My Dad's Boss(8)

He showed me to dimly lit back bedroom that didn't seem to get much use. Most of the surfaces were on the dusty side.

"I don't come back here often," Nick said, seeing me looking around.

He opened a door and revealed a walk-in closet piled high with boxes. He  pulled a chain dangling from the ceiling and a small amount of yellow  light illuminated the small space.

"Wow," I said, taking in all the boxes. There had to be at least twenty  of them. "You do realize I have to go back to college in August, right?"

He chuckled. "I suppose it is a pretty big project. How about I start  pulling boxes out, and maybe you could look inside and group them by  content?"

"Sounds good," I said. And a few minutes later, when the muscles in his  biceps and chests bulged as he carried several boxes at a time, it  sounded like an even better plan. I could watch him all day.

I poked around the growing piles of boxes at my feet. I felt a bit like  an archeologist, never knowing what I was going to uncover.

"Cassie? Can you give me a hand with this?"

I stepped in the small closet with him. He'd reached up and placed his  hands on the side of a box on a top shelf well above his head. "I think  there's something on top of this, so when I lift it down, maybe you can  try to grab whatever it is before it falls?"

"Okay." I took a step nearer, my hands up, ready to play catch.

But I wasn't ready for what actually came down which was a wall of dust,  pieces of lint, and other assorted bits of fluff. Hastily, Nick lowered  the box to the ground, and both of us fled the closet, covered in a  layer of dust.

Coughing, we dusted ourselves off. Nick had gotten the brunt of it, and his dark hair was almost white. He looked like a ghost.

"I think some of that was sawdust," I sputtered. "Were any of your relatives carpenters?"

"Possibly, but aren't carpenters supposed to sweep that stuff up and  throw it out, not save it to shower the next generation?" He gave up on  trying to brush off his t-shirt and instead pulled it over his head,  using it to rub his hair and his arms.

I couldn't help but stare as he ran his shirt over his body like a  towel. God, he looked good. His pecs and abs were well-defined, and I  wondered how often he worked out. It must be quite a bit. He was in  better shape than most men my age, and he was nearing forty.

Nick flung his filthy shirt onto the floor, looked up, and caught me  staring at him. One side of his mouth quirked upward. I think it was  pretty clear to him that I liked what I saw.         

     



 

"I'm going to go get another t-shirt. Would you like one, too? You look like you just spent half an hour inside a snow globe."

Looking down at myself, I had to agree with his assessment. My shirt was  covered with little bits of everything. Nick moved closer. "It's in  your hair, too … "

I reached up and brushed at my hair, but it seemed pretty ineffective.  With a sigh, I bent at the waist, leaning over and plunged both hands  into my hair, shaking my tresses back and forth, trying to get all the  specks out.

I was dizzy by the time I straightened up, but still aware enough to  recognize the interest in Nick's eyes. Evidently he'd liked the view  when I was bent over like that.

My hair was a little cleaner now, but messy, sticking up all over. Nick  picked a few pieces of lint out of my hands and smoothed my hair down,  stroking it over and over. It felt so good that I moaned involuntarily,  inching closer to him.

He kept his hands buried in my hair for far longer than necessary before he finally stepped away. "I'll go find some shirts."

My scalp tingled from his touch, and I savored the sensation as he went  away. So far, in spite of the dust cloud, this was shaping up to be a  great job. There was enough work to keep me busy, and from what I'd  seen, his family had a very interesting past. Plus, there was my hot new  employer who'd already taken his shirt off on the very first day.

This was definitely my kind of job.





Chapter Seven





TWO MORE AFTERNOONS of working at Nick's place, and I'd finally gotten  the last of the boxes opened. I wasn't entirely sure what was in each  one, but at least I'd pulled out all the photo albums and loose  pictures. Nick and I had talked, and we agreed I'd start with the  photos. That meant that I spent a lot of time cataloging, sorting,  filing, and labeling them. All of that had to be done before I could  make digital photo albums or a video presentation.

But just for variety, I also took breaks to go sort through the boxes,  and little by little, I discovered treasures from Nick's past. Or his  relatives' past.

While I did that, Nick worked dutifully in his study. When I asked, he  said he was working on stuff for his school, and once he said he was  submitting an article to an academic journal. My job definitely sounded  more fun, so occasionally I took it upon myself to make his life more  interesting. Like now.

I'd found a journal handwritten by his Great, Great Uncle August. Unlike  some of the other family journals I'd read, Uncle August had a dirty  mind. Therefore, it seemed like my duty as an employee to make the boss  of aware of that kind of thing, right?

So I sent him a text: Am reading your great grand-uncle's journal. A  fascinating read! Pretty sure he'd approve of modern day inventions such  as the internet and the porn that lives there.

He wrote back: Is that Great Uncle Auggie? I've heard stories.

I replied: He seemed like quite the ladies' man. And a man ahead of his time!

He answered: How so?

I snapped a picture of a drawing scribbled in the journal's margin and  sent it to him with a caption: Look, the world's first dick pic!

There was a long pause and then his response: Maybe you should read someone else's journals.

My response was quick: I'm a big girl. I can handle it. (ha ha)

He replied: Very funny.

And then I couldn't help but ask: So …  Auggie seemed justifiably  impressed with himself. Notice any familial resemblance? In other words,  did the apple fall far from the tree? (or the apple's apple's apple).

His response: No comment. Don't you have work to do?

My reply: I'm doing it. I can scan photos and flirt with you at the same time.

He answered: Well, I can't type and flirt at the same time. So go get some work done, naughty girl.

Oooh, I liked it when he called me that. I did get back to work, but  after that, I looked for more ways to tease Nick. He'd kissed me at my  mom's party, after all. He could pretend to be all professional now, but  I knew how sexy he could be when he wanted to. And I wanted to see that  side of him again.

That's perhaps what prompted me to take that selfie near the end of my  shift. I was back in the spare bedroom, and I'd just unearthed a little  bundle of baby clothes. Inside were the cutest little knitted mittens,  made for tiny hands decades ago. Maybe even a century ago. The mittens  were fragile but still intact with only a few moth holes. They were just  adorable. Hard to imagine that the baby who'd worn them was likely a  great grandparent now.

They were so cute. I wanted to show them to Nick, but instead of  bounding down to his office, I got another idea instead. I was wearing a  pale pink shirt with spaghetti straps today. No bra, but the shirt came  with a little built-in liner that cupped and lifted my breasts.  However, when I bent forward, that liner did little to hold me in  place-a fact I was banking on.         

     



 

It took me eleven tries to get the selfie just right. Then it took me  another five minutes to get up the nerve to send it. But it only took  Nick thirty seconds to respond: My office. Right now.

Shivers ran up and down my spine as I hastened to obey.





* * *





Nick was leaning against the front of his desk with his arms crossed  when I entered. He nodded at the seat in front of him, and I sat down  quickly, looking up at him. Unfortunately, he didn't look like he was in  a playful mood.

"Care to explain this to me?" He held his phone up, and I examined the  picture there. It showed a young woman with an impish smile and blonde  waves framing her face. She was leaning toward the camera, her shirt  gaping open, cleavage fully on display, and the rosy tip of one nipple  showing. Dangling from her raised index finger was a pair of knitted  baby mittens. The caption read: Cute pair, right?

I started to giggle but stopped it when I saw Nick's stern face. Holy  crap, he wasn't happy. But he was seriously hot when he got all strict  like that. "Is there a problem?"

"Several," he said, glaring down at me. Making me feel like a  disobedient child. "For one, sending that in the first place. I'm your  boss. I'm your dad's boss. That doesn't make me your most logical  sexting partner. Secondly, anything like that you send could end up  online in heartbeat. Do you know how many girls at Sago Palm sent a  picture like that to their boyfriend, trusting him to keep it private,  only to find out later that he'd shown it to all his friends or posted  it online? That happens every day in every school in America. Those  girls are naïve. You are not. You should know better. Next time, if  you're dumb enough to send something like that, at least crop your face  out of it."