Chapter Fifteen
Mia
Alfie and I return from the studio together. Today’s show was smooth sailing, albeit with some clickbait-worthy taglines to rouse viewers into watching the show a little longer. Alfie sighs as he drops his bag in the staff room.
“Do you have any more makeup remover? I ran out.”
“Yes, two seconds.”
I move around my desk, perching on the edge of my chair to reach my lower desk drawer. When I open it, I find a note on top of the pack of makeup wipes, and I whip my head round to see if Alfie is watching. A small flower sits on top of the note, and I twirl the stem between my fingers.
My heart flutters uncontrollably. The realization that Alfie had thought about our almost kiss last night fills me with a resolution to make sure it actually happens for real next time.
Even after the pizza delivery guy ruined the moment, we chilled out—or warmed up, I should say—put on a movie, and then he drove me home.
We didn’t talk much, but given that I’d spilled my childhood trauma on him, what was there to talk about?
God, I was a mess telling him, hot tears falling down my cheeks.
I don’t know if it was the cold water plunge that led me to spill my darkest secret, but I feel better for it.
I trust that Alfie understands the severity of what I told him and won’t act the same way Carter did after our lives exploded.
I pull out the note, unfolding the paper and flattening it out on the desk.
I hate being so close to you and not being able to touch you.
The words beat through me as my pulse picks up, shooting them around every inch of my body.
The words don’t sound like Alfie, but I won’t deny they hit the mark.
God, I want to touch him too. He’s so cautious, so protective of me.
I love that side of him, but I wish I knew how he felt, what he wants from me.
If this note is any indication, he wants me as much as I want him.
And the flower? The added touch lets me know it’s not just physical. He wants romance too, right?
“Mia?” he calls, and I slip the note under my keyboard, propping the flower up against my computer.
“Yep, coming, sorry.”
Time to put this theory to the test.
“Let me.” I saunter over with the makeup remover, uncapping the bottle and using a cotton pad to wipe his cheeks.
“It’ll be easier if you sit,” I murmur.
He does as I ask and sits on my office chair, his gaze lining up with my breasts, and I see him swallow thickly as he tilts his chin up. I take the wet cotton ball and wipe gently across his face. He closes his eyes, humming an approval as I push my fingers through his thick hair.
“Mia?”
“Yeah,” I whisper breathily. I desperately try to focus on the task at hand, but his lips are so close to mine.
They’re begging for me to kiss them. I could lean down right now, press mine against his, straddle him as I drag my fingers through his hair, tugging on the longer strands, taking control.
He groans. “Fuck, that feels so good, love.”
Love.
God, I almost whimper. I clench my thighs together. I can feel the dampness in my panties. I want him so bad, my body is weeping for him. I’m going to do it. I’m going to kiss him.
His phone vibrates on the desk, and his eyes snap open. My face is inches from his. He must have known, must have felt my breath against his lips. He knows what I want, and I can see it in his eyes. He wants it too.
Just kiss me, Alfie.
Please.
The phone continues to vibrate, and I hear him curse under his breath, breaking the moment between us by glancing at his phone.
I step back, capping the makeup remover bottle and placing the used cotton balls in the trash.
Some sick, twisted part of me almost wants to keep them along with the note and the flower he left me.
Small little mementos of our relationship that only make sense to us.
“Hey,” he says, frowning, glancing back at me over his shoulder. “Sure…uh-huh…okay, let me ask her.”
I turn to face him. “Lottie is now hosting the children’s therapy charity event on Saturday night. It was a little last minute as the venue they had canceled. Do you have plans? It would be good for networking. She has a table reserved, which has some empty spots.”
“I’m free,” I say excitedly. Usually this is only for qualified psychologists. I wish Lana were here so I could bring her too.
He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips as he turns away and confirms details with Lottie, repeating words like black tie, and the Mayor of Seattle.
It’s only then I realize I don’t have a dress to wear that would be suitable for meeting a mayor, or anyone important.
Finding a new outfit and moving into the house a few doors down from Alfie in the same week was going to be a tight squeeze with everything else.
But I was grateful that Alfie had managed to sort out the property for me so quickly.
It meant that Lana was only paying a week of extra rent unnecessarily.
And the house was fully furnished too, so I could move straight in.
I lift up the keyboard, pulling out the note again and running my fingers over the words.
“We’ll be there,” he says. “Bye, Lottie.”
“Lottie said she wants you to come over at some point. Something about a dress that would be perfect for you.”
Alfie
I knock on the door and hear shuffling inside with a couple of muffled curses. I try to contain my laughter, but the banging gets louder, and suddenly the door swings open.
Holy shit.
Mia wears a silky red floor-length dress.
The fabric dips low between her breasts; the silky material rippling over her body like liquid.
I step inside, not thinking, just moving.
I need to touch it, find out if it’s actually wet or not.
The deep burgundy color matches her lipstick, and all I can think is how good it would look smeared as she takes my cock deep in her—
No.
Taking things slowly.
But, fuck this dress should come with a warning.
“Mia…you’re breathtaking. Stunning, beautiful, I’m…I need to find more words, I’m not doing it justice.”
She smiles. “Want me to get you a thesaurus? Maybe this year’s Christmas present?”
I chuckle, reaching out to roll the fabric between my fingers and thumb. Definitely not wet. But what about her panties? With half-lidded eyes, she watches me take her in.
“Do me up?” she whispers.
I cough, mentally checking myself for trying to come up with any excuse to bail on this event tonight so I can strip her down right here and now.
But I know she wants to do this. The novelty of these kinds of events wears off eventually, but Mia was excited when we discussed it on Thursday.
And besides, the Dinner Club will be there too, making it a good opportunity to solidify her connections with them.
She turns around, the silk slightly catching as she does.
She lifts the fabric before dropping it, letting it ripple back down to the floor.
I pull up the tiny zipper so it reaches a third of the way up her back.
The rest of her smooth skin is exposed, the tiny straps reaching behind her neck in some kind of halter neck.
“You ready?” I ask, inhaling her trademark lavender perfume with a mix of mint.
“Yeah. Do I need anything?”
“Nope, we’re not staying over, so just your keys and your phone if you want it.”
◆◆◆
Mia works the room like a professional. She glides between politicians, professors, and other doctors like she’s been doing it her whole life.
The two glasses of champagne definitely loosened her up a bit, but it seems she’s been practicing her spiel because she’s clear about who she is and the fact that she’ll be getting her doctorate soon and will be looking for positions, all without seeming too keen, or coming across as asking for a job.
I’ve stayed close to her all evening, mostly because of the unapologetic way people are looking at her.
Not one person has resisted peeking at the low neckline of her dress.
With my hand on the small of her back, I make it clear to everyone she’s talking to—she’s mine. You can look, but don’t fucking touch.
“You know, there are always positions opening up in emergency care. You must have met Caleb Hart. He’s worked at Seattle General for years now.
You get a huge variety of patients, and mostly it’s assessing them and keeping them calm.
It’s an exhilarating field if you can handle the pace,” Dr. Lockwood says, leaning into Mia.
“And the shift work,” Mia adds, smiling.
The group laughs, and her lips stretch a little further as she glances at me. I give her a nod of approval, not that she needs it.
“Yes, the shift work can be particularly taxing,” Dr. Tanaka says. “Not like Dr. Adams here, you have some cushy office hours now, plus The Morning Show.”
There’s always a sense of competition in psychology, and in other fields, I presume.
Despite us understanding complex human behavior and trauma, there’s almost a need to prove that we’re working much harder than our colleagues.
The sense that one type of patient care is much easier than another.
In terms of physicality, absolutely, shift work in an emergency room is incredibly taxing and difficult.
But as he pointed out, they see the patients once and then refer them to a hospital for further treatment or to a psychologist like me.
I see patients for a few months or for years; it really depends on the person.
I have a fundamental understanding of their lives, I need to work out when they’re hiding something, or even outright lying.
That in itself is laborious and something Dr. Lockwood, Dr. Tanaka, and Caleb don’t experience in their jobs.
“Every role has its difficulties,” I say, shrugging.
“Some more than others,” he adds just to get the final word.