The paper lowers slowly. His hair comes into view, dark and wavy. The paper lowers again and I see arched thick eye brows and deep blue eyes that look vaguely familiar. The paper is about halfway and my curiosity is ravenous. He keeps going, but time seems to slow as the face comes into focus and I realize who this man is. The man I’ve been having online flirtatious conversations with…
My boss.
Donovan Ward.
And now things become clear.
Crystal clear.
So freaking clear I feel my heart pound so loud it blocks my hearing at first.
“Laurel.” His voice is one I recognize. His slight husky almost Scottish accent that makes me think he’s been drinking whiskey all day long or smoking cigars which I know he doesn’t do.
“Mr. Ward.” I choke the words out unsure what to do. Will I get fir
ed? Will we or rather I get in any trouble? My chest burns with acid reflux over this discovery and I bite my thumbnail even though I know touching my face is off-limits. But it’s my face and my house so at the moment I don’t care.
Yup.
I’m going to get sick and then die from biting my nail. That’s what’s going to finally do me in. No speeding bus or casual mugging in the park, my damn thumbnail.
“Oh no, please don’t call me that.”
“But you’re you. You’re my boss.” Floundering, I get up from my bed because it butts up against my desk and my closet sized room doesn’t even have space for a chair. And then I realize he can pretty much see my room. The whole thing, less than six square feet of it because it’s really a generous sized closet.
“I’m the company owner, but I’m not your direct boss.”
My eyes narrow. “I don’t think that makes me feel any better.”
“Right. I guess not.” He runs a hand through his glossy Clark Kent like hair. “Well, still, call me Van. Please?”
It’s hard to deny him much of anything when he looks at me like I’m everything.
“Van.” I parrot his name, but it doesn’t alleviate my anxiety in the slightest.
He winces. “I wanted to tell you sooner.”
“Sooner.” Meaning, he’s known for quite some time. My face goes hot and sweat beads between my breasts itching. “How long have you known?”
He winces again. “Almost from the beginning.” I take it back. He’s no Clark Kent, he might as well be Lex Luthor in his deception and I feel like a colossal idiot.
My breast sweat makes me squirm. It’s like being fifteen again, super awkward and the boy you’ve been crushing on finally takes notice. He smiles at you, except you’re not sure if he’s smiling at you, or Barbara from Biology when you’ve just gauchely raised your hand in a half-hearted wave. I have an overwhelming need to check and see if Barbara is behind me even though rational thought tells me she’s not. Barbara the bitch from Biology hasn’t been around in close to a decade, but you feel her presence, and that’s enough to squash your self-esteem.
“Shit.”
My boss nods, scrubbing his hands over his face and into his hair. Not exactly on the list of approved things to do, but I bite my lip instead of telling him this. After all, I’m a hypocritical nail biter. He’s probably got access to gallons of hand sanitizer and body wash, but at least he’s mirroring a quarter of my own unease.
“I didn’t know how to tell you and then things sort of progressed and it became harder.”
“Right.” I drawl.
We both stare into the screen. I can see the view behind him from the perfect webcam lighting to the cityscape behind his shoulder. It’s the kind of view only a pricey apartment can buy. Afforded by a man well out of my league.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was afraid you’d stop talking to me and I like our chats.”
“That’s it? Our chats?” I can feel the pin pop the balloon in my heart deflating me to nothing.
“Let me clarify, Laurel. These chats have become the highlight of my day. So much so that I’m going to kill my buddy for making me miss you last night.”