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There was the slightest pause where he smirked. “Yes, I believe so.”
And then we were right back to business, him prattling off different ideas and tasks he needed to even get to the planning stages of his next project. I had never known that there was a pre-planning phase before the planning phase, but I was learning all sorts of things from Mr. Fitzgerald.
When I could concentrate, that was.
“Are you getting this, Ms. Viello?”
“Bev,” I said suddenly, surprising even myself. “Please, call me Bev.”
He was quiet again for a long moment, his eyes appraising me from head to foot before he nodded slowly. “Alright then, Bev. Did you catch what I last said?”
“No,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks flame even harder. “Could you repeat it again?”
“Yes,” he answered, voice low and full of that authority that I half loved, and half grated against my nerves. “Try not to let it happen again.”
“Of course, sir.”
I dipped my head back down to my notebook, inwardly cursing myself. I needed to get my head together if I was going to survive through the day and the return trip to my bed -and my beloved vibrator.
Ugh. It was going to be a long day.
I looked at the clock furtively, adrenaline pumping through me like I was in some sort of battle royale. It was only a half hour from quitting time and I was more on edge than I had ever been in my entire life.
Every bit of stimuli around me just seemed downright annoying, my teeth grinding at themselves and my patience whittling down to nothing. If Mr. Fitzgerald noticed my irritation or my shortness, he didn’t say at all, just continuing work as per usual.
“Why don’t you go get yourself some water?”
“Pardon?” I looked up from the list I was drafting, one of all the different people that he said he wanted to contact for different parts of his project.
“Your face is red again, and I’m fairly certain there haven’t been any particularly grating wind storms in my office. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
I let out a snort before immediately covering my mouth in embarrassment. Mr. Fitzgerald seemed more amused at the sound than anything, so I tried to quickly recover. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are. Get some water.”
I picked up my spill-proof cup that I always kept on me and went towards the water cooler out by the secretaries’ desks. While I didn’t often talk to the ladies, they seemed much more relieved the longer I was around. I guessed that I took some of the brunt of their workload off of them. From what Chris had told me, when there wasn’t an assistant for Mr. Fitzgerald, the two took turns running all the errands he needed outside of work.
When I returned, Mr. Fitzgerald was sitting on the edge of his desk, drinking the coffee I had brought him after lunch and rubbing one of his temples with his free hand. For the first time since I had seen him, he looked tired.
Huh.
I walked towards him, uncertain what to do with the image of my boss looking less than perfectly poised and in control.
“Are you alright?” I asked, trying not to sound worried. I hated when people fussed over me. It made me feel like they were trying to coddle or trick me.
“I’m fine,” he said, loosening his tie a touch and then rolling his neck. “Just sometimes have to remind myself that I’m human.”
My eyes went to that little gap of tanned flesh and my heart kicked into overdrive. I was reminded of my dream from that morning, images flashing through my mind like the most pornographic daydream.
I told myself not to stare, that I was being absolutely ridiculous, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away. I could see the swell of each of his pectorals, just the slightest bit of curly hair between them. I wondered what they would feel like against my fingertips, if I brushed my hand over that expanse. Would it-
“See something you like?”
Mr. Fitzgerald’s voice knocked me out of my fantasy and I looked up at him absolutely horrified. “I, uh-”
“It’s fine,” he said with a gentle laugh. “Boost to my ego, actually.”
“Like your ego needs any more boosting,” I managed to recover, rolling my eyes slightly.
“Why, Ms. Viello, your tone makes it sound like you think I might be cocky.”
Of course, he would use that word. “Not cocky,” I objected. “Just confident. Confident enough, actually. Any more and then we might have to be worried.”
He leaned towards me again, his shirt gaping ever so slightly to where I could see a little farther down his shirt. If he just moved a little further, I might be able to see past his pecs and just how many abs he had…
“Are you saying that you’re worried about me, Ms. Viello?”
