Ashley Vs. Boss

The ride to work is weirdly quiet. I mean, this morning has been a little weird, but the blowjob did the trick. We are back to just being fuck buddies.

Or whatever the hell it is that we are. We haven’t exactly had a discussion about the status of our relationship, for fuck’s sake. I’m happy with where we are, and even if it weirded me out to find myself in Apollo’s bed this morning—I’m sorry, I cannot call him Mr. Kane, not after what we did last night—I got over it. A nice round of sucking cock will do that to me.

But now…he’s in his power suit and I’m in a totally new set of clothes myself, down to the sexiest pair of red lace panties and bra I’ve ever laid eyes on, and there’s this…gap between us. In his house, we can fuck and laugh and we’re equal.

At work, though, we’re not. He’s my boss and I’m his employee and he’s busy trying to fire me.

Or not. I didn’t ask him last night or this morning. I just didn’t want to. We were so happy, in our little bubble, you know?

But that bubble is burst, and I’m covered in the soapy residue.

The limo pulls up to the curb and I scramble out, not waiting for the driver or Apollo to help me out. I am my own woman. I can get out of the vehicle without help…

No matter how nice that help is.

I push that thought away and hurry in the front doors. Maybe if I put enough distanc

e between Apollo and myself, no one will notice how I got to work.

Natalie rushes over, ten minutes early to work. Of fucking course. The worst joke someone could play on Natalie would be to delete her complex set of alarms and calendar notifications that rule her world.

“You…him…you spent the night?” she hisses.

I ignore her question. “What’s going on?” I ask, looking around the open room. It doesn’t look like anyone is working this morning anymore than they were working yesterday morning. Two days of non-productivity is…not a good thing.

At this rate, we’re not going to have a magazine to put out this month, no matter what Apollo and the board decides to do.

“C’mon, everyone else is over here,” she says, and tugs on my hand. I follow her to the group of staff writers, all milling around together, gossiping.

I look up to find Apollo’s eyes pinned on me. He’s standing over with the managers and…

There’s hurt in his eyes, just for a moment, just long enough that I think that maybe I really see it and then it’s gone and I think maybe I was just imagining it.

But no matter what I was or was not imagining, this gulf between us?

I’m not imagining that.

A manager—I think he’s a part of the photography department? I’m not sure—steps forward and claps his hands together to get everyone’s attention. Everyone is so tense, it’s like setting off fireworks; he has everyone’s total attention instantly. “Let’s get to work,” he says in a no-nonsense tone of voice. “We’ve all got shit to do.”

With a grumble, the crowds disperse and everyone heads to their desks. I want info as much as anyone else, so I’ll admit it, my voice is added to the chorus. Fuck ‘em. They need to be upfront with us.

Even Apollo.

I push the thought away. I do have shit to do, and it’s about time I do it.

It’s afternoon and I’m drearily working my way through my third article on lipstick colors in the past two months—sometimes, even I get sick of talking about how to pick out lipstick—when Natalie pops her head over my cubicle divider. “Ready for a break?” she asks.

I spring up so quickly, my heel catches and I crash to the ground, my chair spinning away and crashing into Fredrick. Just what he needs—encouragement. I awkwardly pull myself to my feet, Natalie absolutely no help to me whatsoever as she laughs so hard, she’s doubled over, and retrieve my chair, giving Fredrick a brief grimace as an apology as I go.

“Coffee?” Natalie says perkily. I glare. She grins.

I grin.

I can’t help myself.

“Alright,” I grumble, trying to hide my grin but it doesn’t do me any good. Natalie sees it.

We head down to the staff break room, when I see Apollo head toward me. Well, not toward me, per se, just down the hallway that I’m in, heading the opposite direction as me. He’s probably not heading right at me, right?