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Robin.
I get up and walk out the door to find her sitting at her desk, eating a sandwich and scrolling through an Excel spreadsheet.
“Oh good,” I sigh with relief. “You managed to grab a bite.”
She looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “It’s gourmet,” she scoffs, taking another bite. “Want some?”
“Really?” I ask curiously. “Where’s it from?”
“Your cafeteria. They excel in stale lettuce.”
I chuckle and walk up to her. "Guess I'll have to speak with the cafeteria staff about their gourmet offerings."
“You do that, and while you’re at it, just let them know that hair bonnets aren’t quite out of fashion, will you?”
She found hair in her food? Unbelievable. I make a mental note to have the standards looked into.
She notices me frown. “Don’t worry, Boris. It’s not such a big deal.”
“Next time you’re hungry, just let me know. I’ll have your meals prepared.”
“What am I? The Queen of France?”
“Quit joking. I’m serious, Robin.”
She stares right at me, and for a brief second, the world stops still. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that she might be uncomfortable. There’s something about herthat makes me want to make sure she’s not in any form of inconvenience.
I want to make her life easier.
“I’ll do that,” she whispers.
That whisper. It’s the same voice she used in our private room when we made love.
There's a pause between us like a delicate dance, lingering on the edge of intimacy but not quite crossing over. The tension is palpable. I can sense that our feelings are morphing like an inkblot, and the colors seeping into our hearts are just beginning to blur the lines between us.
But this is business. This is my life, and I have to remain focused. My heart is pounding with emotion, but I don't let it show. She's just an employee, even if her presence is triggering a sea change inside me.
"Alright, Robin. Time to call it a night," I say, my voice a bit hoarse from the recent memories that threatened to surface.
“Wait,” she says, shaking her head like she’s also trying to kick out some thoughts as well. I wonder if these thoughts about me. “There’s something you need to see.”
“What is it?” I say, inching closer. I walk over to her desk and lean over her to look at her screen. By accident, my eyes cross the V of the dress she’s wearing, and the way her arms are scrunched together gives me more of a view than my brain can handle.
I feel it hit my cock.
Fuck.
I look up at the screen, and she flips her hair over one shoulder. That sweet jasmine smell from her shampoo goes straight to my head.
She’ll be the death of me.
Fortunately, she distracts me by pointing at an image. “You see this invoice?”
“Yeah,” I frown.
“Look at the company name used.”
I stare at it.
