The NYCE Girls!

by Raquel Belle

  I shouldn’t have allowed my mind to go there because I’m tired of experiencing the excruciating blue balls that I often suffer from when I think about Grace like that and can’t have her. Her hair is in a neat low bun. She looks stylish and classy as usual. And for the most part, she appears to be doing okay.

  After we arrived home from Paris, I gave her a little time off since she still wasn’t feeling well, so I haven’t seen her for almost two days—much to my disappointment. I was sure she’d stop by my place yesterday, but she didn’t…and I left her alone. I’m anxious to see how our first day back in the office after Paris is going to be. I’m perfectly fine, not at all fazed by the fact that we slept together, and I’m going to do everything I can to ensure that another four years doesn’t pass before I get my hands on Grace again.

  She catches my eyes through my open door and smiles timidly. I watch her approach my office, much slower this morning than her usual energetic sashay. Her hands are occupied with the usual items—a Starbucks cup and paper bag.

  “Good morning, Nick.”

  “Good morning, Grace.”

  “I saw your name on the wall of the reception area when I stepped in. The partners made good on their promise.”

  “Yeah, my name on the wall before I returned from Paris.” Everyone now sees Davis Michael Parker when they arrive. I’m officially a partner, but my satisfaction is diminished by this tension between Grace and I, which started the night before our flight back home. I guess when I left her room after our last day together—that was when she talked herself into having second thoughts about us.

  “Congratulations again. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She pauses in the doorway, as if uncertain about coming in. I close my eyes and sigh quietly. I knew she’d have a harder time adjusting to the slight shift in our relationship than I would. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t such a small shift. We had sex. Once an employer has sex with an employee, things are bound to get a little touchy. And Grace and I had sex more than once so I suppose our situation is a tad more sensitive.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “How are you?”

  Finally, she gets both feet into my office. “Fine.” Stopping in front of my desk, she puts down the coffee and paper bag, which I’m assuming has some kind of pastry in it. “You beat me here this morning. I’ve got to step up my game.”

  Eyeing the items in front of me, I can only grunt out a thanks because my annoyance with the ever increasing awkward energy between us is definitely on the rise.

  “How are you?” She asks with a fake cheeriness that sets my teeth on edge.

  I get it, I really do. She’s uncomfortable because I’m her boss. We were intimate and I didn’t make things any easier for her. I forced a conversation that she didn’t want to have after sex. The next day, I insisted on accompanying her to a drug store before we went sightseeing. That ruined any enjoyment we would have had exploring Paris and I admit, I might have gone too far with that. I understood her need for privacy, but at the same time, I just wanted to support her. I’ve never been in denial about my tendency to be a control freak. She’s probably still pissed at me for inserting myself in her personal business like that. But, technically, it was my business too, considering that I was the one who failed to use protection. And I did apologize.

  “I’m good, considering that things are different between us now. I hoped this wouldn’t happen.”

  Silence descends. You’d hear a pin drop in the room. My gaze is fixed on Grace, but she refuses to look at me, her eyes settle on the top of my desk. She shrugs. “Nothing is different. I brought you your coffee…”

  “Right because that’s a sure sign that we’re okay.” My sarcasm brings her gaze to my face and her annoyance is evident. But she remains silent. If I wasn’t so irritated, I would laugh. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I wonder if I should let things go and just get back to work. No, we can’t fall back into the cycle of ignoring what happened between us and pretend to be fine.

  It’s hard not to notice that instead of sitting on my desk, she’s just standing in front of it, wringing her hands in front of her. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  I watch her move toward a chair instead of her usual spot and I pull in a breath, trying to keep my irritation hidden. “See? Things are different. When was the last time you used a chair in my office?”

  She stops and turns to me. “I don’t always sit on your desk.”

  “Yes, you do. That last time you avoided your usual spot on the left side of my desk was four years ago, the morning we started here at DMP, after we slept together the first time.” When we were at the DA’s office, Grace sat on the left side of my desk every morning—the exact spot where I’d first laid eyes on her. It just became our thing. “When we moved to this office, you avoided it for three days until you came around. Then you took your place on the same side of this desk. Obviously, you’re no longer comfortable...with me.”

  She scoffs and proceeds to stare open mouthed at me. I won’t be made to feel irrational about the desk thing. It’s what I’ve become accustomed to. I blow out a breath. This whole thing is upsetting to me, maybe even to an unreasonable degree. “You’re using me not sitting on your desk one morning to conclude that I’m not comfortable with you?”

  “Yes. You’re a creature of habit. Breaking this particular habit means something is wrong and we need to fix it. I know you, Grace.”

  “Why do you care about my stupid spot on your desk anyway?”

  “Excuse me for being sentimental about something that’s been going on for years.”

  “You don’t get sentimental about anything.”

  “So obviously that should demonstrate just how unsettling this is for me.”

  Hands on her hips, she taps a foot rapidly. “This is the most ridiculous argument we’ve ever had.”

  “We’re arguing?”

  She deflates before my eyes, her shoulders droop and her breath escapes in a long huff. “I hate this,” she groans. “Okay, you got me. I’m a bit uncomfortable, but not with you, Nick, just the situation.”

  “Let me guess, you spent the last two days overthinking our situation and coming up with every possible thing that can go wrong.”

  “Yeah,” she sighs. “And if things go wrong, I’m out of a job and more importantly, I’ll lose your friendship.”

  Shit. That’s what she’s been thinking about? I have to admit, the thought of Grace not working with me and her not being in my life does cause some panic. I understand her reaction to us being intimate now. “I wish you had shared this with me earlier. I would have told you not to worry about it. I’ve always been fair, you know that. There’s no chance of you losing your job at all…ever. Certainly not over this. As for us not being friends…” I shrug because it doesn’t even sound like a possibility—not to me. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Her wide green eyes lift and settle on my face. “Because we’re going to redraw the line between us and try harder not to cross it again?”

  Unbelievable. If Grace thinks we’re going to slip up and sleep together every few years and then act like it never happened over and over, she’s making a big mistake. It’s not going to happen. I let her do what she thought was best four years ago, now it’s my turn. “Hell no,” I practically growl.

  Her eyes grow even larger as I spring from my chair and round the desk to loom over her. “To hell with this. We’re not going back to pretending we both don’t want each other. I won’t allow it.”

  Eyes suddenly ablaze with fury, she lets out a mirthless laugh. “You won’t allow it? Can you hear yourself?”

  “I do, loud and clear.”

  “I can’t believe this. The—”

  “Audacity?” Leaning forward, I watch with satisfaction as her eyes widen, her pupils dilate and her breathing becomes unsteady. My mouth hovering inches from hers, I let her know the reason for my audaciousness. “I won’t allow it because I know that if I kiss y
ou right now, you won’t stop me.” Her mouth clamps shut and she visibly swallows. “And I’m certain that if I lift you up, put you on my desk and spread your legs, you won’t stop me. If I slide my fingers into your panties and—”

  “You’ve made your point,” she snaps. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

  “Because you’ve been fighting this sexual pull between us just as long as I have. We might as well give in.”

  “Give into what exactly? Casual sex?”

  Searching her face, I frown, “Sure. This has been simmering for a long time between us. This sexual attraction. You can’t deny it. You’re worried about things taking a wrong turn between us, I get it. But that will only happen if deeper emotions get in involved so…just sex…will work perfectly.”

  She’s quiet for so long, I think I’ve lost the privilege of touching her intimately ever again. I have to accept that. Taking her hand in mine, I add, “But, if you want things to end right now, that’s fine too.” I never want her to feel like I’m pushing her into anything.

  Eyes steady on me, she takes me by surprise when she asks, “How long do you expect this to go on?”

  The husky whisper nearly makes me fist-pump the air. Victory. “We don’t have to put a time stamp on this. Nothing about this has to be complicated, Grace. Let’s just go with it.”

  “Okay.” Her small sigh rings with resignation and I capture her mouth to kiss her properly. It doesn’t last long because each brush of our lips ignites a passion that’s quickly robbing me of self control. She pulls away and takes in a ragged, shallow breath. “One condition. We keep”—she waves a hand between us—“this to a minimum when we’re at work. I don’t want anyone to find out, so we should stop right now.”

  I lift a brow, not sure how anyone at DMP would find out a thing with us locked in here all day. And I certainly would never get handsy in front of anyone. But, whatever she wants. It pains me to step back and not spread her across my desk the way I’ve always imagined, but I manage the task. “Fine.”

  “You have a meeting with Donald Perry and his team in an hour. I’ll make sure everything is in place.”

  She brushes past me and scurries to the door, leaving me standing in the middle of the office with a rock hard bulge between my legs.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Grace

  Three weeks later…

  I barely hear the girls as each chats excitedly about the new spot we’ve discovered for our girl’s night out. Beth did a piece on a new Latin dance club last week and we all decided that we’d give the place a try. It’s nice…and as I look around, the crowd is just what we like. We definitely enjoy getting as wild as the next bunch of girls from time to time—as the iconic Cyndi Lauper said, “Girls just want to have fun.” But, my crew doesn’t get that wild. So, this new club with the age appropriate music and crowd is just about our speed.

  The drinks are great too and the dance floor is in full swing. Beth is out there Salsaing her cute little tail off with some guy she just met while we watch and laugh. Well, while Jazz and Cara laugh. This girl, unfortunately isn’t having fun. Sorry for being a disappointment, Cyndi. My mind is all the way on the other side of Manhattan, with Nick, whom I’ll be seeing later tonight.

  I glance at both Cara’s and Jazz’s grinning faces and feel a wave of guilt pass over me. I gave them the juicy details about Paris...not going too in depth about the sex though. All the girls know for now is that Paris was amazing and the sex with Nick was incredible. They were a bit worried that I’d be too affected emotionally by sleeping with Nick again…only to go back to being boss and employee...and friends. I reassured them that I was just fine emotionally. They bought it for the most part, but Cara knew something was off with me. Goddamn, the woman is like a fucking blood hound―once she gets that coppery scent in her nostrils she doesn’t let up.

  She hasn’t cornered me yet though—to demand I tell her the truth about how I’m really doing. Thank God. I’d crack like humpty dumpty under her questioning,—because just like Nick—she’s a freakishly great lawyer. I’m not ready to tell Cara or Beth or Jazz that not only did I sleep with Nick again, but now we’re in a full-blown casual affair.

  Oh, God I’m having lots and lots of amazing sex with my boss. I grab my mojito and gulp it down. Nick is my friend with benefits. I’ve become a cliché―the secretary sleeping with her boss. Fucking fuck. I’m officially freaking out. Why do I always freak out like this? I’m about to—

  “Grace? Jesus, Grace, where did you go?”

  “Huh?” I feel a hand on my arm and blink. It’s Jazz and she’s peering at me with raised brows and concern in her eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh, yeah. Too many mojitos. You know I can’t handle my liquor.” She doesn’t look convinced and neither does Cara, who’s leaning against the bar, observing me closely. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?” I ask Jazz.

  “That we should join Beth on the dance-floor. You know it’s only a matter of time before she comes over to drag us all there anyway.”

  Jazz is right. Beth will come over at any second to haul our asses to the middle of the crowded space. She’s already eyeing us slyly over her partner’s shoulder.

  Cara moans, “Do we have to? My feet are killing me. I’ve been in these wretched heels all day.”

  “The struggles of womanhood,” I sympathize.

  “And the price of looking fabulous,” Jazz adds with a shake of her head. “My feet hurt like hell too but there’s no way I’m going out there to embarrass myself alone.”

  “Beth is there,” Cara points out.

  “That’s not enough. I need all of you to share in my humiliation. I can’t salsa.”

  The horror on Jazz’s face brings out my first, full hearty roar of laughter tonight. “You poor thing.” I hop off the bar stool and grab her hand. “Never fear, Grace is here. I’ll teach you.” She snorts but breaks out into a giggle. “Let’s go Cara.”

  Cara lifts a brow and eyes the mass of revelers with disdain. “Do I really have to?”

  “Yes!” Jazz and I chorus.

  She sighs, downs the last of her drink and grabs her purse. Throwing her hands up she says, “Let the humiliation begin.”

  Dancing and joining Beth in laughing at Cara’s and Jazz’s first few awkward moves—before they get into the swing of things—I actually loosen up and begin to have a good time. For the moment, I’m not thinking about Nick or my future with him. But by the end of a few songs and when it comes time for us to call it a night, my misgivings begin to crawl back in.

  It’s hard to even think about, but for the first time in seven years, I'm considering giving up my job. The thought was triggered a few days after Nick and I fell into the sexual relationship we’ve decided to have. What the hell was I thinking agreeing to something like this? I’m hopelessly in love with him and he’ll never be able to give me what I want. Commitment and a family. I wasn’t thinking―not clearly―because my traitorous body had given into Nick’s demand like I was under a spell. I thought it was only a man’s thing to think with their nether regions. Apparently, women do it too because that day in Nick’s office, I’d clearly been thinking with my vagina.

  I don’t have a real future with him in the way of a romantic relationship. And I’m certainly not going to be fifty and still working as his assistant…still pining over him. I’m going to have to move on at some point. A future without Nick. It’s a hard pill to swallow.

  “She’s gone again,” I hear Jazz say and I snap out of my wayward thoughts.

  “Nope. I’m here. I’m just tired. All this dancing has me exhausted. I’m going to be thirty in a couple of weeks you know, I have to take it easy.”

  Jazz and Beth laugh while Cara scoffs. “Hey!”

  Holding up both palms, I look at Cara who’s passed the thirty mark. “That was a joke, I swear.”

  She harrumphs and adjusts her boobs in her chic silk blouse. “It betta have been. Let’s hit the road bit
ches.”

  Beth, Jazz and I howl while Cara smirks. She knows we adore it when she goes back to her roots and turns on the Boston accent. I continue laughing with the girls as we file out of the club, but deep down, I want to weep because of the heavy decision I’m going to have to make very soon.

  ***

  I step into Nick’s apartment some time around twelve. The place is dark except for a faint light glowing in the living room. There, I find Nick poring over paperwork with a glass of something in his hand. As always, he looks scrumptious in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. I don’t think it’s possible for him to look anything other than delicious. I stop across from the sofa he’s lounging on.

  “How was girl’s night?” he asks without looking up.

  “Had a blast. Drank a few mojitos. Taught Jazz and Cara how to salsa.”

  His mouth curls upward at the corners and his eyes lift to pin me to the spot. He gives me one of those panty-dropping once overs, the ones that always get my heart racing and my underwear soaking. “You’ve never danced with me.”

  “Maybe I’m shy.”

  “Grace Peterson, shy? You don’t expect me to believe that.”

  I lift a shoulder. “I know you’re not the dancing type anyway.”

  He throws the document in his hands down on the glass center table and gives me his full attention. The weight of his eyes on me is seriously revving my engine. The contradiction of his eyes is amazing. How can such pale, icy-blue orbs be described as smoldering? Yet, they are. They’re leaving trails of fire everywhere on my body. “You’re right, I’m not the dancing type. What I should have said is…you’ve never danced for me before. You should.”

  Stifling a groan and mentally pulling my panties back up. I stroll towards him to plant a kiss on his lips. I’ve become more confident with my displays of affection. I mean, we’ve been sleeping together almost every night for the past three weeks, I might as well throw caution to the wind for the time being right? No matter how dangerous it is to my poor, sensitive heart. Us acting like a real couple when I know we’re not is slowly killing me from the inside. If only I could resist him…