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“I need a stiff drink to handle the inevitable nagging that seems to accompany any conversation with you,” he replies. I smile to myself. I do actually have some nagging in store, it’s true.
I reach the bar just after five. The place is dark and cozy—chestnut paneled walls and wood floors, charcoal velvet chairs, low lighting. I’d think it was romantic if I was meeting someone else.
He watches me as I approach, eyes brushing over me from head to toe like I’m something to eat.
“I got you a gin and tonic,” he says.
I sling my purse over the back of the chair and take a seat. “I’m driving.”
“You appear to be sitting, actually,” he says, his eyes flickering over me once again, “and I didn’t order you a hundred gin and tonics.”
“Maybe I have a date tonight,” I say, though in truth, all I’ve got scheduled for the whole evening is a bowl of cereal and a phone call to my mom. “I know it’s shocking, but I do have some small life outside of serving your every need.”
His tongue taps his lip. “I wouldn’t say you serve every one of my needs,” he counters, his voice low and filthy. I squirm in my seat. “And you don’t have a date because you’re still mooning over Farm Boy.”
“I’m not mooning over anyone,” I argue, squeezing the wedge of lime into my drink. “I’m just licking my wounds, and please don’t make some gross joke about letting someone else lick my wounds…I know that’s where you were headed.”
He sets his drink down. “As a doctor, I doubt I’d suggest either option. But it’s time for your self-pity to stop. Let me make you a Tinder profile.”
He snatches up my phone and I snatch it back. “I can make my own profile, thank you very much. Anything you did would probably reference how many working holes I have.”
His teeth sink into his lip as he tries not to laugh. I picture them sinking into my skin instead and feel goose bumps rise along the back of my arms.
“Okay, well, let me help,” he says. “How about ‘Argumentative redhead seeks—'”
“I’m not a redhead.”
He shakes his head. “Brown is too plain and I can’t believe you’re already arguing with me. As I was saying, ‘Argumentative redhead seeks extremely handsome male to nag. I have three working holes.’”
I smile against my will. “Thanks, that’s perfect. I’ll definitely find Mr. Right with that.”
“I can tell you’re going to be tedious about this. Fine.” He looks over one shoulder and then the other, surveying the room. “Then who here do you find attractive? Aside from me, of course. Obviously, in a perfect world, I’d be your first choice.”
“Obviously,” I say, my lips humming along the lip of my glass. “It’s so hard to find a man who will buy me drinks, fuck me and never call again.”
His gaze sharpens, grows feral. “God, what a filthy little mouth you have,” he says. His voice is pure gravel, and I feel a hard kick of want in my stomach. Or maybe that kick was a little lower if I’m going to be honest.
I imagine hearing him say that while braced over me, flushed and desperate. Or pushing me to my knees with his hands in my hair.
Which is not something I should be picturing about my boss.
My voice is embarrassingly breathless as I change the subject to the schedule. “You’re already booking into July,” I tell him. “I thought you might want some time off.”
He raises a brow. “This again?”
I take a very long sip of my gin and tonic. “Yes. This again. Which reminds me...”
I pull my laptop from my bag and open the calendar, which I then turn toward him. The blank spot on Friday is as glaring as a neon sign. It seemed like a good idea at the time and seems like less of one now that I’m telling him about it. My ideas are often like that.
“You sort of agreed to take some time off.” I sound like a child explaining a lie to an unforgiving parent.
“I said I’d think about it, Tali. That doesn’t mean I agreed.” His eyes are stormy. “You should have asked me first.”
“You’d have said no, so that wouldn’t have been effective.” I smile. He does not smile back. “One Friday, Hayes. Just one.”
He takes a heavy sip off his drink, sneering even as he does so. “What the hell am I going to do on a Friday?”
I look at him blankly. Yes, I’d anticipated an argument about taking the day off, but I didn’t think I’d have to explain the concept of leisure time to him. In the four weeks I’ve worked for him, he hasn’t taken a single day off.
