Chapter 17 Margot
Margot
Few things are more awkward than standing there with a forced smile while your coworkers crowd around a sheet cake and sing an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
Well, one thing is more awkward: obsessing about a kiss with your boss after he’s probably forgotten all about it.
And that’s not all he’s forgotten.
Ethan has seemingly spaced on my birthday.
There was no card on my desk from him this morning when I arrived at the office.
No gift card to the coffee shop on the corner, his typical go-to for employees.
Not even a quick birthday wish as he passed my desk.
Just a casual ‘good morning’ uttered beneath his breath with his phone pressed to his ear.
At first, it was kind of funny. Ethan remembered my birthday just fine earlier this week.
It falls on a Saturday this year, making today my unofficial work birthday.
But as the day drags on, his lack of attention to the matter is starting to feel less like an oversight and more like a jab.
Maybe if I weren’t in the middle of a full-blown pity party over spending my birthday alone this year, Ethan’s lapse in memory wouldn’t feel like such a big deal.
I’ve had the same birthday tradition ever since I was a kid. It started on my fifth birthday with a bad morning, a burnt cake, and one of my mother’s most epic breakdowns. Perfectionism may have run in her veins, but it didn’t stand a chance against the six kids running through her house.
With my mom in tears and my grandma on the way over to help, my dad asked if I wanted to escape for a while.
We ended up at Enchanted Kingdom, a small fantasy-themed amusement park twenty minutes from our house.
By the end of the afternoon, high off churros and adrenaline, I begged my dad to come back next year. Thus, a birthday tradition was born.
Every year after, we spent my birthday at an amusement park. It was just me and my dad most of the time, but occasionally one of my siblings would tag along.
When I moved to Boulder for college and met Jeremy, he took over. We went to small, local parks most years, but he planned a special trip to Disneyland for my twenty-first.
We were planning to go to Summit Springs Adventure Park just outside of Denver this year, but I obviously won’t be going anywhere with my cheating ex. With Emma out of town, I’m left with two options: go alone or break tradition. I’m leaning towards the latter.
“Blow, Margot!” a voice says, dragging me back to the present.
Two dozen pairs of eyes are on me, making me wince and wither at the unwanted attention.
“Make a wish!” someone else yells.
Oh, right… the birthday cake. Pulling my hair back with one hand, I lean forward and blow out the candles while making the most inappropriate wish imaginable: Another kiss from Ethan. Just one more. That’s all I need.
Sure, I’m mad at him right now, but a kiss might help me forget that.
After thanking everyone, I grab two plates of cake and make a hasty escape back to the tenth floor, where I aggressively plop a plate down on Ethan’s desk. He creases his brow, glancing at the piece of cake then up at me. A frown begins to form on his lips.
Finally. The only person in this entire building who I actually count as a friend has finally remembered my birthday. And it’s only—I glance at the clock on Ethan’s computer—2:58 in the afternoon.
I brace myself to graciously accept his birthday wishes, along with his sincerest apologies.
“Is this from the Save-Away?” Ethan asks, casting a disapproving look at the slice of chocolate cake.
“I don’t know,” I grit out, narrowing my eyes at him.
He shakes his head. “Why do people in this office insist on buying cakes from the grocery store when there’s an amazing family-owned bakery right down the street?”
Unbelievable.
A smile no one would ever mistake as friendly flashes across my face. My voice drips with syrupy sweet venom when I ask him, “Would you like me to throw it out for you?”
I’m not the sort of assistant that fetches Ethan’s coffee or lunch or dry cleaning for him. I’m also not the sort of assistant that cleans up after him. Perhaps I can use that as an excuse when I “accidentally” miss the garbage can and drop this slice of cake right on top of Ethan’s head.
He can’t fire me on my birthday. Of course, that hinges on him actually remembering that it’s my fucking birthday in the first place.
“No, just leave it,” Ethan says casually. “I might have a few bites.”
“Great,” I snap.
“Everything okay?” he asks, but I’m already marching out of his office, ignoring whatever he’s saying. If it’s not “happy birthday,” I don’t want to hear it.
***
The next morning, a knock on my apartment door drags me away from a nice little dream I was having about a brutish alien horde.
I was their princess, and the continued existence of both our species relied on them impregnating me with a cute little half-alien baby.
They were just about to carry me off to their luxurious mating den when…
A second knock has me throwing back the covers, reaching for my glasses, and padding my way down the hall in a groggy haze. A third knock thins my patience.
“I’m coming,” I holler at the door, voice raspy with sleep.
No one should be knocking on my door this early on a Saturday morning, especially on my birthday. If I’m breaking tradition and spending the day alone, the least I could ask for is some extra sleep.
Throwing the door open with a bit too much force, I find Ethan standing there. A gust of chilly morning air hits my skin, making my nipples pebble and strain against the thin tank top I’m wearing. My exposed thighs break into goosebumps under the short hem of my cotton sleep shorts.
“Ethan? What are you doing here” I ask.
Part of me is still annoyed with him about yesterday.
Another part wonders if I’m still dreaming.
After all, my taste in literature has recently transitioned from big, blue aliens to sexy, stern bosses.
Exhibit A: the paperback copy of Boss’s Orders sitting on the nearby chair.
If the title doesn’t make the book’s theme clear, the riding crop on the cover certainly does.
“Celebrating your birthday with you,” he replies, as if that’s obvious somehow. “Can I come in?”
Between the events that transpired yesterday, the current situation with my nipples, and the embarrassing book just waiting to be discovered, I should probably just close the door and go back to bed.
But I can’t stop the smile that’s forming at the corners of my mouth or the spark of warmth in my chest, so I pull the door open a little wider and let Ethan inside my apartment.
Of course, I also do my very best to keep my body firmly planted between my boss and that stupid book, even if it means putting my scarcely covered nipples directly in his line of sight.
Presumably, Ethan is already aware that I have nipples.
But there is absolutely no need for him to know that I also have a newfound appreciation for smutty books about sexy bosses.
“I brought your three favorite things,” Ethan announces.
His eyes stay firmly planted on my face.
It’s both a relief and an insult. Meanwhile, my nipples stay pointed in his direction long after the morning chill dissipates from the room.
There’s nothing I can do to cover them that wouldn’t just draw more attention to the situation.
“Coffee,” Ethan says, passing me an iced coffee from my favorite place. I take a tiny sip, letting the hazelnut syrup wash away the last traces of sleep. Next, Ethan hands me a pink envelope with my name written on it. “And this.”
The card is nice, but what’s inside of it nearly sends me into cardiac arrest.
“Th-this is too much,” I stammer, gaping at the thousand-dollar gift card to a local bookstore. No wonder he didn’t want to give this to me at work yesterday.
“No, it’s not,” Ethan says with ease.
When I glance up at him, I realize how close we’re standing.
My eyes catch on his soft, full lips—the ones that were pressed against mine a week ago.
Not that I’ve been counting the days since I kissed my boss.
Nope, I definitely have no idea that it’s been exactly seven days and roughly ten hours since my lips last touched Ethan North’s.
And it will be approximately… oh, I don’t know…
eternity or so until they ever touch again.
Ethan has made that quite clear. And while I agree that making out with my boss is generally inadvisable, certain parts of my anatomy are not on the same page.
Standing there fighting off the aching in my wayward loins, I realize that I’m staring up at Ethan exactly like someone who is thinking about their wayward loins.
Which is… not great.
In return, Ethan is giving me a rather quizzical look, like he’s concerned that I’m having a series of small strokes.
Super.
“What else did you bring?” I blurt out, attempting to ease the lopsided tension in the room.
Ethan’s brow furrows.
“You said you brought my three favorite things,” I clarify.
Way to be greedy, Margot. The man just handed you a thousand-dollar gift card to your favorite store and now you’re asking what else he brought you?
A soft laugh rises from Ethan’s chest. “Oh, the third thing is me. I’m your favorite.”
Yes, accurate.
Aside from Emma, Ethan North has quickly become one of my very favorite people. Maybe he always has been. But instead of admitting this out loud, I click my tongue and contort my face with skepticism. “I was sort of hoping for a cat.”
“I’m better than a cat,” Ethan replies confidently.
A doubtful hum emerges from my throat because I am wholly incapable of processing any emotion without a hefty dose of sarcasm. Luckily, Ethan seems to know this about me. So, when I cross my arms and cock an eyebrow at him, he simply looks amused. “Better than a cat? Are you sure about that?”
“Of course. Cats get fur everywhere, and they certainly can’t afford to spoil you with extravagant gift cards like I can.”
“Fair point,” I concede.
It takes a considerable amount of effort to stop myself from pulling out my phone and seeing what time the bookstore opens.
Admittedly, I’ve been a little bummed that I’ll be forgoing my annual amusement park trip for the first time in two decades, but blowing a thousand dollars on books will probably help me get over it.
Ethan takes a sip from the steaming coffee cup in his hand. Dark roast with a splash of milk, I assume. Even if I’m not responsible for fetching Ethan’s coffee, I’ve walked to the corner café with him enough times to have his order memorized.
The only thing that’s new is the way I can’t seem to look away from his lips as the plastic lid presses against them.
Or his tongue when it darts out ever so slightly to lick the seam of his mouth afterwards.
Or his long fingers wrapped around the paper cup, prompting me to wonder what they might look like wrapped around my thighs.
I audibly gulp then choke on my own saliva.
While I’m sputtering, coughing, and turning red out of embarrassment more than asphyxiation, Ethan slaps me on the back and chuckles gently. “You okay there?”
“Yep,” I rasp.
“Are you going to go get dressed or would you prefer to stand here and stare at me all day? Personally, I’m good either way,” he says, flashing a charming smile.
Wonderful. He noticed that I’m staring.
“I wasn’t… I mean, you have something on your face,” I stammer.
Before I can think better of it, I’m taking a step forward, licking my finger, and rubbing saliva all over Ethan’s perfectly clean cheek.
I don’t know why. All I know is that I can’t stop now.
I’m like a monkey at the zoo, relentlessly grooming my companion monkey while he scrambles to escape.
Given that I just woke up and didn’t have a chance to brush my teeth yet, my breath is probably also similar to that of a monkey at the zoo.
If Ethan is anything but amused by this strange display, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he simply smirks and says, “Margot, go get dressed.”
For the first time since he arrived, Ethan’s eyes dip lower than my face.
Suddenly, I’m painfully aware that I am not only smearing my questionable morning breath saliva on my boss’s perfectly carved cheek, but I’m also grazing his chest with my very erect nipples, which are barely contained by a thin layer of fabric.
I take a step backwards, regretting everything.
“What am I getting dressed for?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“For Summit Springs.”
“Wait. Seriously? You’re coming with me?!?”
I bounce slightly on my heels, a huge mistake for someone wearing a flimsy spaghetti strap pajama top. It draws Ethan’s attention back to my chest and earns the quietest of groans from deep in his throat.
“Yes, but Margot… I really need you to go put on a bra now.”
Ethan says it like he’s teasing, but the heat in his eyes and tight set of his jaw tell another story.
I should feel embarrassed by his request, but instead I feel a tiny thrill rush through my veins.
Because for the first time, it’s clear that I’m not the only one trying to work out some confusing feelings after that kiss.