The Other C-Word (9 page)

“Seriously, the chivalry thing is nice, but totally unnecessary,” I said laughing, but it sounded a little too hysterical. I couldn’t imagine being alone with him in the elevator for sixteen flights.

His chiselled features became completely sombre. “Marley, I’m not joking. Every day that you work late, I’m going to make sure you get to your car. It’s non-negotiable for me. If you won’t allow me to, I can’t have you stay late.” He spoke slowly with concentrated intent. It was no use arguing—he was determined.

“Fine,” I conceded. We walked in silence towards the elevator. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was actually quite nice of him to escort me. I had stayed once before, much later than this, for Mr Bellman, and he hadn’t so much as acknowledged it.

We both went to opposite ends of the elevator car, as if being too close was dangerous.
He has a girlfriend. He’s your boss. Look at that silky hair. Crap no! He’s not about casual consensual. Look at those hard abs…wonder what else is hard? Fuck!
Rick was my Kryptonite. I breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator doors opened, finally releasing us from our confinement.

He walked me to my car in silence then opened the door for me. He thanked me for my hard work and told me to drive safe before heading back into the building. It was the sweetest gesture. Part of me wanted to express that to him, but most of me just wanted to hit the accelerator and rush home to my vibrator.

Chapter Four

Rick definitely scored many touchdowns over the weekend, at least in my mind. We’d fallen into a more comfortable pattern. The next few weeks were a little easier.
He would still make the occasional double entendre and I would ignore it, but for the most part, we did work well together. I had more responsibilities in my new position as his assistant, and I enjoyed that. He asked for my advice on his ideas quite a bit and I was pleased when he actually took it, but I was completely flattered when he gave me the credit I was due. I went to meetings with him and Henley. Kathy was there too. It was almost comical. I would bring up an idea and Kathy would shoot it down immediately, saying it was impractical.
Henley
was oblivious to the power play that was happening, but Rick seemed to sense it. He was a very smart man. He would bring up the idea a few minutes later re-wording it slightly. Kathy would gush all over it saying it was brilliant, to which Rick would reply that it was the same idea I’d had. I’d never witnessed office politics play out so clearly.

Kathy was majorly crushing on Rick. She would stop by our office with various, inane excuses for needing his time. He was professional and courteous, but I noticed he never flirted with her. I wondered if his advances towards me were due to the fact that I was his assistant. In reality, the flirting didn’t bother me. I actually liked it and I felt if I told him to stop completely, he would. After all, he didn’t call me Garter Belt Girl anymore. But I didn’t tell him to stop, at least not emphatically, and that was what bothered me.

Rick worked tenaciously to bring all of his projects to fruition. I worked the necessary overtime to complete the items on his checklist, but his hours were massive. I wasn’t sure how many, but he was always at the office before me and always left after me. As promised, he walked me to my car whenever I stayed late. He utilised my skills during the day and I fantasised about his skills during the night. In this way, I kept my desires at bay because I knew nothing would come from them. He had a girlfriend, he was my boss and I was a total mess—it helped to keep repeating those boundaries to myself.

I brought him his coffee every morning and every morning he complimented my appearance, especially when I wore a skirt. Occasionally, he would leave a Zesty bar on my desk when I returned from lunch. I started looking forward to the little treats. I had always enjoyed my job, but now I was excited about it—I chalked it up to my new responsibilities, but in the back of my mind, I knew Rick had something to do with it.

On Thursday of our second week, I noticed the Zesty bar after I got back from lunch. I smoothed out the brown paper wrapper, turning it over in my hand. It was such a sweet gesture. I always felt a little disappointed when there wasn’t one waiting for me. I started thinking about the days he left them for me. Was there a pattern? I knew it was crazy, but I was in marketing and I’ve always thought in terms of charts, spreadsheets and graphs. I was technically still on my lunch hour, since Dillon and I had just run out and got food, so I decided to spare a few minutes to think about the Zesty bar pattern.

I created a new spreadsheet and listed the days I would find Zesty bars on my desk—I could remember each one of them. On the opposite side, I listed what had happened that day. There didn’t appear to be any obvious conclusions. There were days when I hadn’t even seen Rick, except to bring him his morning coffee—he’d been in meetings all day or had stayed in his office. I had thought he gave them to me as an award when I came up with a good idea or strategy, but tabulating the results didn’t prove that theory. I looked over my spreadsheet again. It wasn’t as if it was every other day either, which might make sense. I crossed my legs, smoothing down my skirt, and stared at the Zesty bar in confusion. Suddenly it hit me—an epiphany—startling me. My fists clenched involuntarily, and I became livid. He gave me a Zesty bar every time I wore a skirt!
Holy crap, is he trying to train me?
I thought he respected my ideas and looked to me as a source of inspiration.
Yeah, guess my skirts inspired him
.

The protein bar in my hand suddenly felt heavy, and I had an urge to hurl it. I walked into his office determinedly. He stared up at me with that quizzical grin, which revealed his perfect teeth and endearing dimple. I was going to wipe it right off his face. “Is something wrong, Marley?”

I threw the bar across the room and it hit him right in the chest. “You can’t train me, you jerk! I’m not Pavlov’s dog.”

I slammed the door and headed back to my desk. I tried to get my breathing under control as the realisation that I’d just assaulted my boss spread through me. Well, I’d be fired for sure now. It was an attack at worst and insubordination at best. He came out a few minutes later, and I pretended to be busy replying to an email. He sat on the edge of my desk and studied me for a minute. It was unnerving.

Finally, he set the Zesty bar next to me. “For the record, Pavlov used bells. Would you mind telling me why you attacked me with a protein bar?”

I stared up at his emerald eyes, trying to keep my face locked in stern indignation. “I know what you’re doing. I’m totally on to you. I made a spreadsheet.”

He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head. “What were your results?” Damn, he smirked, and I found it difficult to keep my composure.

“You give me one of those whenever I wear a skirt. I figured it out. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

His face became suddenly serious. He bit his lower lip as if thinking about my words. The sight of him, leaning against my desk, so close to me, made it difficult to maintain my ire. “Marley, not a lot of places sell these. The only place I’ve found that’s convenient is my gym’s café. When I go to the gym at lunch, I pick up a sandwich at the café and two Zesty bars after I work out. One is for me, and one is for you. I’ll make sure to just pick up one from now on.”

I knew when he went to the gym. I could always tell because his hair was damp, and he applied fresh aftershave. It drove me crazy. I scanned my spreadsheet quickly, surmising he was telling me the truth. Coincidently, he had gone to the gym the same days I’d worn a skirt. My resentment instantly dissipated, replaced with humility. I was so stupid.

“I’m sorry,” I said contritely, looking down because I was sure my cheeks were crimson. He lifted my chin with his finger to meet his gaze. A warmth spread across my chest that I wasn’t expecting.

“It’s okay.”

I should have said more, but he was already walking back to his office. What else was there to say really, except that I was a dumb girl who had a total crush on her boss? He probably didn’t return my feelings at all. The Zesty bar controversy just proved that.

We worked quietly the rest of the day. I felt too embarrassed to make any polite, non-work conversation. He was probably debating whether to write me up or worse, fire me. As the days progressed, though, he never mentioned it again and the comfort level we had previously enjoyed returned.

* * * *

On the Wednesday night of the following week, I promised Dillon I would have a drink with him at RJ’s bar while I waited for Doug. I liked Doug. He owned a motorcycle and had tattoos. He wasn’t great in bed, but he managed to help me achieve ‘O’ at least half the times we were together.

“I can’t believe you’re going out with Doug the Douchebag,” Dillon chided. Dillon didn’t like Doug. Then again, he didn’t like any of the guys I did casual consensual with. He was overprotective, like a brother. I tended to be more accepting of his relationships, although they were far and few between. Luckily, he kept his mouth shut about my extra-curricular activities to my family. I knew my mother and sisters had their suspicions, since I’d never had a boyfriend, but if they knew about my ‘rotation’, they would freak.

“Don’t call him that, he’s a nice guy.” I sipped my beer and checked my watch. Doug was late.

“No he’s not. Any guy who picks you up for a quick fuck and drops you back off is not nice.”

I rolled my eyes. “Dillon, those are my rules. Stop being judgemental.”

“Hi, Marley.” The soft cadence of the familiar, sexy voice startled me. Rick was the last person I’d expected to see. He sidled up to the bar and sat down next to me. I felt like bolting out of the door. My face flushed and I prayed he hadn’t overheard the conversation between Dillon and me.

“What are you doing here? Did you follow me?” I blurted, trying to replace my fear with newfound outrage.

“Um, no, I’m here with people.” He gestured over to a nearby booth where Henley, Kathy and several other top managers from my company sat. Just like in the Zesty bar controversy, embarrassment won out again.

Open mouth—insert one adorable Mary Jane shoe.

RJ’s was actually a hangout for our employees, so seeing Rick here shouldn’t have made me assume anything.

“I was just kidding,” I said, in a miserable attempt to redeem myself.

“No, you weren’t, but that’s okay. Can I buy you guys a drink?”

“Sure,” Dillon replied jovially, giving his order to the bartender. “Thanks, Rick.”

Rick looked at me for my order, but I shook my head. “I’m leaving soon. I’m meeting someone here.”

“Who?” Rick asked.

“Douchebag Doug,” Dillon answered for me. I responded to Dillon’s unwarranted description with a swift kick under the table.

Rick seemed unshaken by Dillon’s depiction. In fact, Rick seemed to ignore it, except for the fast flicker of anger that shifted through his face. He ordered a drink for himself and remained seated next to us, making small talk with Dillon, much to Dillon’s delight. I sat with my arms crossed, wondering how a casual drink after work had become so uncomfortable.

I received a text from Doug saying he was outside waiting for me. I looked out of the glass doors of the bar and felt relief at the sight of Doug on his motorcycle. As far as I was concerned, Dillon and Rick could hang out all night. I had other plans. I noticed Rick followed my gaze to the door although he was still talking to Dillon.

“Well, he’s here. I have to go,” I announced, getting up. Rick clasped my arm.

“Marley, he’s not wearing a helmet,” Rick said.

“So?”

“That’s fine if he’s not going to wear a helmet, but does he have one for you?” The question surprised me, and my mouth went dry. I couldn’t find the answer. ‘None of your business’ seemed cruel, when he looked so concerned. At the same time, I just wanted to leave.

“Nope, he doesn’t believe in them,” Dillon answered for me. I suddenly wanted to snatch the perfect brown curls right out of Dillon’s head.

“Tell him to come in here,” Rick commanded with a slow, ominous voice that almost scared me.

“Why?” I demanded, pulling my arm out of his grasp.

“Because I want to meet him, and that’s the appropriate way to pick up a lady when you’re taking her out on a date.”

God help me!
I almost said ‘I’m not a lady’, but luckily, some inner sense of self-control stopped me from uttering that embarrassing statement. Instead, I said, “It’s not a date.” That wasn’t much better.

“Whatever it is, I want to meet him,” Rick insisted.

“It’s not prerequisite of our working relationship that you need to meet him,” I retorted.

“That’s true,” he said nonchalantly. I grabbed my purse, attempting to make a hasty exit. “Call me when the police pick you up. I’ll be giving you a ride sooner than I thought.”

I halted in my tracks. “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

“It’s illegal to ride without a helmet. It’s my duty as a citizen to report you. They’ll probably confiscate his bike, and you’ll need a ride.”

I laughed, but it came out like a hysterical shriek. Rick’s face remained impassive, except for the vein that throbbed on his neck. Dillon looked like he was ready to high-five Rick, infuriating me further. Dillon was my best friend, why was he on Rick’s side?

“You… You can’t do that,” I stammered.

“Then ask him inside.” Rick and I stared at each other in an awkward standoff for several minutes. His face was completely serious—hard, unyielding and commanding. I tried to mimic his expression, but I knew I was failing miserably.