Perfect Boss

He looks away and finally lets out the chuckle he’s been holding in as he picks my dirty clothes off the floor into a ball in his arms. “Go back to … whatever you were doing.” He glances at me and gives me a half-cocked grin. There’s something playful and yet still kind of sexy about the look he gives me. Despite my horrific embarrassment, I’m still really turned on. “Please don’t let me stop you.”

He closes the door and I’m left reeling in embarrassment. My boss just caught me masturbating with the jets in his tub. My God, how the hell am I supposed to face him after this? Is it too late to go live in my car? I’ll just stay in my room from now on and never leave.

Shit. I’m his personal assistant. I’m going to have to see this man all day, every day and then come home to him every night until this trip is over and I get my bonus.

I stay in the tub far longer than I should. As much as I would kill for some release, I’m not about to go for another round with the jet. The water is cold by the time I get out. I’m going to have to face him at some point.

I wring the water out of my hair and reach for the towel, but then I realize, I never got a towel out of the hall closet.

Double shit.

I have no clothes to put on, no towel to wrap around me, nothing. Not even a bath mat to hide my parts. I try to squeegee as much water off my body with my hands as I can, then slowly and quietly look out the door into the hallway. I don’t hear or see anything. He must still be out running errands.

I creep out into the hallway, naked and exposed. Opening the hall closet I see no towels and my heart sinks. Marcus said there were some in the closet in his room. If I can just get there without getting caught, then I can run back to my room and stay there the rest of the night and pretend everything that just happened was all a nightmare.

Creeping further down the hall, I peer around the corner into the living room. I don’t see him. From here I have a pretty good angle of the kitchen. I don’t see him there either. I let out a sigh of relief.

I tip-toe to his room. My hair is still dripping, and I slip a little as I cross the wet tiled floor. Letting out a slow breath, I try to calm myself. I can only imagine my utter humiliation if I slipped and broke something, unable to move, just lying on the ground injured and naked when he comes home from his errands.

I put all my attention into watching my step and keeping my balance, so when I go into Marcus’s room, I don’t notice until it’s too late that he’s standing in front of the mirror, removing his tie.

We lock eyes in the mirror and I see the horrified look on my face in my reflection, and the amusement on his.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” The words just fall from my mouth, untamed, and as uncouth as one might imagine.

I turn to flee out the door, but I somehow manage to lock it in my haste. And now I’m fumbling with the knob and so panicked that I can’t get the damn thing unlocked! My back is to him, my ass exposed in all its splendor. I’m totally freaking out.

Suddenly I feel warmth at my back. Something brushes against my skin and I suck in a quick breath. That’s when I realize Marcus has wrapped a towel around me. I tighten it and tuck it in so it won’t budge, then I turn to face him. He still wears that beautiful smirk he seems to get on his face whenever I’m around.

“You forgot your towel,” he says.

“I know. I thought you had left …”

“I did. You were in there a long time.” He reaches for another towel draped across his bed and starts to dry my hair with it. It feels amazing to have someone attend to me this way. My eyes grow heavy and turn to slits as he dries my hair with the softest terrycloth I’ve ever felt.

“I’m sorry you had to see that … when I was—you know,” I finally say. I want to continue, to throw myself on his mercy. He probably thinks I’m a complete perv and an idiot for forgetting my towel.

“I’m definitely not,” he says.

My eyes spring open. He laughs at the shocked look on my face. Though he’s finding plenty of humor in the situation, there’s more there. His hooded gaze travels the length of my body, causing my breath to come faster. It’s been a long time since someone looked at me like that, with open, unabashed lust. He does a decent job of hiding it by letting out another chuckle, but I saw it. That lust, that flirtation, it was there.

And my body was definitely affected by it.

I would love nothing more than to toss this towel aside and kiss him. I want him in the worst way, my body is screaming for him to take me now. But my mind is still in control of the wheel. If I have sex with my boss, I might find myself out of a job. It all seems like a good idea now, but what happens after, when the hormones settle, and the frenzy to get off seeps away. He would regret it. Maybe I would too, and we would be stuck with each other in an office, unable to escape.

No, I can’t let this happen.

Though it pains me to do so, I step away from him. “Could I get those clothes now?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says and goes to his massive walk-in closet where he comes back out with a t-shirt and pair of boxer shorts for me to lounge around in. “There are more clothes for you to wear, but I figured you could wear these around the house.”

Why is the thought of walking around his house wearing his boxers turning me on right now?

STOP thinking like that, I scold myself.

“Thank you,” I say, and manage to slip them on without exposing myself. I wrap the towel around my head. The way he looks at me right now is not much different from the way he looked at me without any clothes on. Maybe he also finds it kind of hot, me wearing his boxers.

“Come on, I’ll make us some popcorn and we can watch a movie,” he says as he strides past me.

Popcorn and a movie? That’s the most normal, mundane thing I can think of two people doing together. I’ve always thought of Marcus being on a pedestal, bigger and better than everyone else around him. Not once had I ever imagined him just sitting around, watching movies and eating popcorn. When would he have the time? Fashion is an ever evolving business. So far I’ve been completely wrong about him. I have a feeling that when it comes to Marcus Steere, I will never stop being surprised.

I leave his room and he hands me his tablet and asks me to pick out a movie. Going through his collection, I see that we have the same taste in movies. The list is an eclectic mix of foreign films, obscure dark comedies, and sprinkled with action, horror, and romantic comedies. I see the icon for his e-book collection on the tablet as well and decide to snoop. To my surprise, we share very similar tastes in books as well. Like his movie collection, he reads a lot of different genres. I’ve read nearly every single book on this list. I make a mental note to read the ones I haven’t. Clearly if he likes them, I probably will too. How could it possibly be that he and I are more alike than I thought?

He comes back into the room with a bowl of popcorn. No surprise that?

?s its gourmet popcorn and not the normal kind loaded with salt and butter-flavored grease. This stuff is sprinkled with different spices and parmesan cheese. I don’t think I’m going to like it at first, but when I try it, I don’t think I’ll go back to boring old popcorn again.

I choose a light-hearted romantic comedy from the list of movies and settle in next to him. The couch is extremely comfortable despite its looks. But I’m still terrified by how white it is. I suppose I can’t stain it too badly with popcorn. I’m careful not to drop any kernels.

As we settle into watch the movie, we’re suddenly joined by someone else. I’m surprised when a big fluffy white Persian cat jumps onto my lap. It looks at me with bright eyes and a flat, almost angry-looking face.

“That’s my roommate, Bitters,” Marcus says.

“His name is Bitters?”

He nods.

I laugh as I run my fingers through his thick coat. The name certainly fits. The cat looks as though he bit down on something bitter. Despite the disapproving face, Bitter purrs and nuzzles against my hand as I pet him. Like his owner, he’s gentle and sweet and completely defies appearances.

“I love cats,” I say.

“He seems to like you too. He hated my ex.”

With that statement, I find myself curious about his life and start bombarding him with questions. He doesn’t seem to mind, and answers everything freely. He tells me that his wife was introduced to him by his business partner at the time. They hadn’t been madly in love, but they were both very ambitious and looking to make names for themselves in the fashion industry. His rise to fame made her resentful of him and eventually led to their divorce—which I find sad, because when you love someone you want the best for them and you want them to succeed. Their success is ultimately your success. When I tell him this, he gives me the oddest look. Almost like he’d never thought of it that way.

He tells me now that they’ve been divorced for quite some time, she seems to have forgotten how terrible they were together and wants him back. He thinks the reason she wants him back is because of changes he’s making to the business that might very well put him right up there with Gucci and Versace.