Chapter Eight #2
“—and you clearly like him. Which leaves only one vital question.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Is he hot?”
“He’s my boss! What he looks like is irrelevant.” I shifted my attention to the dress, brushing away an imaginary piece of lint. My traitorous cheeks were warming again.
Wren’s laugh came out as something closer to a cackle. “Oh my God. He is hot, isn’t he?”
I didn’t want to admit it—not even to her—because I knew it was dangerous to acknowledge my attraction to Simon out loud. I couldn’t control my thoughts, but voicing them made everything feel more real. More reckless.
But Wren didn’t need my confession. She could read me like a book.
“I almost wish I was going to this gala,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I’d love to see you on a date with your rich boss.”
“It’s not a date,” I countered quickly. “It’s a work event.”
Still wearing the gorgeous dress, I walked over to the chaise lounge where the associate was arranging an array of black heels for me to try on—some pointed, others rounded or square-toed, with heels ranging from sensible to dangerously tall.
I’d be on my feet most of the evening, socializing at Simon’s side, so I reached for a pair with a more modest heel.
“Fine, not a date,” Wren conceded, settling into a plush chair nearby. “But hear me out. What if you pretended it was?”
I side-eyed my friend. “What does that even mean?”
“Have some fun, Raina. Hot guy. Fancy party. Expensive champagne. Take advantage of it. And him.” Her smile turned wicked. “Maybe even end the night in a way that helps release some of that tension you’ve been carrying around.”
My eyes widened. “Are you telling me to get laid?”
“Specifically, I’m telling you to shag your hot boss,” she said unapologetically.
I stared at her incredulously. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Not at all. I just think your dry spell has reached tragic proportions.”
“It hasn’t been that long.” I latched on to that point rather than engaging with the absurd suggestion of sleeping with my boss.
“Ahh, she protests too much,” Wren said dramatically. “I know it’s been a while. Since Eli, right?”
I shot her a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. She was right, of course. About the dry spell and about Eli. Not about shagging Simon. That would be insane.
Wren raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll mind my own business.” She paused, then added, “Just keep in mind that orgasms are good for your mental health.”
A startled laugh escaped me. The associate had just returned with another pair of shoes, and she let out a small snicker at Wren’s words before hastily setting down the box and retreating.
“I think you scandalized her,” I said, trying on my second pair. The first had pinched my toes—absolutely not an option for an entire evening on my feet.
“I’m just stating facts. Orgasms relieve stress.”
“So does yoga.”
“You can incorporate yoga if you want.” Wren’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Position your feet behind your head, or get into a downward dog, and I bet Mr. Bossman will help you achieve real enlightenment.”
The associate had returned again—truly terrible timing—but she managed a smile as she met my eyes.
“How are we doing, ladies?” she asked us. “Can I bring more champagne?”
“No, thank you,” I said, standing to test the second pair. The heel was reasonable, with a padded insole that made them almost comfortable. Black leather with a peep toe—they complemented the gown beautifully.
I turned to check the mirror and felt a rush of excitement. I looked elegant. Sophisticated. Like someone who belonged at a glamorous gala.
I once again had the urge to ask about the cost of everything, but forced myself to hold back. If Simon was willing to pay whatever was necessary to outfit me properly, who was I to argue?
Wren gave her stamp of approval, and I headed back to the dressing room to change into my own far less impressive clothing. Not long after, we walked out of the boutique. I carried a garment bag, Wren had the shoes, and Simon, well, he was down a couple grand.
“Mission accomplished,” Wren declared cheerfully. “Should we grab dinner?”
“Please. I’m starving.” I gestured down the street. “There’s a sushi place a few blocks from here. One of those spots with a conveyor belt where you grab whatever looks good. Eli and I used to go there.”
“Sounds perfect. Let’s walk.”
We placed the gown and shoes carefully in my car parked at the curb, and I triple-checked the locks. The last thing I needed was someone stealing what Simon had just bought me.
“Speaking of Eli,” I said as we started toward the restaurant, “I talked to him a few days ago. He’s moving back to New York.”
Eli was my ex who’d moved to Detroit two years ago for a job opportunity too good to refuse.
We’d been dating for a while, even lived together, but I hadn’t been willing to leave New York and neither of us wanted a long-distance relationship.
So we’d ended things, and for a long time afterward, the loss had felt devastating.
I’d loved him. I’d imagined a future with him.
I couldn’t even maintain a friendship at first, it hurt too much.
But the heartache had ebbed with time. Now, we kept in casual touch with occasional texts and friendly interactions on social media.
When he’d called to tell me he was coming back, it was the first time I’d heard his voice in two years.
The sound used to make my heart race. This time, I’d felt only warmth and a distant fondness.
Wren’s eyebrow arched. “You found this out days ago and you’re just now mentioning it? Isn’t that huge?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “I’m over him.”
She looked unconvinced, which wasn’t unusual given Wren’s profession. She might as well have a degree in skepticism. “I know that’s what you’ve said, but… I always thought you might be saving face. You were so devastated when he left.”
“I was,” I agreed. “But time passed, and I’m genuinely okay now.” I considered my next words carefully. “I’ve also realized that if I’d truly loved him enough to spend my life with him, I would have moved. I love New York, but shouldn’t I have loved him more?”
“Maybe.”
We walked in silence for a moment, navigating the crowded sidewalk.
Traffic clogged the street beside us, exhaust fumes thick in the warm air.
I didn’t mind any of it. New York pulsed with life and I thrived on that energy.
I never wanted to live anywhere else, not even when I’d struggled to find work, not even when Eli left.
“So…” Wren’s voice turned playful, breaking the contemplative silence. “If you’re truly over Eli, that means there’s room in your heart for your hot boss.”
I laughed, looping my arm through hers. “You never give up, do you?”
“And you love that about me.”
“I do.” I shook my head, still smiling. “But you’re barking up the wrong tree here. Simon and I are never going to happen.”
She was right about one thing, though. I did like him, far more than I should, terrible idea or not.
And sometimes, I even wondered what it would be like if things were different.
If Simon and I had met somewhere else, under different circumstances.
At a coffee shop, maybe, or a friend’s party.
Somewhere he wasn’t signing my paychecks and I wasn’t his employee.
Would he still be so guarded? Would I still catch those fleeting glimpses of heat in his eyes, or would he actually act on them?
The thought made my chest ache with a longing I had no business feeling.
But reality was reality. Simon was my boss, and I needed this job far too much to risk it on a fantasy. Whatever attraction simmered between us—if it even existed outside my own imagination—would have to stay buried.
Some doors were better left closed, no matter how badly you wanted to see what was on the other side.