There's no getting out of this one. I made a dumb choice. I should have changed in the bathroom, not out in the open boardroom, where anyone could walk in.
It could have been anyone. Anyone else in the office, but it wasn't. Mr. Reeves caught me. He caught me in a compromised position, half naked while on the job. Completely exposed. And utterly caught off guard.
And I think he liked it. . . Stop it, he was probably shocked the same as you.
An intense surge of regret hits me as I follow him to his office. I suck in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I did this to myself. No one else got me fired. One bad choice is all it takes.
Mr. Reeves enters his office first, and says firmly, “Shut the door.” I do as he asks, pushing it closed. I catch a fleeting glimpse of Irene with a look of worry on her face before the door closes completely.
“And lock it,” he says sharply.
“What?” I ask.
Lock it? Why?
He looks back at me over his shoulder, his eyes dark. “Lock it.”
I lock the door, then fumble with my hands in front of my waist as I turn around to face him. I don't know what to do or say. Do I try to explain myself? Do I beg for my job? Do I just stay quiet and let him say his piece?
Speak up. Tell him what happened. Tell him the truth. This is all a misunderstanding, an accident, and it will never happen again.
“Mr. Reeves,” I start to say, taking a small step forward and letting my eyes connect with his. “I just want you to—”
He holds up his hand, silencing me instantly. “I'll tell you when it's your turn to speak,” he says with a commanding tone.
This man is used to being in charge. He's used to having all the power. You can feel it in the air. The arrogance, the pride, the ego, all of it thick and palpable. It's pouring off him like molten lava from a volcano. The room is getting hot and stuffy as I stand here. The air so warm my skin is clammy.
Mr. Reeves runs his thumb across his bottom lip. The bright blue in his eyes is now dark as the deepest trenches of the oceans and black as night. They travel up and down my body. Moving smoothly, not missing a single inch.
He walks casually around his desk, his fingers trailing over the edge. The way he's touching his desk is almost sensual. His fingertips delicately swirl, following knots in the wood. It's like he's testing me. Waiting to see if I'll break my silence and speak anyway.
I need this damn job. I can't screw it up anymore.
My mouth shuts tight. I'm strangling my fingers, squeezing my hands together with so much force my knuckles turn white. The surface of my skin bristles, causing each hair to stand on end.
Just say something already!
He sits down slowly at his desk and leans back in his lush, leather chair. Steepling his fingers, he presses them against his lips. We're both silent. I want to speak up and say something. The temptation is strong. My tongue is pressing against the back of my teeth, and my voice is bubbling in my throat. I want to apologize so damn bad for this morning, but I'm going to do what he says, and keep my mouth shut for now.
For all I know, anything I might say could make things worse. Mr. Reeves might feel just as bad as I do. It's possible. Right?
I teeter on my heels, taking the chance to look around his office. There are pictures on the walls of him with famous people. Actors, actresses, politicians, academics. All people who have been interviewed for the magazine over the years. It's impressive. The amount of fame on his walls is staggering.
Mr. Reeves peers at me from behind his desk, the silence almost deafening. My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest, I wonder if he can hear it too. Is he listening to my racing heart? Enjoying the nerves he's making go wild for so many reasons?
I'm nervous as hell. But I can't ignore the heat starting to burn between my legs, and my nipples as they stiffen beneath my blouse. The silky fabric brushes against my nipples, turning them hard as diamond.
There's a lump in my throat, and my stomach is twisting and turning. I swallow the lump, forcing it all the way down.
Mr. Reeves’s voice finally cuts through the air as he says, “Come closer, Ronda.” I take a few steps closer. His eyes turn to pinpricks as his expression is stoic. “Closer.”
I take a few more steps and start to reach out for the chair at the front of his desk.