Chapter 8 Evan
EVAN
Isaac hasn’t touched me in two days, Deacon still hasn’t told me what dinner tonight is about, and I’ve barely seen him. I’m starting to panic, and when I panic, I act out.
Unlike Monday where I phoned in getting ready, I’m pristine today.
My blue sweater clings to me like I painted it on, and my jeans hug my ass like a dream.
If Isaac ignores me again, I might spiral.
If he can resist me in this outfit, my insecurity will ratchet itself up to a height it’s never known.
It’ll be worse than what happened with Hunter in college.
After all, Hunter—while he was sharing me with strangers and sharing himself—I was always involved.
Feeling unwanted, I’m discovering, is my trigger.
Being an only child at the center of my parents’ world spoiled me for attention at a very early age. Being an adult and having to actively work for it from strangers is a skill set I’m constantly trying to perfect. Apparently, I need to up my game.
“Good morning,” I tell my boss the moment he’s within earshot, trying to catch his eye.
He smiles, slowing as he approaches my desk. He looks me over and responds with his own good morning.
“Schedule?” I ask eagerly. Too eagerly. My panic is making its way into my voice.
“Sure. Come on in.” He looks pleased, and that’s a nice, quick win that ups my confidence.
He holds open the door for me, and I watch to see whether he locks it behind him.
His body is in the way, though, and I can’t tell. I don’t take the chair today. Instead, I wait for him to sit so I can stand beside him.
Remembering the last time he fucked me on his desk has my dick getting hard already.
I realized over the past two days that the way he wants me—or seems like he does—is something I’ve been taking for granted.
Isaac is intense, and I’ve gotten the sense more than once that he wants more than a conventional quickie.
Like I think Isaac would be perfectly happy if I did my job underneath his desk, warming his cock and servicing him at regular intervals like a sex slave or a pet.
I wonder how his date went Friday night. Could that be why he’s been so hands off? He’s getting it somewhere else? From someone better than me?
Fuck, why does the thought of that make me sick? I shouldn’t need this level of validation from my boss. Why am I so goddamn needy? No wonder Deacon fenced me off in the friend zone.
Isaac takes his seat and pulls up the schedule on his computer.
I actually have several questions and slots to fill for him today, so I start talking right away.
“Orange team wanted to move their meeting up to eleven because someone has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.
I told them it would probably work, so I left a message with George from legal to move him into their afternoon slot. If that’s okay.”
“Fine.” Isaac’s eyes remain glued to the screen, his hand resting on his mouse.
I lean across the desk, putting my elbows in the empty space directly in front of him. I point to the one o’clock spot with my index finger and turn to look at his face. “Here, you’ve got a couple of options.”
His eyes meet mine, and I hear his intake of air. I work to intensify my gaze, desperate to hold onto his. “I’ve been working on my Power Point, so we can go over that, or…”
He’s nodding, eyes hooding.
My cock goes fully erect. “I can set up that call with Romian.”
“Remind me?” he says softly.
“The Seattle security company.”
“Right. They’re ready to move forward?’
I nod, tilting my head slightly to show him a little more neck.
“But you haven’t set up the call yet?”
“They’re just waiting on a time.”
“And you followed up with uh…Four Points already?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “They met with the lawyers, and they’re going over the contracts.”
He should have at least one hand on me by now. Even if it’s just on my shoulder, it should be there.
I watch him swallow, and I wait for that touch. Anywhere.
When it doesn’t come—again—something inside me that’s already begun to fray, unravels. “Is everything okay?” I ask at a normal volume, which I’m proud of.
Still, he startles at the question. “What?”
“Am I not doing it for you anymore? Are you gonna fire me?”
He visibly pales, and I think I’ve struck a nerve—which means I might be right. I could throw up.
“Evan. What the hell are you talking about?”
“You want me to spell it out?”
“No—I—no.” His hand moves immediately to my lower back and strokes upward. It stops just shy of hitting the skin at the nape of my neck.
“You’re being weird.”
“You’ve been weird,” he counters.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“Well, if you won’t tell me what’s going on, how am I supposed to know that?” he whispers with some urgency. “Is this about your ex?”
I shake my head. I can’t think about Hunter right now. “You’re acting like I have the plague.”
“I’m not,” he says, his voice almost pleading, his eyes—whoa—can’t look there right now. Isaac’s baseline is super intense, and when he gets that look—that’s when I start to picture sex dungeons and ball gags, and on rare occasions—a honeymoon suite in Greece. “You can talk to me.”
That’s not really part of our routine. “We’re not–”
“I know you like to compartmentalize this, but we can talk.”
I never said I enjoyed compartmentalizing our working relationship, but I do remember the conversation I think he’s referring to.
It happened the day after I decided it would be a great idea to blow him one night when we were here late preparing for a board meeting.
The following day—after the board meeting, we’d come into his office to debrief and, rather than going over my notes, we started tearing at each other’s clothes.
A couple of hasty kisses and a rough fuck later, I felt like I needed to set some ground rules.
I hadn’t called it “compartments” though. I wasn’t half that articulate at the time. I think the word I used was buckets. The boss/assistant bucket, the mentor/mentee bucket and the fucking bucket. None of the buckets were “you can always talk to me.”
So maybe that was an oversight on my part?
But why would he want to hear about my stupid life?
He’s the CEO of a multi-million dollar company.
I’m a glorified secretary. Plus, he’s like ten years older than me.
His undateability is like the safest thing about Isaac.
I can be whatever I need to be in this office without worrying he’s going to reject me because the rejection is already baked in.
Up until now, I thought I was okay with that, but maybe I’m not?
Or maybe I’m just not ready to let this go—this safe space.
But I guess I need to know. If I have to readjust my expectations regarding our working relationship, the sooner I can wrap my mind around it, the better. Then I can decide what I need to do from there.
“Did you hit it off with your date?” I ask.
He goes dead silent. I flick my gaze up, and he’s no longer looking at me. Or he is, but he’s looking at where his hand is.
Gravity shifts, taking my stomach down with it. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
“It was…unexpected.”
“Okay.” I start to rise, but he holds me down. “Evan. It was just a date.”
“A date?”
“Does it matter?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Does it?”
Isaac is one of those people who’s usually super easy to read.
If he weren’t, I never would have initiated anything with him.
When he wants something, it’s written all over his face.
Right now, he looks torn. Agonized. If a date is just a date, that shouldn’t change anything between him and me.
It never has before. If he’s lying, and it was more than just a date, then he really shouldn’t have his hand on me, and he shouldn’t be looking at me like he’s trying to decide whether to kiss me or have a nervous breakdown.
He swallows so hard, I hear it. “You look so nice today,” he says quietly, his thumb reaching up to stroke the skin on my neck.
“Thanks for noticing.”
“I always notice,” he whispers.
“Do I need to go?” I ask.
“No. You’re perfect.” His fingertips graze the edge of my hairline. “Please don’t go.”
I shift toward my side, giving him a better view of my chest. Reaching toward him, I trace a finger down the center of his light gray button down, a signal I’m interested if he is.
My dick is confused though. Semi-hard and undecided about whether it should bother with getting any harder.
Some of my excitement upon coming into his office has flagged, doused by his indecision.
“This is my favorite shirt,” I lie. I don’t actually have a favorite thing he wears because he looks good in everything.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice still so soft. Serious. Too serious.
I wasn’t trying to turn this into a whole thing, I just—wanted to make sure we were okay. That nothing has changed. But I’m pretty sure something has. “Can I have my horny boss back, please?”
“Evan…”
I’m actively fighting the urge to be sick. “What?”
He gives his head a small shake and clears his throat. “Yes.” He takes his hand off me so he can unbuckle his belt.
I watch while I wait for my instructions.
“Pants down,” he says, and I barely hesitate.