Fling (Wrong 2.5)

I riffle through the two papers in front of Preston anyway. It’s not there. I close my eyes and consider my options. I could move back to Delaware. Join the Peace Corps.

“Who did you name?” Preston whispers.

I turn my head and look at him, then flick my eyes to Gabe, standing a few feet away from us in the front row about to sit down.

“Knew it!” Preston crows, slapping a hand down on his thigh. He grins then winks at me. “He is ideal,” he says, running an appreciative glance over Gabe’s body. This isn’t anything new. Preston might be the only person who checks out Gabe’s ass more often than I do.

“You’re married,” I remind him. “And Gabe’s your boss.” Preston is his assistant.

“Yeah, yeah.”

We both watch as Gabe sets down the stack of papers on the workspace in front of him. I can see the papers clearly now—the surveys from earlier.

“He might be a little much for you,” Preston says.

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I watch Gabe turn to sit. Those damn pants do fit him perfectly.

“I’m sorry! I just meant he’s a little old for you.”

I shrug. Gabe is a little much for me. He’s the CFO of the company I work for, my boss’ best friend, and close to a decade older than me. He’s also unbearably beautiful. I watch the way his sweater fits across his wide shoulders as he leans forward, picking up a bottle of water, and I almost manage to forget about the fact that I filled out a childish sex quiz naming the second-in-command at the company I work for as the guy I’d most like to do it with.

“I bet he would give you the time of your life,” Preston whispers.

I shake my head. “If I wasn’t Sawyer’s assistant Gabe wouldn’t even know my name.”

Gabe brings the bottle to his lips and I catch myself wetting my own as he tilts the bottle back and takes a sip, the lines of his neck moving as he swallows. I shake my head to bring myself out of my Gabe trance and move my eyes down to the workspace in front of me.

“Your name isn’t on it,” Preston reminds me in a soft whisper, patting my back as the IT department begins their presentation. “He’ll probably never turn that paper over anyway.” He tries again as I have gone completely mute. The afternoon speaker drones on, and for once I’m not paying any attention or taking a single note. My heart is thumping. How could I have been so unprofessional? I know Sawyer distracted me when he called me over to ask about the Berlin project, but it’s still unacceptable. I should have never let that piece of paper out of my hands.

We spend the next hour watching Gabe flip through the surveys. I die a little each time he turns the one he’s looked at face down when he’s done with it. He’s going to see the writing on the back of Preston’s survey when he flips it over. My boss is sitting right next to him. What if he shows it to Sawyer? I will die. My stomach turns and I contemplate leaving early. But no. I can’t do that. I have work to do and Sawyer might need me for something, and despite today’s sex survey, I am a professional.

Gabe flips the next survey over face down.

There’s writing on the back of it.

From two rows behind I can’t make out the words, but based on the way the handwriting fills the page, I know it’s the sex quiz.

Gabe’s phone, lying face up on the desk in front of him, lights up, indicating an incoming call while the ringer is turned off. I’m not sure if he even looks to see who’s calling, but he taps a finger on the ignore button and picks Preston’s survey back up.

I watch as he rubs his chin with this thumb and forefinger while scanning the paper.

I watch as comprehension hits him, the muscle under his left temple rising as he dips his neck just slightly closer to the paper, reading.

And then I watch as he folds the paper in half, and in half again, before rising from the chair just enough to slip it into his back pocket.

I’m dead. This must be what being dead feels like.

Two

Gabe

“What do you think of Sandra?” I ask Sawyer as I snag a signed baseball from a display case along the far wall of his office. I settle into one of the guest chairs across his desk and toss the ball over my head before catching it again.

He’s reviewing something on his monitor and he pauses at my question and turns his attention to me. “You know she’s the best executive assistant I’ve ever had. Do you need her help with something? I thought you were happy with Preston?”

Somehow human resources only assigns me gay men or women old enough to have birthed me. I suspect that’s on direct orders from Sawyer. Dick.

I give the ball another toss and catch. “No, I meant, what do you think of Sandra as a woman?”

“I don’t,” Sawyer says, narrowing his eyes at me.

“She’s got a thing for me,” I say.

“She doesn’t,” Sawyer says dismissively and taps the mouse on his desk, intent on ignoring me.

“She does,” I insist. “She’s always looking at me.”

“Maybe she thinks you’re an idiot.”

That’s a distinct possibility. I’ve never been quite sure. Most of the time she ducks her head and calls me Mr. Laurent as she scurries past. It fucking turns me on, but I’m not sure if it turns her on or if she honestly just thinks I’m an asshole.

“I think she’s dating someone in marketing,” Sawyer adds while tapping on his keyboard, engrossed with whatever’s on the screen in front of him.

“They broke up over the summer,” I say confidently, leaning back in the chair and tossing the ball a little further in the air.

“How do you know that?” Sawyer stops typing and crosses his arms across his chest. He doesn’t look pleased with my knowledge of Sandra’s dating life; I think he views her like the little sister he never had. “What could you possibly want to do with Sandra anyway?”

I catch the ball as my brows raise in disbelief. “You need me to spell it out for you, buddy?” I lean forward in the chair and adopt a serious tone. “Sometimes, when two people are attracted to each other, they enjoy taking their clothing off together so they can—”