“Good,” he says, eyes meeting mine. “I’ll be back as soon as I can to assist you.”
I nod again, cheeks flushing, though they’re still red from fucking. Ben opens the door all the way and steps out. I keep my eyes focused on the black computer screen. I know Mindy is looking at me, waiting for me to look up and meet her gaze so she can give me a snarky smile or make some bullshit comment.
Finally, she turns and goes down the stairs, heels clicking on the wood. I lean back and let out a breath, realizing how close we were to being caught. Maybe Mindy had come up the stairs earlier and heard? Then that means she stood there and waited, listening for us to finish. What a sick freak.
Or maybe not.
Probably not, or she would have knocked sooner. I pull out my phone from my purse and log onto a gamer site instead, checking for updates and reading through forums for entertainment. People lose their shit over the littlest things. Five minutes turn to ten, then fifteen. Twenty minutes later, Ben texts me, saying the people interested in the piece are talkers, and want to discuss getting a few custom paintings. It’s going to be a while, like an hour or more since they have to draw things up and go over some sort of contract. He says I can leave if I need to get back to work and he’ll call me later.
I gather up my things, knowing I can’t stay that long even though I want to. I have some work left to do on the site I’m coding, and I don’t want to stay at work late. I text Ben back: I do need to get back to the office, as much as I don’t want to. I can plug in your router anytime. I add a winking emoji and smile after I send.
I take another minute to gather my composure. My panties are damp since I pulled them on without cleaning myself up, and Ben makes me pretty fucking wet. I’m feeling pretty damn empowered as I go down the office steps. A middle-of-the-workday fucking is always something I wanted to do, but never thought I’d be with someone who could give that to me.
Ben glances at me and smiles when I step off the last stair. He’s standing next to a tall statue that kind of resembles a tree. I haven’t stopped to get a good look at anything yet, but I remember the price tag on that thing could pay for four months’ worth of rent for me. Holy shit.
“Felicity,” Mindy says when I walk past her desk, voice sickly high pitched. Why does she purposely talk like that? I turn around to see her staring at me, lips pressed together, and eyes narrowed. I rack my brain for a witty comeback to whatever the hell kind of insult she’s planning to throw at me.
Then her eyes widen. “Your shirt,” she starts and for a brief moment I think she’s going to make fun of my WOW polo, then I realize she wouldn’t recognize the emblem.
“What about it?” I ask and realize it’s not tucked in. But I never tuck in my shirts for work. It’s wrinkled? No, I did my “mist with water and throw in the dryer” trick this morning. Maybe it wrinkled in the few minutes it spent on the floor? Nah, I doubt that.
Then she says it the exact moment I realize what’s wrong.
“It’s inside out.”
Fuck. It is. There is no mistaking that seam. I blink a few times, trying to come up with a lie. It was always this way. Yes. I put it on inside out this morning. Silly me.
“It wasn’t like that when you came in.” Her wide eyes narrow as she puts two and two together.
Damn it, Mindy fucking Abraham, calling me out. Oh well. I’m fucking your boss, so … so I have no idea what that makes me. Probably a whore in her eyes.
“Oh,” I stammer. “Maybe? I don’t know. I didn’t really pay attention.” I scurry toward the door, catching one last glimpse of Mindy’s face. For a moment, it’s pulled down with sadness. Then jealousy takes over and her jaw sets in that I’m-gonna-cut-a-bitch way that sends a shiver down my spine.
She’s fucking pissed, and then I realize something else. Married or not, she’s crushing on Ben. Big time.
CHAPTER NINE
“You’re such a better sewer than me,” Erin sighs.
“Not really,” I say back, leaning in to get a better look at the computer screen, and in turn, her costume. We’re talking via Skype, going over the progress of our Comic Con costumes. “That looks awesome.”
“Meh, it’s not so good in person.”
“If you need me to help with the fine details, I can,” I say. “I’ll be home for my parent’s annual Fourth of July party,” I remind her. “We can work on costumes then.”
“I might take you up on that offer.” She sits down and pulls her hair into a clip. “Are you inviting Ben?”