Window Shopping

Not with your boss, idiot.

I’m now trying to calm my pulse and libido at the same time.

But Aiden blows my progress to smithereens when he turns his head, ever so slightly brushing his lips against the lobe of my ear. “Don’t let the bow tie fool you, Stella. I’m not always nice,” he says, a deep burr in his voice. “When the situation calls for it, I can be downright rough.”

My vagina clenches so tight, the very wind is knocked out of me.

I’m seeing nothing but twinkling stars as the metal door rolls open and Aiden carries me off the elevator onto a floor that is decorated within an inch of its life for Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa. All of the decorations are intermingled, done without artifice, but lovingly placed and somehow, some way, I know that Aiden is the one who did the decorating. The abundance of flutters that gives me is truly alarming.

We leave the brightly lit reception area and enter his dark office where only a small lamp is on. Over his shoulder, I spot paperwork scattered on the floor, his chair halfway across the room, as if he charged out of here when I called.

Gulp.

Aiden settles my backside on the edge of his huge desk, remaining between my legs just long enough for us both to suck in an unsteady breath, before stepping back. He crosses to the floor-to-ceiling window and stands looking out, hands on hips for a moment. Getting himself under control? “You feeling better?” he asks me, looking back over his shoulder, his smile not quite enough to hide the hunger.

Phew. Okay, we’re attracted to each other.

It’s not one-sided.

This is going to be a problem.

Maybe what we need right about now is a defining of the lines here. Because they should be thick and easy to spot. Like a fresh, black Expo marker on a whiteboard.

For one, he’s my boss and the handbook was clear. Employers are not to have romantic relationships with their employees, of which I am one. Even if it’s on a trial basis. I broke a lot of rules in the past and I’m not sure I want to do that anymore. Maybe at heart, I’m still the girl who trespassed with impunity and vandalized the sides of buildings. Do I still have that in me? Or am I capable of permanently changing?

I don’t know. I’m still trying on this new identity for size.

Two. Aiden is the real deal. He’s…genuine. And delightful.

There, I said it. By my third encounter with him, I should be noticing a crack in his aura of kindness, but I’m really thinking there isn’t one. And he is not—not—a man who sleeps with or dates or anythings with an ex-convict.

If he did, it would be another Good Samaritan move.

Show the tragic goth girl she’s worthy of love!

No, thanks. Not happening.

As badly as I’d like to find out how he kisses—and just how “rough” he can be—I will not start making major decisions when I’ve only been out of prison for a single month. I’m not letting him make any bad decisions, either. Aiden is the guy who wants to save people. Look at the way he charged downstairs and rescued me, carrying me upstairs like Prince Charming.

But I’m not a princess. Not the kind of girl who ends up with Aiden Cook.

Nor do I want to take advantage of his good nature. Isn’t that what I’d be doing if I let this turn into something when I know he’d only be in it for noble reasons?

Get out the Expo marker.

“Armed robbery,” I blurt, my fingers curling hard into the edge of the desk. “That’s what I was in prison for. My friend, Nicole, she…no, we arranged to rob a restaurant where our friend was closing up. It was going to be easy. We’d make a show for the camera, wave our fake guns around and walk out with the drop before he could put it in the safe. But uh…” I give a jerky shrug, finishing the rest of the story through pinched lips. “It turns out, the guns weren’t fake. And our friend’s boss came back because he forgot his phone. He took a gun out from beneath the register and fired at Nicole. She panicked and fired back, hitting him in the side. He lived,” I say quickly, glancing up for the first time to judge Aiden’s reaction. For once, he’s stoic.

“What happened after that?” he prompts quietly.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Aiden certain details about what happened next. But those facts might absolve me in his eyes. Or make me seem less guilty somehow, when the fact is, I made the decision to steal. I am guilty. End of story. And making myself look innocent right now would defeat the purpose of my goal, which is to impress upon Aiden how different we are. He would never, ever take someone’s hard-earned money. Never end up in the back of a cop car or an interrogation room. This is how I nip this attraction in the bud before it flourishes.