Hard For My Boss

I clench shut my eyes, giving myself a second to think. Then, snapping them open, I decide to keep yet another secret from my dear, loving roommate. I open my phone and proceed to construct another lie for my childhood friend to believe:

ME

I have to stay late.

Rebekah gave me an extra task.

Go without me. I’ll see you

back at home later.

He texts back a crying emoji, a thumbs-up, and then the flag of Thailand. I take a deep breath—perhaps to choke out the guilt that’s bubbling up from my chest—and then grab hold of the box.

Cue the Mission: Impossible theme.

When I get outside, though, the last thing I hear is music. It’s all noise and car horns and shouting while I hug the box to my chest like a pool floatie and wade through the crowds and cars and smog of the city on my way to Benjamin Gage’s building.

For the second time in my life.

Really, this isn’t that big a deal. I don’t even have to see him. I can just go right up the elevator, drop the box off in front of his door, and leave. He doesn’t even have to know I was there.

Suddenly, I’m standing in front of his building, and I spend a second genuinely considering whether I magically teleported here or not, because I don’t recollect walking the distance at all. It was all a blur of noise and car exhaust fumes and crossing streets.

And sweat marks I’m likely leaving on this box, which I have not stopped hugging since I left the damned office.

I push inside the building and give a nod at the security guard, who I pray isn’t the same one from the night I was here. Honestly, I didn’t get a good look—distracted as I was with the hot stranger I was going home with. I tap the button for the elevator and wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Ding.

When the doors shut behind me, my throat is so constricted I can barely breathe. I’m tapping one foot like crazy, bouncing as I ascend the nine thousand floors.

Ding.

That was quick. I force myself out of the elevator on legs as stiff as stone. The hall is longer than I remember. Benjamin Gage’s door—the only door—looms at the end of it.

Each of my footfalls is heavy and ringing. My ears fill with the thumps of my shoes against the floor as I carry the box to its fateful destination.

I stop at the door. Should I really just leave the box? Should I knock? Should I shoot him a text? No, I decide, because then he’ll know you were here, and things will get weird again. I nod, assured, and set the box on the ground in front of the door. I make sure it’s perfectly in place, parallel to the door and exactly one foot away from it. Yes, that looks nice.

Then I glance up at the door again. The peephole stares back at me suspiciously.

Maybe I should just tap on the door and run away. He might not see me as I slip back on the elevator. I could run, maybe.

I’ll just leave it, I decide. With a resolute nod, I turn away from his door and leave the box where it is, determined.

Until I hear his door open. “Trevor?”

I stop. Hairs lift on the back of my neck. My hands jab into my pockets at once. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Just … dropping off the box of files,” I explain without facing him. “Rebekah had an emergency. She sent me in her place. I’ll be on my way now.”

“What’s the rush?”

I sigh and roll my eyes. Now he wants to play with me? I spin around and paste on a fake smile, prepared to answer him.

Until I see him shirtless and speckled with droplets of water all over his muscled, tatted torso, wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel hanging low at his waist. Tiny diamonds drip down from his hair, messy and wet.

Oh my Good Gay God.

“You caught me stepping out of the shower,” he says lazily, leaning against the doorframe. “I was just about to sit down for some dinner. You hungry?”

I can’t close my mouth. “I … I’m …”

“Nothing unprofessional,” Ben promises with a crooked smile that only touches half his face, a dimple popping out. “Totally innocent meal, that’s it.”

There is nothing innocent about that body. There is nothing innocent about any of this whatsoever.

“Well?” He nods at me. “You gonna keep me waiting?”

16

Benjamin is clean, yet feeling dirty.

What the hell am I doing?

“I’m …” He shuts his eyes and swallows hard, standing there in the hallway looking adorable as fuck.

Behave, I order myself. I told him it’ll be an innocent meal, and I meant it. Professional, remember?

Professional. Yeah. And here I am answering the door wearing just a towel. As if I didn’t totally plan this.