I Like Being Watched

"My sweet girl, you are not that gullible. I can all but guarantee you that the car has nothing to do with your job. Men don't typically think like that. Right, honey?" she asked, but I knew she wasn't talking to me by the way her voice got far away. "Wynnie wants to know if a boss out of nowhere gets his assistant a fancy new car just so she can do her job more effectively."

"That depends," my step-father said, likely leaning his head against my mothers to talk into her phone. "Has your car been breaking down lately?"

"No. I mean, it does its usual nonsense, but never that he has known about."

"Then no. That is not typical," he said, and I could already tell he'd lost interest in the conversation. I loved my step-father, but he was a practical man who didn't usually have a lot of time for chit-chat. I guess that was why he and my impractical and loquacious mother worked so well.

"See?" my mother asked. "I think your boss might have feelings for you, but doesn't know how to express it. Bill was the same way when we first started dating. He was wholly incapable of telling me he was into me, so he would take my car to get it washed and serviced, or hire someone to come in and fix the leaky sink in my kitchen, or tell me he just so happened to get tickets from a client to a nearly sold-out and very expensive opera I'd told him I was dying to see. Sometimes men weren't raised to regulate and express their feelings, so they show them instead of telling you about them."

"I just... I don't think my boss has feelings for me," I insisted, pouring my hot water into my cup.

"Why not? Because he's rich and powerful and you're not?" my mom asked, making me wince because, to an extent, that was something that had crossed my mind.

"He could have any woman he wanted," I said, knowing it was true.

"Sure, darling. But he wants you. Who are you to tell him he's mistaken in his decision? Those are his feelings to feel, not yours to change. You don't have to participate in his feelings if you don't want to. That's your choice. But it's really not your place to question why he wants you. He just does."

My mother, bless her, was one of the most self-assured people I'd ever met. Not cocky or conceited in any way, just sure of herself, never plagued with rampant intrusive thoughts about her own inadequacy. She didn't question why people adored her, just accepted it.

I, however, didn't inherit that gene.

Sure, I was confident in many ways. In my physicality, in my sexuality, in my talent, in my drive and ambition to make something for myself.

But when it came to things like feelings and relationships? That wasn't my strong suit. The path behind me was littered with the scattered, decaying remains of all my previous relationships. It stretched back to when I first started dating at fifteen and ended about a year ago.

It just never worked.

And it left me with this lingering worry that there was simply something wrong with me that I could never make it work, that no one ever just looked at me and saw me as enough.

These were just average guys, too. Not rich, powerful, educated, and cultured like Fitz.

What would a man like that see in me?

Other than sex, obviously.

Maybe that was what it boiled down to.

I was sure all he could want from me was sex—since I had worked hard at making him want that—and a part of me was terrified that after we'd done it, he would be done with me.

"Listen, Wynnie, I get it. You're struggling to see it right now. I'm just suggesting you be open to letting him show you," my mom suggested.

"That's... that's good advice," I decided.

"I'm known for it," my mom agreed, and I could almost see the smile I knew she had on her face.

"I miss you."

"I miss you too, sweetie. Just a couple more weeks," she assured me.

Schedule-wise, we hadn't been able to swing actual Christmas this year, but we were going to spend a few days together between Christmas and New Years.

"I want some details on you and your boss," she demanded. "If things happen between now and when I see you. I also wouldn't object to a picture of the man who is spoiling my much-deserving little girl."

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

"Good. Don't overthink it. Just let the universe guide you."

"I'll try," I agreed.

"Good. Love you, baby."

"Love you too," I said, ending the call and taking a sip of my tea, deciding she was right.

I had growing feelings.

And if Fitz did too, wasn't that worth exploring?

I would just... take my cues from him.