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“No.”
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat and glanced out the open window. “That was a shitty question to ask, considering…”
“It’s okay,” I said even though the reminder slammed the stark truth back into my fanciful head. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never even kissed a guy.”
“Shit,” he muttered and shifted on the chair.
“Yeah. It sucks.” My attempted smile wobbled again. “I-I think I’m on a new road to recovery, though.”
His focus settled on my face again. “Why’s that?”
“Because I found I’m actually comfortable around someone else—you. For the most part, anyway.”
He grinned. “Glad to hear it.”
“Yeah.” My own smile widened. “Not sure why, but I don’t get all freaked out when you get close to me.” Not in a bad way, at least. For some reason, Ilikedbeing near him. He made me feel…safe. Even though I hardly knew him, I was sure I could tell Micah anything and he wouldn’t scoff or laugh. Dina trusted him too, which definitely held weight in my opinion.
“Would it be inappropriate if I offered my help?” he asked. “I mean, if you’re up for testing yourself…like if you ever wanted to shake my hand again to see how you would react, I’m available.”
This man.
“Thank you,” I whispered, sudden tears pricking my eyelids.
He pushed up from the chair and lifted his coffee my way in cheers before heading into his office.
I stared at my computer screen, unable to see through the tears making the images waver before me. Falling for him would be so easy—tooeasy.
* * *
I settled into the routine of being Elite’s secretary, and the silly flutterings whenever Micah came into the office calmed down a bit. He stopped in every day I was on the clock, much longer than Dina had told me before I’d taken the job.
At least once a week, we locked up the office for an hour or so and went out for lunch. Subs, pizza, salads—nothing fancy or indulgent that I considered a date. We discussed business rather than personal things like a couple getting to know one another would do, and I eventually lost a bit of my shyness about discussing sex toys. He kept every conversation professional, without inappropriate tones of voice or suggestive words like the guys I’d attempted to date in the past had done.
While I appreciated his emotional distance, disappointment over his lack of interest, except for that one time heat had filled his gaze, pulled me down at the end of every day. It wasn’t like I hoped he’d make a pass at me…or did I?
My body and mind warred, but the physical desire for him overran whatever anxious thoughts assaulted me if other people stepped into my personal space.
I spoke with my therapist at length. About my instinctive reaction at shaking Micah’s hand but how it hadn’t reminded me of my past as other accidental touches by men tended to do. I told her his being in close proximity didn’t cut off my oxygen but made my lungs hungrier in a different way.
Desire, she’d suggested, and I didn’t bother arguing since she spoke truth.
She said I had to trust myself—not him—to know what was best for me. While he’d given me the opportunity to stretch my boundaries in what I considered a safe environment, I shouldn’t do so unless I wanted to.
But Micah didn’t push.
Ever.
I looked forward to work with every sunrise. I looked forward to his smiles, his kindness. I also started looking forward to one day taking him up on his offer to touch him again. His suggestion of being available to help me take more steps toward possible healing had clanged loudly in the back of my mind for weeks, and since my therapist hadn’t completely shut down the idea, I considered it more with each night that passed.
“I’m firing up the Keurig. Want a coffee?” he asked one afternoon after a very long Monday. He’d been on a call with an unhappy client for over an hour before he was able to finally put the phone down and exit his office. His sandy-blond hair stuck up like he’d been running a hand through it—his typical, sexy look.
“Rough, huh?” I asked, scrunching up my face at the exhaustion lining his.
He sighed and shook his head. “I’m having difficulty finding someone to please Widow Mayfield,” he said.
My stomach twisted. I knew she used to book him every other week, but not long after I’d become Elite’s secretary, he’d taken his profile off the website. Unsure of why, my mind toyed with all sorts of ridiculous reasons.
“Coffee sounds good.” I smiled, hoping to ease him in some way.
