I Like Being Watched

Fitz got me a car.

I mean, sure, there might have been some rationality to his argument about my car being unreliable, but he'd also never experienced an inconvenience on my part because of my shoddy means of transportation, so it wasn't like that really should have even been on his mind.

So why then?

Because we'd had sex?

Fitz didn't strike me as the sort of man to buy a woman gifts for fucking him. It wasn't like he would have a hard time getting laid. He was rich, handsome, and a pretty nice guy under all the guards he put up.

He didn't need to give women gifts in exchange for their attention and affection.

So why then?

Especially since I'd been freezing him out since the party.

See, after taking off to freshen up and get myself together, I came to the realization that it wasn't safe for me to keep allowing things to be sexual between Fitz and me.

Because I was having confusing thoughts and feelings about him that had nothing to do with sex.

It was risky enough to have a sexual relationship with your boss, but to let one-sided feelings start to get involved? That was a recipe for disaster. It was a surefire way to lose my job as well as the stability I'd started to get accustomed to thanks to it.

So I needed to distance myself. I needed to control my urges to put on a show for the cameras, for the man sitting at his desk watching the feeds from them.

I had to get it together.

I had to put an end to it.

So I put on clothes that wouldn't allow for any sort of malfunctions and I focused my mind on the tasks at hand instead of which angles the cameras were catching me at, and wondering if Fitz was watching me.

It made the days long and boring and exhausting.

But that was what a job was like, right?

On a sigh, I kicked out of my boring flats, took off my bland slacks and button-up, slipped into an oversized tee, and headed into my studio.

Where I stared at the blank canvas until my eyes got blurry.

See, what I'd told Blake was only a half-truth.

I actually hadn't been able to put my paintbrush to a canvas in days.

I blamed my strange mood.

My art flourished with strong emotions like love or hate or anger and joy.

But I felt emotionally stunted right then. Weird and unfocused, my mind whipping from one thing to some completely unrelated thing the next second, leaving me wired and antsy, but too all over the place to get anything onto a canvas or even a damn sketchpad.

I was artistically stuck.

And it was scarier than I could have anticipated, to think I'd lost something that had always been such a vital part of my life.

On a strange whimper, I tossed the brush back into the coffee can I kept them in, and made my way out of the studio to grab my phone.

I didn't call Perry.

I usually would have.

If not for the whole boss thing.

She was understanding and nonjudgmental about most things, but I wasn't sure how she would react to this sort of conversation.

But there was one person I could always count on understanding and never ever judging.

"Hey, honey!" my mom's chipper voice met my ear.

"I can't paint," I said, hearing the mix of desperation and fear in my voice.

"Huh," my mom said as I put water on for hot chocolate. "Okay. Well, what is going on that might be messing up your aura?"

"It's sort of a long story," I admitted, putting a teabag and sugar into a mug as I watched the electric kettle start to warm up.

"And the condensed version is?"

"I, ah, I sort of slept with my boss," I admitted.

"Did he fire you?"

"Ah, no. Actually, he is lending me a really fancy car," I admitted.

"Is he now?"

"It's not a sex gift," I insisted.

"Of course not. I would never imply that, darling. I'm afraid I'm not seeing the issue here. You slept with your boss and he is being kind to you?"

Okay, put like that, it didn't sound all that confusing or complicated.

"I, ah, it was... I sort of... you know... initiated it. But it was really more of a game. For weeks. And then..."

"And then you had sex and decided maybe it isn't just a game to you after all."

My mom, bless her heart. She always got it.

"Exactly."

"And what has happened since then?"

"Well, I, ah, I distanced myself. I can't have feelings for my boss."

"Why not?"

"Because, you know, it's like a rule."

"Whose rule? Is it his rule? Your rule? You are the only two people whose opinions matter on this issue, don't you think?"

"Well... yeah, I guess."

"His opinion seems to be clear."

"I mean, not really. He said I needed a reliable car to keep doing my job."