His Secretary:Undone(8)

I'm swallowing down a mouthful of bile. Adrian stands up, abruptly. His nostrils flare.

"Security will escort you to your car, Mr. Morgan," he says, softly.  "And if you so much as speak to Ashley again, or make eye contact with  her on the street, or get on the same subway car, I will fucking find  you." He tilts his head slightly closer to the still-seated,  nearly-hyperventilating man. "Don't give me a reason to remember your  name."

***

My head is still swimming as I walk through the boutique. I'm picking  things up without even looking at the price tags, which I didn't think  I'd be able to do, but I'm so distracted it's actually not difficult at  all.

This is a side to Adrian I've never seen before. I can't stop picturing  the look on his face, even as I try on a few outfits, including a few  that would probably impress even him.

Righteously angry. Fiercely protective. Two concepts I had never associated with my boss, until now.

I'm halfway to the checkout when a display catches my eye.

Silky underwear.

I'm pretty sure I've never owned silky underwear. Cotton - preferably  whichever brand is on sale - has always served me just fine. But now  that I'm clutching Adrian Risinger's black Amex in my hot little hand,  it almost seems sinful not to buy some silky underwear.

I mean, how would these outfits feel with my old, worn-out Hanes underneath? Nah, that's no good. Silky underwear it is.

After picking out a handful of pairs, in red, black, and a very girly  pink, I head to the register. The cashier is both gorgeous and curvy  herself, which I appreciate. She compliments me on my purchases, and  when I hand her Mr. Risinger's card to swipe, she glances up at me with a  secretive smile.

"So … you must have liked it, huh?" she asks.

"Um." I glance at my new purchases, then back up at her. " … it?"

"The … the nightie … " Her eyes widen. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I just assumed -  he bought it right before Valentine's day, I figured he must've given  it to you already. I hope I didn't ruin the surprise."

My brain stutters a few times. " … he?"

"Mr. Risinger," she says, nodding at the card she's just handed back to  me. "Your, uh … your boyfriend, I assume. Or, you know, whatever. I don't  judge."         

     



 

I make an effort to swallow, although my throat suddenly feels very dry. "He bought ah, uh, nightie here?" I manage to ask.

She nods, biting her lip nervously. "If you could call it that. I mean,  it's very cute, but not exactly practical." A nervous giggle escapes  her. "Jeeze, I'm really - I'm really sorry. I should've kept my mouth  shut. Please don't say anything to him - my boss will kill me if she  thinks I scared him off."

"It's fine, really. He must've decided to save it for another special  occasion. I won't say a word." I give her a brave smile, so she relaxes a  little, because she's clearly afraid that she's stumbled into some big  old dramatic mess.

It's only reasonable that she should assume this credit card belongs to  either my boyfriend or my sugar daddy. After all, I'm not wearing a  ring. But there's the question of why Mr. Risinger was here before  Valentine's day, buying a nightie.

Not a real question, actually. In fact, it's exactly none of my  business. I have no idea what his love life consists of, and I greatly  prefer it that way. But it never occurred to me that he'd be spending  his time with, well …

Women who look like me. Buying lingerie for them, no less.

I try to hide my troubled expression until I walk out the door, because I  don't want the cashier to think she's accidentally let on that he's  cheating on me, or something.

So, Mr. Risinger likes them curvy.

That's … that's sure something.

Except it doesn't matter. It's irrelevant. Who cares what his sexual  preferences are? It's not like I'm going to sleep with him. In all these  years, he's never made a pass at me - if he wanted me, surely I'd know  by now. And anyway, I would never do it. It's a terrible idea. He's so  toxic, I'm pretty sure his dick probably contains some kind of Indiana  Jones face-melting curse. Just being in the same room with him is bad  enough.

But now, it's just one of those things. Like "don't think about pink  elephants." The harder I try to forget, the harder it is to shake.

***

When I get back, Adrian's not in his office. I'm momentarily stumped.  Normally, if someone needs to know where he is, I'm the one they ask. I  try calling the main floor receptionist, and while she's not sure, she  thinks he might be in the gym.

Well, that makes sense.

I haven't set foot in there since I was hired. I prefer to work out at  home, away from judgmental eyes, especially if those eyes might belong  to a coworker. Or my boss. I don't know what Adrian would say to me if  he saw my routine, but I'm sure I'm doing it all wrong.

The place is huge. I'm very aware of the clack, clack, clack of my shoes  as I walk through the equipment room and scan for him. Of course, he  might be showering or getting dressed, in which case I'll just have to  wait.

Showering. So. There's a really good chance that Adrian Risinger has  been naked in this very building, where I come in and work every day.

That's not a thought I need to be having right now.

I recognize one of the guys from I.T. on a treadmill as I pass, so I give him a little wave.

"Hey," he pants, pulling out his earpiece. "What's up?"

"Have you seen Mr. Risinger?"

He jerks his thumb towards the double doors in the back of the room. "Pool, I think."

Well, shit.

"Thanks," I tell him, steeling myself.

It has been way, way, way too long since I indulged in a little harmless  self-gratification. I still don't dare, lest I think about things I  don't want to think about. Such as - well, exactly what I'm about to  walk in and see.

Oh, for God's sake. Just go in there like a normal person and give him his credit card.

When I push the doors open, I'm actually looking forward to being  slapped in the face with the warm, nauseating smell of chlorine. But it  doesn't happen. I keep walking towards the massive pool, mindful of my  completely traction-less shoes, keeping my eyes on the floor to avoid  any puddles.

I can tell from the noise that he's swimming laps. Closing my eyes, I  remember the feeling, the rushing sound that was somehow better than  silence. The comforting glide of the water against my skin.

In spite of my better judgement, I open my eyes and I look at him.

He cuts through the water like a shark, each powerful stroke propelling  him forward, the muscles in his arms and back tensing, reaching, under  tanned and glistening skin.         

     



 

This was a big mistake.

If he comes out of the water, he'll see me. I need to leave. I need to just turn around and -

His hand grasps the wall, just a few feet away from me. His head pops up  a moment later, and he shakes the water out of his hair, swiping his  fingers across his eyes and blinking rapidly.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He smiles at me, and I'm digging my fingernails into my palms.

"I was just … "

"Bringing me my credit card. I know." He gestures at a pile of clothes,  neatly folded on one of the tables in the corner. "My stuff's over  there. You could have just left it in my office."

"Didn't want to risk it getting stolen," I mutter, staring at my shoes,  but I can still see his wet forearms resting on the side of the pool, so  it's not really helping.

He snorts. "If there's someone at this company with enough balls to  steal my credit card, I want to meet them. And promote them  immediately." I can feel his eyes on me while I go and set his card down  on top of his shirt. It smells like him. A cologne that's somehow sharp  and little bit sweet, something I've never smelled before or since, on  anyone but him.

"You know you can come here anytime, and swim," he says. "It's very  nice. Saline instead of chlorine. You can open your eyes, and it doesn't  hurt."

"Good to know." I should be walking to the door, but I'm not. He's  looking at me with mischief in his eyes. "Don't you dare try to splash  me."

"Splash you?" He touches his chest. "Me? Please. I was just trying to  figure out how many counts of harassment you'd be able to file against  me if I picked you up and threw you in."

I burst out laughing in spite of myself. "Just one, I imagine."

"No, I mean, cumulatively. I'm imaging some kind of 'straw that broke  the camel's back' type of situation." He cocks his head. "Of course now  I've ruined the element of surprise."

"Well, damn. Better luck next time." I'm trying to think of a reason to  stay. I'm trying to think of a reason to leave. They're both coming up  blank, and Adrian looks damn good with his hair slicked back.

"I can get you another swipe card, if you lost yours," he says. "I'm just saying."

I shake my head. "Why are you so obsessed with the issue of my pool  access, all of a sudden? If you want to improve my working environment,  I've got about a million suggestions that are higher up on the list."