Perfect Boss

“I was ashamed,” I say in a pathetic voice.

He reaches over and puts his hand on top of mine, giving it a squeeze. The kindness of the gesture threatens to make me cry again. I blink back tears.

“Your house burnt down. There’s no shame in asking for help.”

“It was my fault my house burnt down. It wasn’t some tragic accident. I left a toaster oven plugged in.”

He stifles a laugh and does a terrible job at covering it up. “That’s unfortunate. I take it the insurance company won’t pay because of it.”

“Right.”

“Which means you need a place to stay.”

“Right again.”

“You can stay with me.”

I slowly turn my head to look at him, wondering if I actually heard him right. “What?”

“I have a high-rise near the store. You’ll live with me.” He gives me another one of his sideways smiles that I’m becoming obsessed with. “It’ll help sell the marriage bit too.”

I’m so overwhelmed and grateful, and terrified at the same time. I don’t know what to say. “Are you sure?”

He hasn’t thought this through. He doesn’t even know me. How could he offer to let me live in his personal space when he has no idea if I’m a thief or a bad person in general?

“Of course I’m sure.”

This probably isn’t a good idea. Being in the car with him, in close quarters, I start to notice how amazing he smells and how good he looks. His suit pants are pulled tight across very muscular thighs and flex each time he pushes down on the clutch to shift. Those big hands and long fingers wrap around the steering wheel. I imagine long fingers like those could reach places in me only my gynecologist is familiar with.

I bite down on the smile forming at the thought. I should say no and try to figure something else out. If Alba knew the kind of bind I was in, I know I could stay with her. But Marcus lives alone and I would be far less of a burden on him than I would on my best friend and her family.

“Thank you,” I say.

We get to the restaurant and I realize immediately that I’m not dressed for this. The place has valet parking, for fuck sake. When he mentioned lunch, I was thinking a burger joint, but I guess I should’ve known better when it comes to Marcus Steere. I bet he’s never had a greasy burger in his life. His body certainly looks like it never has. I start to imagine what he looks like under all those layers, and force the thought away. That is never going to happen. After everything he’s seen from me, he’s probably totally repulsed. I wouldn’t blame him. I haven’t had a shower in almost two days and my clothes are stale. At least I carry an overnight bag in the back of my car for emergencies and brushed my teeth and put on deodorant the last time I used the restroom.

I like the way Marcus keeps his hand on the small of my back as we walk into the restaurant. The hostess has a big smile waiting for him and knows him by name. While other people sit at the bar, waiting for their tables, we’re ushered right in. The hostess keeps glancing at me like she can’t believe I’d be with someone like him. Girl, I get it.

We sit at a table in the middle of the room and I’m so self-conscious that I can’t stop fidgeting. The waiter comes by and pours us each a glass of wine, which I don’t remember Marcus ordering. Maybe he has a standing order. I’m not used to day drinking, but today, I’m all for it. Maybe it will relax the nerves that are crackling with electricity right now.

“You look nervous,” Marcus says when we’re settled in.

“Yeah, a little. Have you seen this place? And better yet, have you seen me?”

His smile puts me a little at ease. “You’re beautiful.”

I’m taken aback and stare at him, not sure what to say. I’ve had a lot of drunk rednecks tell me I’m beautiful in my day, but never someone like Marcus Steere who has made his fortune in fashion and beauty. When he says it, I believe it. His words are so sincere, you can’t help but feel their truth.

“Thank you.”

I take a big gulp of wine and hope that he thinks the flush in my cheeks is from the alcohol and not from the compliment.

When the waiter comes, I have Marcus order my meal because I’ve never tried any of these things before, and I’m not sure what most of it is. I trust his judgement. I gobble up the bread in the middle of the table, dipping it in a mixture of olive oil and balsamic while he goes over his schedule for the week. I’m taking meticulous notes as he plans our trip to Paris for the business meeting. I can’t believe I’m going to Paris. That’s just crazy. I never expected to ever leave the country in my lifetime unless it was some place like Canada or Mexico—like I said, I’m terrified of flying. I guess I’ll have to get over that quickly, seeing as I have no choice now. My job depends on it.

Our food comes. To my relief, it’s steak and salad. But not just any steak and salad. It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. There are some weird things in there I have to get used to, like capers and peppercorns. They seem like an acquired taste, so I just push those to the side. Everything else is delicious, though. Normal food will never taste the same again after this.

After lunch we have dessert. The sorbet is simply orgasmic. There’s also a cup of strawberries with balsamic, but vinegar on fruit sounds repulsive so I’m not touching those. Marcus thinks the sorbet is too sweet so he gives me his and I devour it too.

He’s telling me the ins and outs of what to expect at the meeting with his ex-wife when he suddenly stops and says, “Kiss me.”

My hand freezes on its way to my mouth with a spoonful of heaping sorbet, threatening to spill over the side.

Too late. It plops back into the bowl. “What?” I say.

Marcus glances over my shoulder. “Two of my ex-wife’s former colleagues just walked in. I need you to kiss me.”

I swallow hard when he leans forward. My ears start to ring as I lean forward too. Then I kiss him. It’s a restaurant appropriate kiss, but when our lips touch, it’s electric. His lips are as soft as cashmere, his breath warm and fruity from the wine. His tongue grazes my bottom lip, but that’s as far as it goes, a tease, a hint of something it could have been. For a moment I forget everything, where we are, why I’m here. It’s just us: Marcus and me in our own world. My breath comes out in a rush. I want to pull him closer, but I know I can’t. I can only have this brief, subtle moment, and I can’t waste it wanting more. I need to focus on the here and the now, and I wish time could freeze and I could live in this moment forever.

His hand touches my thigh beneath the table and I can feel it everywhere. Why did he do that? His ex-wife’s friends can’t see that part. The table cloth is too long, it covers everything. Our chairs are too close together for it to be obvious that he’s reaching to me. At first, when he scooted our chairs together, I didn’t think anything of it. I was writing notes, and he wanted a look at them. It seemed the most natural thing to do so we weren’t passing my notebook back and forth. I’m just now aware of my proximity to him. I’m just now hyperaware that we were within kissing distance all along.

“Marcus, is that you?” The haughty voice of a woman breaks our kiss and I want to cover her face with my hand and tell Marcus to pretend she’s not there so we can go back to kissing.

He takes his hand off my knee and I sigh inwardly before turning to the woman with as friendly a smile as I can muster given the intrusion.

She’s about ten years older than me, mid-thirties, maybe, but the way she dresses makes her look much older, like she’s about to have tea with the Queen. She’s wearing a knee-length skirt and a weird hat with frills. Her friends are dressed the same way. Maybe they’re having some kind of old-fashioned tea party, or maybe they’ve been binge-watching Downton Abby. Cosplay for rich people.

“Fiona, how good to see you.” Marcus is a good actor. The sen

timent sounds legit, but when he smiles it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“And who is this?” she says, reaching for my hand. I can see her brain working hard to figure it out. I can also tell that the thought of me being Marcus’s wife hasn’t even entered her mind. She probably thinks I’m some quick fling. A girl he picked up the night before at a bar, still in the clothes that had been in a heap below his bed not long ago. Now he’s doing the obligatory morning after meal to keep me from going to the press.

I’ve never seen anything in the magazines about Marcus Steere being a playboy. He’s featured a lot in all the fashion mags and blogs, but not once had they mentioned anything personal about him. I didn’t even know he had an ex-wife.

“This is my wife, Ruby,” Marcus says.

The woman does a double take when she looks at me, stunned. No, baffled is more like it. She studies my hair, my clothes, even my finger nails, which I’ve chewed the polish off of due to stress. She continues to shake her head in disbelief as she speaks.

“I never knew you remarried.”

“It was a few months ago, a private ceremony in Scotland with friends and family. We wanted to wait until the fall line came out before doing any real announcements. I didn’t want the launch overshadowing our wedding news.”

I almost laugh. He has an excuse for everything and he’s so full of shit, but this woman is buying every bit of it. Her hand is practically twitching to get to her phone. I imagine she plans to tell everyone. The baffled look on her face turns to something of pure excitement at the thought of spreading this juicy gossip. I know the look well. Alba wears the same expression after she overhears a nice tidbit at the diner that she’s dying to tell me.

“I’m looking forward to the announcement. You must throw a party to celebrate with the rest of us,” she says, giving me another once over.

“Of course,” he says as if the thought had already occurred to him.

She gives me another once over as she saunters away, and, like I thought, she grabs her phone and expertly weaves through the tables and texts at the same time.