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The weekend had been long and torturous. After the embarrassing hell that was Saturday night, Maeve had spent all of Sunday nursing her wounded pride. And a gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream. And a 6-pack of hard apple cider. And hours of Supernatural. She gorged herself on Dean Winchester and carbs. And she felt like shit.
For a foolish moment Saturday night, she’d shucked her shell, owned her curves, and believed she was attractive as Sally and Anna had said. That the men who introduced themselves to her were interested in her and wanted to dance with her. That her fears and insecurities were unfounded. That she could actually be a woman men wanted.
But one look at AJ’s disgusted, angry face, and she’d been clobbered with the truth. She’d been fooling herself. She was just a fat, ugly idiot—like she’d always been.
Her hope that AJ would want to be with her once she revealed herself as Swan had been dashed.
Now, she had to face the man at work.
Monday morning was hell on earth, like it was every Monday morning, really, but this Monday morning was especially hellish. She’d arrived at work early in order to get behind the door of her office before AJ got there. Usually, Mondays were admin days for AJ and Blaze, so they were in their offices, doing paperwork until clocking out at five. Once in a while, they’d knock on her door to ask her a question or give her some documents. Today, though, she had a feeling AJ would avoid her like the plague.
Diving into work, Maeve ignored the aches and pains of sitting in one spot for too long, and kept at it. She’d take a break once her bladder got too full to ignore and she had to pee. Until then, she’d remain where she was, doing her job, and ignoring the man she loved but could never have.
A heavy knock sounded on the door, making her jump. Her heart racing, she blinked and looked at the time. It was 4:51 P.M. The day had gone by much faster than she’d expected. Fortunately, when she’d taken a potty and lunch break earlier, AJ was nowhere to be seen. Yup. Avoiding her.
So, who was knocking on her door?
“Yeah?” she called, her voice squeaking. No wonder he thinks of you as a mouse—a phrase she’d overheard him calling her once or twice.
“Maeve…can we talk?”
AJ.
Dammit!
No! she wanted to scream, but how pointless was that? The man was there, once again blocking her only escape route. He probably wanted to talk about what happened Saturday night, which would only make her feel worse.
Get it over with, then you can go home, eat more ice cream, and watch more Sam and Dean.
Sighing, she said, “Come in.” Go away!
There was a small hesitation. She held her breath, wondering if he’d changed his mind, then the latch swiveled down and the door slowly swung open.
AJ stuck his head through the crack, a forced smile on his face. How did she know it was forced? Because she knew every smile, every frown, every expression, and every word of his body language. She’d studied him from afar—and sometimes up close—long enough and with enough diligence to be an expert.
Right now, the man was uncomfortable and uncertain.
Good, at least it isn’t just me.
“Hey,” he began, slipping his whole body into her office and shutting the door behind him without taking his gaze off of her. “I know it’s the end of the day, but I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment.”
So formal. Like a boss.
He is your boss. Period. So what if you know every single one of his kinky sex fantasies. Like tying you up and licking your body inch by inch, or painting your breasts and pussy in warm chocolate and feasting on you? She’d made herself come to those fantasies more than once since she’d read that email. But he hadn’t meant for her to know those things, had he? He didn’t know he was sharing that with you, and once he finds out….
God, she had no idea what to expect. Sexual harassment suit? Unemployment? A public shunning?
Him dragging you into the closest room, shoving you against the door, and fucking you, which is also one of his fantasies?
Yeah, like that would happen.
She hadn’t said anything, as lost as she was in her own thoughts, so AJ continued, his anxiousness showing in his hands which were cupping the back of his neck and rubbing at the stubble on his square jaw.
Two nervous gestures at once. Score.
Ugh. He looked so tasty. Why did he have to look like a snack?
“It’s about Saturday night…at Velvet,” he explained, making her stomach drop into her black ballet flats.
