My morning began on a sour note because I was due at work at nine, but hadn't even woken up until after eight thirty. I was usually on the freeway by that time, so to say I was late was a serious understatement. Nothing was worse than being behind schedule, flustered and annoyed all at the same time. Being late for work always sucked, but right then I was really pissed at myself for being such an idiot. I'd had my job for over a year, and had only been late twice—but the fact that both times had been in a two-week span really made me feel like an idiot.
It was my own fault that I was so exhausted that I had slept right through the alarm. After a few years of watching ‘Dancing with The Stars’ and pondering the idea of taking dance lessons, I'd finally decided to take the leap about three months ago. I knew that I needed something to occupy some of my time so that I wasn't constantly spending time with the one man that I could never have, and I figured that dancing was a healthy hobby to escape into.
As it turned out, I actually had dancing skill. So much so that my teacher, Dina, asked me to step in and dance the tango in a competition with a fellow student named Marcus. Marcus desperately needed a new dance partner after his last one abruptly quit, and with Dina’s assurances that I could do it, I decided to go ahead and give it a whirl.
Marcus was younger than me, immensely talented, and really friendly. A bit too friendly, to be honest. He was one of those guys that was really hot, knew it, and used it to his advantage. He'd made it abundantly clear that he was interested in me, but I didn’t feel any kind of a spark, although I wished that I did. I had wondered if I should agree to go on a date with him to see if he would grow on me, but the reality was that I knew that he wouldn’t so I just kept right on declining his invitations.
The constant rehearsing for the competition was taking a toll. It was exhausting, and I was at the end of my interest in dancing. I’d gone in too hard and too fast, and I was totally burnt out. I’d decided that once the competition was over, I’d back off for a while and consider whether I wanted to even do it for fun anymore. I liked it but I didn’t want to compete which meant that all the rehearsing felt more and more like a chore each and every day. The previous night’s practice had been especially grueling, and it made me question why anyone could commit to such a rigorous practice schedule if they weren’t career dancers. Marcus and I had practiced for six hours in anticipation of next weekend’s competition, and I was completely overdone afterward.
Unfortunately, even though I came home exhausted, I couldn't stop thinking about my boss, Dante Hart. Like every other night, I was too hot to get to sleep without satisfying myself while I thought of him. The man was driving me wild and even though I was beyond tired, I'd had to bring myself to orgasm twice before I was able to get to sleep.
Waking up in the morning, my muscles were sore, my body ached and I was totally out of sorts.
Groaning, I realized that I needed to tell Dante that I was running late. After grabbing my iPhone, I sent him a text. “Dante, so sorry I’m running late. Be there ASAP - Sabrina”. Once the text was sent, I ran for the shower. No surprise that as I was lathering up, I started thinking of Dante again. He was always on my mind in one way or another.
I spent the first few months I was working with him perfecting my poker face. I was fairly certain that he had no idea that I was incredibly attracted to him, which was a blessing. I loved my job, and it made me feel good to know that because of my salary, my sister's education would be paid off like mine was. It would be ridiculously awkward if Dante were to suspect that I had feelings for him, and I wasn't in a position to allow emotions to rule my life.
My parents died in a car accident two years ago when I was twenty-three, my sister twenty. My father had been a trauma surgeon, so we'd always been fairly well off to begin with, but we were very lucky that the life insurance our parents had taken out allowed us to pay off the mortgage on our Brentwood house, along with the final year of my college education and the first two years of Brooke’s UCLA tuition.
When I had applied for a job at Hart International, I’d done so because I wanted a solid job with a good salary that would allow me to pay for the rest of Brooke’s college. Since mine had been paid for in full, it was only fair that hers be fully covered as well. I was delighted when I got the job at Hart. The company reputation was stellar, so I knew it would be a massive boost to my resume. The salary was out of this world, which was a factor as well. I was fortunate enough to have been hired fourteen months ago as an assistant to one of the junior executives.