I found from my online search that the local supply store gives free next-day delivery. Crew grumbled that he could've taken me, but he handed over his American Express and said to get whatever I wanted. I don't know if I could've handled another trip in his truck, although thoughts of being pushed up next to him are not unwelcome. Only this time it's just the two of us, so there would be no reason for that. A girl can dream. After Monday, all I've done is fantasize about my new boss. This week has been full of innocent touches and heated looks, a brushing of my hand here, hand on the small of my back there. It's driving me crazy. They're innocent, but every damn time my heart races so loud I'm sure he can hear it.
I hear the door buzzer sound; it should be the company here to install the booths and tables. Crew insisted that the buzzer be installed when he realized I would be here some days on my own. I was given strict instructions that I am not to open the door unless I'm one hundred percent certain it's a delivery for the club. Even then I'm supposed to keep my phone in my hands at all times. He even went as far as buying me pepper spray, which he insists I carry. I argued with him, but in the end I gave him what he wanted. This time, Zane was actually on his side, taking this head of security title more seriously than I've ever seen him. He even had panic buttons installed throughout the club-the bar, each of our offices, even the restroom. I just smile and nod and let them run wild with their ideas. It's not my money.
Grabbing my phone and the damn pepper spray that Crew conveniently placed on a Club Titan lanyard, I throw it around my neck and make my way downstairs. Through the high-tech security system, I can look at the screen and see who's outside. We have screens upstairs in a small closet that Zane dubbed the security closet, as well as the security room downstairs. I opted to use that one today since I'm expecting the delivery. Clearly the guy wearing the company logo on his shirt is who he said he is, but Zane and Crew both insisted I never take that at face value. "Can I see your ID please?" I ask as nicely as possible through the speaker. I feel like an idiot, but I'd rather not deal with Crew when/if he ever found out I didn't ask.
The guy holds up his badge and the name matches the one Crew gave me. "Be right there," I say into the speaker before rushing toward the door.
"Hi. Right this way." I open the door and let him in.
"Thanks, we have a team of four today. Should be in and out of your hair in a couple of hours."
"Sounds good. I'm Berklee. Let me know if you need anything."
With that, I leave them to it. We got in a shipment late yesterday of paper towels, soap, towels for the bar, straws, plastic cups, and a whole host of other items. I didn't get time to put it away yesterday, so this is as good a time as any. I'll be close in case the delivery guys need anything, and I'll knock this off my to-do list-win-win.
I run upstairs and grab the labeler and utility knife from my desk, then make my way to the supply closet and just start slicing open boxes. I'm quickly lost in my own little world, my phone sitting on the bottom shelf playing my eclectic taste of all genres of music.
Down to the last box, I reach the dish towels for the bar. I slice open the box and grab the first pack, standing on tiptoes to slide it on the top shelf. It's a reach but doable.
Grabbing the next pack, I repeat the process, but this time it's different. I feel him as soon as he steps behind me, his hands on my hips, his body close to mine. Too close for a boss to be next to an employee, but you'll never hear a complaint from me. I've lived for these small touches this week.
"What are you doing, Berklee?" he asks next to my ear.
I close my eyes and relish the feel of his body aligned with mine. "Unpacking," I finally say.
He steps even closer, eliminating the space between our bodies. "You need to be careful." Slowly he runs his hand up my arm that is still in the air and takes the pack of towels, setting it on the top shelf. Then he wraps me in his arms and buries his face in my neck. "Fuck, Berklee. I keep fighting this and I don't know if I can do it anymore."
"Don't." It's barely a whisper, but judging from his intake of breath, I know he heard me.
"You work for me."
"We're adults," I counter. We are, and I've thought about this a lot this week. The way his simple touches make me feel. I know I'll regret it if I never know what it feels like to be with him. I can always call Carrie and beg for my job at Coffee House.
I feel his lips against my neck. "So fucking sweet," he murmurs.
I tilt my head to the side, giving him free rein. This is further than he's ever taken things, and my inside voice is begging him not to stop. I don't want to fight this chemistry we have.