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She deserves so much more than what you can give her.
She is Ernest’s daughter.
She is fifteen years younger than you.
She is trusting you to protect her and her future.
She deserves so much more than what you can give her.
She is Ernest’s daughter.
She is fifteen years younger than you.
She is trusting you to protect her and her future.
She deserves so much more than what you can give her.
And one day, maybe I won’t have to keep repeating it to myself.
“Mr. Baxter, are you not coming to the potluck?” Marcus asks at lunchtime.
I look up from the printed documents in front of me, trying to memorize the data so I don’t have to come back to it. “I have work to catch up on. But I hope everyone has a good time. Save me a bowl of your bean soup, okay? And make sure there are enough drinks. Get more from the storage room if need be, but I had two cartons of juice and soda ordered, so hopefully that was enough.”
“Of course, sir, but…”
“Spit it out, Marcus.”
“Everyone wants you to pop in. Just for a minute.”
“I bet they’d prefer an extra zero on their bonus checks though, right? And that means I have to sit a potluck out now and then.”
He sighs and closes the door, leaving me with my reports and a weighing sense of guilt.
A few minutes later, I look up from my desk, sensing someone, sensingher, but there’s nobody there. I return to my work, thinking I just imagined it.
“Kingsley Buttstick Baxter!” I look up five seconds later to see Luna standing at my desk, hands on her hips.
“That is not my middle name.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You are going to get up right now and come with me to the dining room, where there is important work to be done.”
I lean back in my chair, allowing myself one look at her under the guise of giving her my attention. I haven’t looked at her again since this morning in the kitchen, and it was too close a call. I can’t risk getting that close to her again. This, already, is too close.Look away, Kingsley.“Luna. I am busy. In case this has escaped you, running this company actually takes a lot of work.”
She couldn’t care less. “Worktwerk. You can’t have ten minutes to spare to come taste Marcus’s soup and sing happy birthday to Janet?”
“For future reference, I never have time to sing happy birthday to anyone.”
She rounds the desk and grabs my arm with both hands.
Electricity swells where her hands touch me and spreads lightning fast throughout every nerve ending in my body. I have made such a deliberate, concerted effort not to touch her since the day she moved in with me. It’s like my body has spent so much time craving it, the tiniest contact has me instantly drunk.
So much for forgetting all the feelings we had from before like I told her to. I don’t know how she’s managing it. But I’m coming up a big, fat fucking fail.
“Come on. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“I didn’t say no,” I argue, because it thrills me when she argues back.
“Yeah, because I didn’t give you a chance. Come on, Mr. Director.”
