Page 71 of Lying to the Boss

“So, do I get dinner now?” I ask.

He laughs. “No,” he grumbles, getting to his feet and fixing his pants. He lifts me carefully and I wrap my legs around his waist. “I’m going to take you to the bedroom and fuck you until you come. Then you can have dinner.”

“Don’t hate that idea,” I say before kissing his neck… all the way up to the bedroom.

Epilogue

Lane

Two months later…

“This is the one,” Tage says as he looks up at the house.

“How do you know? We haven’t been inside yet.”

“I can just feel it.”

He takes my hand and pulls me through the gate and down the walkway that leads to a front porch with a hanging swing to the right. It looks like it may not hold our weight, the wood bowing in multiple spots. If he’s right, and this is going to be our future house, this will need to be redone. There’s no issue of money of course, I’m just trying to make a mental list. Because if the outside is any indication, a lot of the inside will need upgrades too.

We knock on the door, and it’s pulled open a moment later by a woman who must be in her eighties at least.

“Hi, you must be Mrs. Merle?” Tage says with a smile.

“That’s me,” she says.

A man who looks just like her, but roughly in his fifties, comes up behind her.

“I’m Harold, her son. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, of course.”

We all shake hands and they let us inside. Mrs. Merle offers us lemonade, but we decline. Tage is just excited about seeing the house.

We saw the For Sale sign in the front yard when we were driving around the neighborhood the other day. We called the number and set up a time to see the house. I have cash, ready to buy whichever house Tage says is the one he wants. Of course, I couldn’t get away with buying the house and him doing nothing though. He’s insisted on paying the rest of the bills. Gas. Electric. Water. Whatever else he decides.

There’s no point in arguing with him. He only gets upset. So, I agreed, because if that’s what makes him feel better, it’s fine with me.

He’s still my assistant too, despite everyone assuming I would hire someone else once our relationship became serious. If anything, we work better together now. Business has never been better, and I’ve learned there’s no one I trust more to keep me—and the company—on track.

I don’t hate the house, not at all. But as a businessman, I’m wondering if this is a good investment. Not sure it matters, because what Tage wants, Tage gets.

The Merles don’t stop talking while they show us around.

Mrs. Merle has recently been diagnosed with Dementia and is going to live with her son about an hour away. He’s come down to help her sell the house and pack things, but they’re hoping to be out as soon as possible because he needs to get back home to go back to work.

She tries to tell us stories about the house, but the son keeps rolling his eyes and correcting her, whispering to us that her mind is going. I don’t see anything wrong with her telling stories. What does it matter to us if they’re accurate?

Regardless, they’re both very kind and Tage has a smile on his face the entire time. I know he hasn’t changed his mind.

The farmhouse-style home is spacious, with plenty of rooms and a big backyard.

There isn’t a pool—yet. We can build one. There is plenty of space.

The house has two main floors, an unfinished basement and attic. It takes Mrs. Merle a bit to walk up the stairs to the second floor, especially because she insists on doing them herself and not letting her son help.

“My mother gave birth to me in this room right here,” she says, pointing to the room directly to the left.

“I told you not to tell people that,” the son complains.