Chapter 8
EIGHT
I’m at my desk, proofreading documents, when my phone lights up with Annie’s name. I frown. Annie never calls me at work.
“Hey,” I say as I pick up.
The sound of beeping monitors and distant voices fills the line.
“Hi.” Her voice wobbles. “Sorry. I know you’re working.”
I sit up a little straighter. “What’s wrong?”
For a second, all I hear is the noise of the ER. Then she lets out a small, strangled sob, and my stomach drops. “Annie?”
“I’m okay,” she says quickly, sounding anything but okay. “I’m just—I’m having a really shitty day.”
“What happened?”
Another pause.
“We had a virus patient come in yesterday.” Her voice shakes. “They tried to bring the fever down while they searched for her match, but she couldn’t remember touching anyone in the last few days, so they didn’t have much to go on.” She draws a breath. “She died, Car.”
I go still. “What?”
“She fucking died.”
“But I thought—” My grip tightens around the phone. “I thought it took weeks.”
“So did I.” Annie sniffles. “I talked to Dr. Shaw. Your Dr. Shaw. She said this is how the disease progresses.” Her voice sharpens, anger cutting through the tears. “Apparently, they’ve known for a while how deadly it is.”
A chill crawls down my spine. I lean back in my chair. “Fuck.”
“I’ve been making jokes about this virus,” Annie says, her voice breaking again. “While people were dying from it.”
“Annie—”
“You could die.”
The words settle heavily between us.
My mouth goes dry.
“I’m not going to die,” I finally say, forcing confidence into my voice. “I know who my match is.”
Annie is quiet for a moment.
“What if he’s not there when it happens?” she asks. “What if he’s on a business trip, or in a meeting, or—or what if he just can’t get to you in time?”
“That’s not going to happen,” I say, but the words don’t come out as solid as I want them to. “We have it under control.”
After we hang up, I stare at the blank monitor in front of me. What the fuck. I run a hand through my hair, not even caring if I mess it up. A movement to my right pulls me out of my spiral. Mr. Bennett is standing in the doorway, watching me.
“What was that about?”
My first instinct is to wave it off, to spare him the information I was just given. But then I meet his eyes, and it hits me. He’s also trapped in this damn mess. He deserves to know.
“My roommate called. She’s an RN at the hospital. They just lost a patient to the virus.”
He drags a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, you can say that.”
“How long was she sick for?”
“She—” I start, nausea rolling through my stomach. “She came in yesterday.”
Mr. Bennett stares at me. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks rattled. Well and truly rattled. When he finally speaks, the words come out strained. “We can’t wait for the fever anymore. We can’t risk it.”
I blink at him. He continues. “How long was it before the fever came back last time? Four days? Five?”
“Four.”
We look at each other. No one says a word. We both know what this means. It’s Thursday today, and the last time we were at the hospital was Friday.
“Should I call Dr. Shaw?”
I shudder as flashbacks of her sitting outside the door, listening to me moan, wash over me. “Do we have to go there? I can’t… focus with her right outside.”
Mr. Bennett bites the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he lets out a long exhale, steps back into his office, and gestures for me to come inside.
Yeah, this is not going to end well.
“So, how do we do this?”
Mr. Bennett locks the door behind us. The click sounds unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet office.
“The desk.”
I walk over to it on shaky legs, but before I can climb up, I turn back to him. “Mr. Bennett, are you sure—”
“Andrew,” he interrupts. “We’ve been over this.”
“Andrew,” I correct myself, then try again. “Are you sure about this? Doing it here? At work?”
He takes a measured breath. “If we have to do this regularly, this is the most practical solution.”
He has a point. I tell him as much.
“So I guess we’re on a schedule now?” I say.
“Seems like it.” His brow furrows. “I wonder why your fever isn’t back yet. It’s been almost a week.”
I shrug. “Maybe it’s like periods. You can estimate, but it’s not exact.” Then a thought occurs to me. “Or maybe it’s because I kissed Josh the other night.”
His head snaps up. “You what?”
“What if it messed with my hormones or something?” Even as I say it, I know how ridiculous it sounds. That kiss hadn’t exactly set my world on fire. I’d left Josh’s apartment less turned on than when I’d walked in. Dry as a desert, I tell you. Crickets. Tumbleweed.
I wrinkle my nose. “Actually, never mind. Probably not.”
Something flashes across Andrew’s face. I can’t quite place it, but he does not look pleased. Is it the HR policy thing again? I should have kept my mouth shut.
I take a seat on the desk. “Should we maybe get started? You have a meeting in an hour.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
One of his eyebrows lifts.
“I didn’t mean this would take an hour,” I say quickly. “I just meant you might want some time afterward, and—”
His lips twitch. “Right.” He steps forward until he’s standing between my legs. Then he lowers his voice. “I need access.”
My body reacts immediately.
I undo my fly. He starts to reach into my pants, then stops.
“They’re too tight,” he says. “I don’t have enough room.”
“Do you want me to take them off?” I wish I could say my voice is steady when I ask, but that would be a lie.
“Yes.”
I start inching my jeans down, but Andrew doesn’t step back to give me room. Instead, he takes over.
“Lift for me.”
I obey, and he slides my jeans the rest of the way down my legs before setting them aside.
I can barely breathe.
He catches my gaze and holds it. Then he places his hand between my legs and cups me through my panties.
There’s something different about him this time.
I am definitely not complaining.
He strokes me slowly, deliberately, as if he’s testing every reaction. A quiet sigh slips out of me, and my eyes close for half a second. His other hand finds the outside of my thigh, then travels upward, slipping beneath my shirt before settling against my ribs.
He leans in until his mouth is close to my ear.
“Same as last time?”
I nod.
His hand leaves my side to undo the buttons of my shirt. It falls open, exposing my black lace bra. His gaze drops briefly. “Matching set?”
They’re not actually matching.
They’re just the same color.
“I’m guessing Josh is getting lucky tonight.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. “He wishes.”
Something shifts in his expression again. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
Andrew slips his hand beneath my bra and finds my nipple. I push the cup up and out of the way, giving him better access. His breath catches. Just barely, but I hear it.
He takes my breast in his hand and brushes his thumb over the peak, sending a sharp little spark through me. At the same time, his other hand moves my panties aside. He drags his finger through the evidence of exactly how affected I am, then pushes inside.
I grip the edge of the desk as he starts to move.
After a minute, he adds another finger, and I gasp. His thumb finds my clit, applying just enough pressure to make my thoughts scatter. I’m getting close, but I need more.
Always, always more.
“Andrew,” I say, and it comes out embarrassingly close to a whine. “I need—”
The words stick in my throat.
His eyes lift to mine. “What do you need?”
More. Just more.
“I don’t know,” I breathe.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says, his voice low. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
Then he leans in and puts his mouth on my nipple, and every thought I have goes white at the edges. His mouth is hot, his tongue deliberate, and his hand between my legs doesn’t slow.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper.
I want him closer. I want him everywhere. I want things I absolutely cannot say out loud.
I bite down on my bottom lip.
Then I come.
Neither of us moves.
I’m still sitting on his desk, breathing like I just ran a marathon, my bra shoved up, my underwear twisted, and one sensible heel dangling from my foot.
Mr. Bennett is standing between my knees, one hand braced on the desk beside my thigh. His head is slightly lowered, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.
He steps back first.
Right. Yes. Excellent idea.
I pull my bra back into place and start trying to make myself look like a normal office worker again, which is hard to do when you’ve just had an orgasm on your boss’s desk.
Mr. Bennett walks over to the small cabinet by the wall. I watch him pull out a box of tissues, which he places beside me without comment.
I take one and try to fix my makeup using the reflection in the black screen of his computer. Once I’m done, I turn to him.
“Do I look normal?” I ask.
He looks at me.
“No.”
Great.
“Can you maybe lie?”
He ignores me and picks up his suit jacket from the back of his chair, shrugging it on like nothing happened. Like he wasn’t just standing between my legs with his mouth on my breast.
All business again.
He walks over to the office door and checks the lock.
Still locked. Thank God.
Imagine if Martha from HR had opened the door and found me half-naked on the CEO’s desk.
That thought is enough to make reality settle back in. Because this wasn’t like the hospital. There was no fever making everything immediate. No Dr. Shaw outside the door. No clinical room. No medical distance.
Just his office.
His desk.
Us.
And our new schedule.
“So,” I say after a few seconds of silence. “Do we put this in the calendar?”
His eyes narrow.
“I’m kidding.”
“No,” he says, voice firm. “Nothing in writing.”
I nod. “Probably shouldn’t send a meeting invite titled ‘RHV treatment with CEO.’”
He opens the door.
“I’ll block time if needed. Without details.”