fine sheet of goose bumps.
But I stand rigid, still refusing to show him I’m affected by his presence. The room is suddenly filled with a heated static, and I focus on what’s important—like breathing.
“Have Ms. Pope show you the files I require for this afternoon’s presentation,” he instructs, not completing his original thought.
I nod, afraid if I speak, he’ll hear how breathless I sound.
“That’ll be all,” he says, dismissing me.
Internally counting to three, I slowly turn, very aware that he still hasn’t moved. When I meet him face first, those breaths leave me gasping for more. No matter his arrogance, I can’t deny I’m so attracted to him it hurts.
What is the matter with me? Am I really that fucked up?
Has Scott’s infidelity short-circuited my good sense because the old me would never find someone this egotistical attractive? But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the old me was a boring stick-in-the-mud who needed to lighten up.
Either way, that person is long gone because this is new the Baylee—2.0. And this new Baylee doesn’t take shit from anyone—her hot, incredibly sexy new boss included.
I stand my ground, ensuring my body doesn’t betray me when he continues standing in front of me, his enormous frame blocking my exit. “Is there anything else, sir?” I ask when he makes no attempt to move.
I make no secret that every time I address him as ‘sir,’ I’m internally flipping him off.
His mouth twitches, and it’s gestures such as these that confuse me. One minute he’s Satan reincarnate, and the next, for a split second, he’s human. The human who made my body hum like no one was ever able to before.
He steps out of my way.
I try not to be too obvious as I practically run for the safety of the exit. Just as I’m about to yank open the door, his hoarse voice stops me in my tracks. “By the way, Ms. Young, I like your shoes.”
Peering down, I see the shoes in question are the ones I wore Saturday night. The same ones I wore when he was fucking me over the arm of the sofa. The same shoes that were digging into his back, drawing him closer as he was nestled between my thighs.
Touché Tiger, you may have won this round, but you’ve just shown me that you’re human after all.
I’m surrounded by mountains upon mountains of paperwork with no end in sight.
The entire day was an utter disaster, as I had no idea what I was doing. But I’d rather cut out my own tongue than ask Mr. Asshole for help.
His comment about my shoes revealed that he too, at some point, had thought about our meeting. Maybe his tough exterior was his way of coping with an awkward situation? Or maybe he’s just a sociopathic jerk?
I’m betting on the latter option.
Sighing, I look around my cluttered desk, seeing no end in sight any time soon.
“Hey, pretty lady. You ready to go home?”
“Ha! That’s not going to happen in this millennium,” I quip, looking at Hannah over my tower of paperwork.
“He expects you to do all of this by tonight?” She sweeps her hand out over my desk incredulously.
Looking at the clock on my computer, I pop my gum calmly. “Actually, he expected this on his desk by five. So it’s actually an hour and two minutes late.”
“He surely can’t expect you to get all of this done. I mean, today is your first day.”
I sarcastically laugh. “Tell that to The Antichrist.”
She shakes her head. “No thanks. I like my job. I thought he’d go easy on you because?—”
And she raises her eyebrows.
My finger flies up to cover my lips. “Shh. These walls have ears.”
She laughs. “Okay, well, call me when you’re done, and I can come pick you up.”
“It’s okay, Han. I’ll be here all night. I’ll just catch a cab or train.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Go enjoy your sofa.”
“Okay, love you. Don’t work too hard,” she teases over her shoulder.
I chuckle to myself. “Too late for that.”
Adding the final touches to a document, I press print and sigh in relief. My tired muscles groan in protest when I stand and make my way over to the printer. A yawn escapes me as I wait for the two-hundred-page document to print.
What a day. As much as it sucked, I love being back in the workforce.
Before my boss turned into a betraying she-devil, I loved working for her. I thrived on the deadlines, and enjoyed delivering before they were due. I guess I’m an overachiever. I always have been.
Although Dylan is a major pain in the ass, a small part of me is grateful he took a chance on someone he never met unknowingly before Saturday night. But I’d sooner eat glass than tell him that.
“Are you still here, Ms. Young?”
“Sweet mother of god!” I yelp, pressing a hand to my chest. Lost in thought, I failed to hear Mr. Fox exit his office. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on people,” I admonish, spinning around.
“I was hardly sneaking,” he replies with a lopsided smirk. Goddamn, he’s handsome when he’s not a sourpussed jerk.
“Regardless, make some noise next time,” I bark, ignoring his smile.
“Noted. I’ll be sure to announce my arrival next time.” Is he making a joke?
Again, I ignore him because I can’t deal with his mood swings.
“Good.”
We stand staring at one another, that familiar static once again crackling between us. I wish it would stop because it’s giving me whiplash. Everything about Mr. Dylan Fox gives me whiplash.
“These files will be on your desk in five minutes. Sorry, they’re late,” I apologize, needing to fill the silence.
He nods.
“And the transcripts for today’s meeting will be on your desk by the morning.” I leave out the fact I’ll be here all night finishing it.
“Excellent.”
Silence once again.
These pauses are making me edgy, so I turn around, busying myself with the copier.
“Well,” he says with pause. “Good night then.”
“Good night.”
Why is he still here?
I hold my breath, only letting it out when I hear the elevator ding.
What is it about this man? I’m pretty sure I hate him, but why do I want to tear his clothes off every time I’m in the same room as him. “Because you’re crazy, Baylee,” I mumble to myself, running a hand down my face.
Once the copier spits out the final page, I bind it and make my way into Dylan’s office. Once inside, I tell myself in and out, as it’s totally unprofessional snooping around in your boss’s belongings. But so is sleeping with the boss. And besides, I’ve broken all the rules. What’s one more?
I casually place the files on his desk, peering around his generous, orderly office. This is the office of a control freak, where every little thing has a place and purpose—how entirely boring and drab.
Unable to help myself, I take a tour, ensuring not to touch anything along the way. There are no personal belongings in here. No picture frames, no trophies, no awards, nothing to give me a better idea of who my boss is. Maybe that’s what he wants. This is his place of business. He obviously conducts his matters of pleasures in hotel rooms with complete strangers.
The huge bay window reveals breathtaking views of Boston and the Marina. I can imagine Tiger sitting in his high-backed leather chair, staring out the window, thinking about work, money, and the women he’s screwed. I wonder if he’s thought about me. It’s only fair, seeing as I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.
Pulling out his seat, I feel like an utter rebel as I slouch into his chair. The leather feels soft yet hard underneath my body, and I can’t help but compare it to that of its owner. Spinning it around, I lean backward and take in the views before me. It’s quite peaceful being alone this high up.
My mind wanders to thoughts of Scott. I wonder what he’s doing and if he’s happy. A part of me hopes that he isn’t. He ruined my life,, and he also ruined me. But being with Tiger was the first time I felt alive in months. In a weird, twisted way, he gave me hope that maybe I’ll actually be okay. He gave me the courage to be myself, while not that long ago, I didn’t know who that was.
By letting go, I’ve never felt freer. I’ve never felt happier because much as I hate to admit it, Scott cheating on me didn’t come as a surprise. Yes, the person he cheated on me with was a surprise, but the action itself was long overdue. We were kids when we got together, and I could see him losing interest in us every day.
Still lost in thought, I don’t hear my phone chime but rather feel it vibrate against my leg. Reaching for it, I see I have a text from Mr. Fox.
How are those files coming along?
I jolt up in my seat, almost falling onto my ass. Quickly looking from left to right, I let out a sigh of relief when I see that the coast is clear.
Almost done.
Which is a complete lie.
He replies almost instantly .
I’m most pleased. Ensure the Cheing file goes out first thing tomorrow morning. 7 am.
I salute at his demand, thankful he can’t see me. Or can he?
He responds a moment later.
Thank you
I’m beyond paranoid being in here, as I’m afraid he’ll decide to pay me an impromptu visit to ensure I’m not snooping on his personal belongings—which is exactly what I’m doing.
Carefully wheeling his chair back to where it was sitting, I rearrange the files so they’re sitting perfectly straight. Taking one last look around the sterile office, which smells like the inside of a citrus cleaning spray bottle, I have an idea.
Creeping across the soft beige carpet, I stop at his bookshelf and run my finger over the spines of the alphabetically placed volumes. Tiger needs to let go and live. Being this disciplined is so boring.
Closing my eyes, I whisper under my breath, “Eeny…” Blindly running my finger along the spines of leathered books, I begin my devious scheme. “Meeny… miny…” I squiggle my finger downward and stop at a random book. “Moe.”
My eyes snap open as I’m curious to see what my finger landed on. I can’t help but chuckle when I see the book in question is Moby Dick .
Carefully pulling it out, I scan through the other various tedious titles, deciding that Moby Dick should be acquainted with Edward and Bella. Defiantly, I run over to my desk and riffle through my bag to find my tattered copy of Twilight.
Skipping back into his office, I slide the book into the place where Moby Dick once sat. “You need a little revolt in your perfect, organized life, sir .” I grin, pleased with my uprising. I wonder how long it’ll take for Tiger to sniff out the anarchy.
And more importantly, what he’ll do once he does.