“Liar,” she says, and leans back on my desk with her palms flat on the glass behind her. She’s smudging up my pristine desk and making a mess of my organization. She’s trashed my office and flipped my schedule for today completely upside down.
Getting to the position I’m in today requires rigorous control and scheduling. I just so happen to be a type-A who gets anxiety when my schedule is off even for a moment. I suffer from panic attacks when I feel a situation is beyond my control, but surprisingly, right now, none of those emotions are present. At the moment, I only feel raging desire, which is as unfamiliar to me as my current situation.
“You won’t call me a liar, Rebecca.” I’m breathing hard, but now that I’m not touching her, I can try to put together this mess. Maybe some of the blood flowing to my cock will return to my brain. I can do this. Just take it one step at a time.
“First, you need to put my shirt on.” I say, and reach down to pick it up off the floor. I approach her again, but I’m careful not to touch her when she takes the shirt from me. After it’s in her hand, I take a step back so I can distance myself from her pull.
“News flash, Vanilla, I’m not putting that shirt on. You can get over it or die pissed, it’s not happening. Now let’s talk about you getting me fired.”
“Fine. If you insist on not wearing anything, we’ll have this discussion like an adult talking to a child.” which seems ironic, because without a shirt she looks nothing like a child. Lush and curvy in all the right places.
“Oh, Daddy play! Now you’re talking.”
I clench my fists at my sides to keep some control. Who does she think she is? No one speaks to me like this. I stare at her for a split second and all I can think is how her pink, plump lips look so kissable that I want to trace them with my tongue.
I shake my head to clear the thought. “Rebecca.”
“If you’re going to call me a name, it’s Becs. Not Rebecca.”
“Rebecca, please don’t interrupt me.”
She rolls her eyes at me, sits up on my desk, and throws my shirt to the ground. I should be more upset about a thousand-dollar custom-made shirt being treated like trash, but I would use it to mop the floor if it meant just a taste of those lips.
I shake my head again to remove the crazy unfamiliar thoughts from my mind. I can’t seem to concentrate. What is wrong?
“Fine. You call me Becs, and I’ll call you Bray. Deal?”
“Rebecca,” I say ignoring her request. Becs seems like a name a friend would call her, and my intentions are far from friendly when it comes to her. “If you will please stop interrupting me, I’ll explain that I didn’t get you fired. I had a chat with your boss this morning about your performance at work. For the past few weeks, anytime I’ve tried to talk to you at work, you’ve been cold and distant, even rude. I was worried that something was wrong at home. I only spoke to him to clear things up. I never said you were a problem or that you should’ve been fired. I merely said that I’d noticed a change in your attitude at work and asked if there was any personal reason for the behavior.”
She gives me a skeptical look, and I wait for her judgement. I really was worried about her, she seemed so distant and I missed her sweet smiles. I ached to have them back. I knew her smiles were all I would get from her, and when they stopped, it hurt more than I thought it would.
“Why should I believe that? Because the second I showed up today my ass was canned. Explain why.”
“I don’t know, but if you’d like, you can sit here while I make a call and have you reinstated. I was just checking in and I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I should have been more careful when I was asking about her. Everyone is always so over-eager to make me happy that I’m sure the manager thought firing her was what I wanted. I wouldn’t have asked the way I had if I’d thought it would have cost her the job.
“Why would you check in on me? It was pretty clear you didn’t think I fit in there.” She throws the last line at me like an accusation, but I don’t know what she means.
I excel at a few things, and reading people is one of them. I look at her face and see the emotions in her eyes. She looks vulnerable, yet strong. I can see she wants to believe me but she’s afraid of it. Her body language shows me she’s confident, but her nervous fingers betray her.
“What do you mean I made that clear? When?” I try to remember ever saying anything like that to her and then it hits me. “Oh, God, no.” I whisper.
“Yeah, I caught that conversation. No big deal, Vanilla. It’s just good to know where I stand.”
“I never meant for you to hear that because it wasn’t true. The woman I was with that day is my ex-partner's wife. She set up a meeting with me to go over some final documents and believe me, if she had seen me show any interest in you, your life would have become hell.”
She looks at me skeptically, but I see hope in her eyes.
“You don’t fit in anywhere.” I say, and see the defeated look cross her face. I don’t know why that would bother her. She’s a rarity. With her beautiful big eyes that are almost purple in color. Her short white-blonde hair with its color streaks of lavender and pink. A punk rock Tinkerbell is the only way I can describe her. I’ve never seen anyone so different, and breathtakingly beautiful.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear that, but that woman is evil and I didn’t need her knowing how important you were to me.”