"Please don't ask me how many vacation weeks for a handjob," he murmurs.
"I wasn't going to," I whisper. He shudders as my breath tickles his ear. "I just want to watch you come."
His breath catches in his throat and he groans softly, his knuckles whitening as he grips the wall.
The moment I get my wish, the spell is broken.
I can feel it. His eyes close when it happens, he makes a noise I can't even describe, but it's going to be echoing in my head for the rest of my life. And then his head falls forward, he's panting, and …
Yep. I just jerked off my boss in the pool.
He doesn't look at me, so I have to imagine something similar is going through his head. I let him go quickly, and we sort of drift away from each other, and I'm heading for the staircase and climbing out, the sudden weight of normal gravity and my soaking wet clothes trying to drag me back down.
"Meghan -"
I stop, water still streaming off of me.
"Don't go upstairs like that. I'll call one of the interns to bring down your clothes."
He hoists himself up over the side of the pool, from the deep end, because of course he fucking does. Adrian Risinger doesn't need stairs. I take the towel he offers me, standing an arm's length away, and I wish he'd just say something about what happened but I know that's not going to make it any better.
It was a mistake, and we both know it.
I sit in one of the pool chairs with a towel around my shoulders, my hair hanging down in lank, tangled strands. How did this happen? How did I let this happen? On the scale of Bad Workplace Decisions, it goes something like this: Sex with a coworker, sex with your boss, sex with your boss at work, sex with your boss at work in a place with cameras where anyone could walk in, and finally, sex with your boss at work in a place with cameras where anyone could walk in, when your boss is also an egomaniac control freak with whom you have a horribly unhealthy codependent relationship.
The intern leaves my clothes outside the door like this is some kind of fucking hostage exchange. Adrian brings me the bag, setting it at my feet.
"Don't forget the signing's on Saturday," he says. "Finish the books by then. I'll send a car for you. Eight o'clock sharp."
I swallow before I can speak. "I'll be ready."
Probably the biggest lie I've ever told in my life.
***
I hate the smell of new clothes.
I hate the feel of them, how stiff and unfamiliar they are, and that nagging worry that you've forgotten a tag or a sticker that's hanging out somewhere.
I focus every bit of my hatred on these clothes I'm forced to wear home, because it's more productive than thinking about anything else.
I stop by my desk before I go home. As I'm gathering up my things, I hear Adrian's voice through his office door.
" … yes, the pool cleaners … .yes, I know they were just here last week. Do I have a fucking stutter? Am I speaking fucking English? … .who died and left you in fucking charge of the FUCKING POOL CLEANING SCHEDULE?" A moment of silence. "Thank you."
Once I'm safely in the elevator, I start laughing until I cry.
Chapter Five
SAVED DRAFTS: UNSENT
Account: [email protected]
This is so fucked up.
I have no idea why I'm writing to you. I know you're not really you. I can't send this. But I don't know who else to talk to. I'm afraid to look back at our conversations now, because even if it was just your publicist, who knows what she told you? I mean, if he knew all the shit I said about him, he'd probably be using it against me. Maybe that's a good sign.
I keep thinking it can't be true. I feel like the narrator in Fight Club or that Beautiful Mind guy. I mean, how do you accept that somebody you felt a real connection with is not, in fact, real?
I mean, it's nuts. You can't.
This is what it feels like to be Catfished, probably. I just never thought it would happen to me. I thought I was too smart for that. Let's be real: too isolated. You just came out of nowhere, and took me by surprise. There's all those little things, moments when Amanda reminds me of myself so much that I have go back and reread the passages and smile. Sometimes, even tear up a little.
Shit, have I mentioned that before? What if Adrian finds out about that?
Shit.
See, I still can't even accept that you and Adrian are the same person. My brain just refuses to wrap itself around that fact.
Plus, I slept with him.
Okay, not really. We didn't actually sleep. We didn't actually have sex, we just … gave each other handjobs in the pool, I guess. Which sounds terrible. But it wasn't. It was actually pretty fucking great.
Natalie, I'm losing my damn mind. And it's all your fault.
***
Adrian's car is ten minutes early. Of course it is.
I was prepared for this eventuality, so I'm out on the curb before his driver has a chance to put on the parking brake. I've gone with a simple black cocktail dress, one with cap sleeves, and put up my hair in a simple bun with some tendrils that frame my face. I haven't had a chance to wash the silky underwear yet, so it languishes in a drawer while I return to my old stand-bys.
He's informed me that he'll be playing the role of my editor. Of course. He needs a excuse to hang over my shoulder and correct my every word.
He turns to me as I slide into the seat next to him, giving me a nod of acknowledgement before his eyes return to his lap.
Ugh. As bad as it's been sometimes between us, quiet awkwardness is the worst.
"Well?" I look at him expectantly. "What do you think?"
He glances at me again, then quickly glances away. "What about?"
I roll my eyes. "You were so concerned with my outfits. Does this dress make my success look big?"
That earns a slight chuckle. "It's fine," he says, with another hasty glance.
My stomach is like a clenched fist. I knew it was a bad idea to give in to that momentary lust. As fucked-up as things were, we actually had a thing going that worked. Now it's going to be weird, and I don't know how to come back from it.
Like he's reading my mind, he hits the button for the partition. "I think we should talk about the incident."
The incident. I smirk at him. "Are you sure we should be discussing this here? It might be bugged."
Adrian rolls his eyes, but at least he smiles a little. "I hate to break it to you, but I think everyone already knows."
"Oh, shit? You think?" I lean back in my seat. "I'm sure it didn't look suspicious at all, to anyone with working eyeballs."
"Not so much that, as the fact that you didn't warn me you're a screamer." He's not really looking at me now, but he's running his thumb along the pad of each finger, over and over and over again, a nervous tic. "Pools tend to echo, you know."
I scoff at him, eyes widening. "Uh, if you think that was a scream … "
He gives me a sour look. "Don't. I'm trying to be serious."
Well, that's something new.
"Yeah, well." I clear my throat. "As long as we're being serious, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let things escalate the way they did."
I don't really know what I'm saying, but I feel like I have to say something.
"You're sorry? Meghan … " He sighs. "I goaded you. It was immature. I didn't think things were going to move in that direction, of course, or I wouldn't have. But I started it. There's no question about that."
"Don't look so scared."
"I'm not scared," he insists. "But this isn't like everything else with us. This is different. I crossed a line."
I'm laughing in disbelief. "Seriously? Seriously? This is where you're suddenly going to grow a conscience? Just because your dick was involved?"
His jaw twitches. "Do you have some other problem you want to discuss, Meghan?"
Could he possibly be serious? Is he really that deluded? Does he think there was something healthy about our relationship before furtive handjobs became involved?
Holy shit, he's even more disconnected from reality than I thought.
"Yeah. No. Sorry." I fold my arms across my chest. There's no point in trying to explain it to him. "Thanks for your concern, but you didn't take advantage of me. I practically shoved your hand between my legs. I was in a weird mood."
That's one way to put it.
He's irritated now. So am I. I wish he hadn't brought it up. We could have done just fine, pretending it never happened. I'm certainly not giving in to those urges again. Not even if he looks absolutely sinful in that suit. Now that I know exactly what's underneath, it's no longer just a coy promise.
"You're going to meet my publicist, Kara," he says abruptly, after a long silence. "Obviously she'll be playing your agent now. Unlikely to matter much, just let her do the talking when the time comes."
I don't know what that means, but I certainly don't like the sound of it.
"Kara, huh?" I cross my arms. "Right. I forgot about Kara."