The days Whit is in the office, he arrives before I do and leaves after I’m gone. According to his expense reports, he orders a lot of dinners to his desk. His calendar is jam-packed with meetings, in-house and remote, and one afternoon a week is blocked out for some NGO he’s on the board of. When he’s not in the building, he’s jetting between the European operations in Paris, Brussels, and Zurich. And then there are the requests for interviews from financial publications and the more tabloid ones. I’ve gone months ahead and back in his calendar driven by my curiosity and can see the vacations he occasionally takes are still of an extreme nature. Snowboarding in Verbier winter past. Free climbing in Greece coming up in the fall.
I’m beginning to wonder when I’ll get to seduce him, given the pace of his life.
“This was my mother’s vase,” Doreen murmurs absently, bringing me out of my dissatisfied musings.
“Varse,” I mouth the word silently, exaggerating the movement by dropping my chin when she looks up and catches me.
“I hope you’re not pulling faces like that at work.”
“Only when his door is closed.” Which isn’t very often, as it seems Whit likes me to be within bellowing distance.
“Your boss still being a pain?” she asks, not without sympathy.
“Eh.” I shrug. “Nothing I can’t handle.” I’ve had terrible bosses before, and a terrible boss he is not. He’s a little cranky, but who knows whether it’s because he’s stuck with me or because he thinks he needs to resist me? All I know is, one minute, I feel like he’s looking at me like he said he would, like he’s replayingmy interview, and the next, he’s stomping around the place looking madder than a wet hen. I can’t stop thinking about the daddy version of him. Daddy Whit makes me feel all…ooh-hoo-hoo.Hot and kind of shivery and I know there’s no one on this earth I’d be more comfortable exploring this side of me.
“Are you cold? Do you need a cardi?”
I jolt back to myself and give a quick shake of my head.
“I have some of that cannabis oil if you want to slip some into his tea.”
“No!” Gosh, Aunt Doreen is a trip.
“It might mellow him out,” she reasons.
“He’s really not that bad.” And I’m not sure I want him mellow. Whit has been the object of my fantasies since before I knew what a fantasy was. Twelve-year-old me just knew he was the best man on earth. I’d assumed that when I grew up, we’d get married. After all, he treated me much better than my brother did. Of course, Connor was just trying to get me out of the house so they could have their wicked way with their harem of women.
But that’s fine. Women have always been drawn to Whit like hummingbirds to a fire bush. I remember when Connor and Whit would take me to the mall for ice cream, usually at Whit’s insistence. The looks he’d draw from women of all ages—some of them old enough to be his mom! The year I turned fourteen, I suddenly became very popular at school when Whit visited, but it was the girls his own age who annoyed me most. He was my fairy-tale prince, but I had to share him. He hadsucha way and an innate magnetism. And the girls who hung around the pool in the summer, the ones that led him into the pool house by the hand? Well, I’d decided back then that they were just placeholders until I got boobs. At that age, boobs seemed to be the pinnacle of adulthood. The other thing I learned about boobs was that, like watched pots, they take their time.
As for how he treats me now, it’s worth noting that people only treat you with as much (or as little) respect as you’ll allow. While Whit’s moods might be mercurial, he hasn’t once disrespected me, not even during my clumsy attempts at seduction. That’s just not him.
“You can always look for something else. No point staying in a job that makes you miserable. Life is too short.” Her hands suddenly still on the vase. “I’m sorry, love,” she says, her mouth turning down. “You don’t need me to tell you that, do you? Not after all you’ve been through.”
I send her a bright smile and shake off her concerns. I won’t feel sorry for myself. “What are you taking the oil for, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“My dodgy hip. Just when it’s acting up.”
“Well, I don’t think he needs it.” I’m sure his hips work just fine. In fact, I’m counting on it. I find myself smiling as I trace my finger over an old scar on the tabletop. Whit’s temper is fleeting, and I keep expecting him to burst out of his shirt like the Incredible Hulk. A girl can hope.“I kind of like him the way he is.” It’s a new side to him, and I kind of like it on him. I think a lot of the time I might goad him to it because while I’ve had crankier bosses, I’ve never had one I wanted to bend me over his desk in punishment.
“Oh-oh.”
My smile shrinks as I glance up.
“You like him. Your boss. Youlikelike him.” It’s not an observation. More like an accusation.
“No. I told you, he was Connor’s friend. We have a history.” It’s not as torrid as I’d like it, but I live in hope. “But if I did like him…” Urgh, this is crazy. I cannot confide in my elderly relation. This wouldn’t be happening if I’d stood up to my parents. I should be living in semi-squalor with girls my own age! But then again, Doreen does haveyearsof experience…
“But if you did like him like that?” Doreen hesitantly repeats.
“What would I do about it?” Not in a fatalistic, woe-is-me way. More like give me a hint, naughty Doreen. Show me your temptress ways!
“Well, if you did,” she says, looking at me over the top of her pink-framed spectacles, “I’d suggest you write down all the things you want to happen between you and him. What you’d like to do to him and what you’d like him to do to you.”
“Yes?” Better buy a new notepad because it sounds like I’m making a list. A long list!
“Jot it all down. Get all the dirty details down on the paper.”
“And then?” How do we action this plan?
