"You know you can come here anytime, and swim," he says. "It's very nice. Saline instead of chlorine. You can open your eyes, and it doesn't hurt."
"Good to know." I should be walking to the door, but I'm not. He's looking at me with mischief in his eyes. "Don't you dare try to splash me."
"Splash you?" He touches his chest. "Me? Please. I was just trying to figure out how many counts of harassment you'd be able to file against me if I picked you up and threw you in."
I burst out laughing in spite of myself. "Just one, I imagine."
"No, I mean, cumulatively. I'm imaging some kind of 'straw that broke the camel's back' type of situation." He cocks his head. "Of course now I've ruined the element of surprise."
"Well, damn. Better luck next time." I'm trying to think of a reason to stay. I'm trying to think of a reason to leave. They're both coming up blank, and Adrian looks damn good with his hair slicked back.
"I can get you another swipe card, if you lost yours," he says. "I'm just saying."
I shake my head. "Why are you so obsessed with the issue of my pool access, all of a sudden? If you want to improve my working environment, I've got about a million suggestions that are higher up on the list."
He breaks into a wicked grin. "I'll bet you do. But I know you like to swim. You've got that trophy on your desk."
So I do. It's been there so long, I've been there so long, it just blends into the background. "Yeah, well, that was a long time ago."
"No one spontaneously starts to hate swimming, unless they almost drowned. And if you almost drowned, you wouldn't keep your swim meet trophy on your desk." He makes a voila sort of gesture.
"Wow. Great. You're like Columbo." I shift my weight from one foot to the other, but that doesn't really help the tingle between my legs. "Maybe I just don't have the time or energy, because my boss is a crazy person."
"You're not working now," he points out.
"Yeah, but I should be."
He laughs a little. "I'll give you two weeks of paid vacation if you get in right now."
Gaping at him, I shake my head. "What?"
"You heard me." He lifts two fingers. "Extra. Paid. As soon as the signing and the conference are over, before the busy season starts again. Just get in the pool splash around a little. Unless you're too scared."
My lips curl into a thin line. "I'm not scared," I insist.
"Good, then you have no reason not to do it." His eyes sparkle. "I'll be happy to actually get out and throw you in, if that'll make it easier."
"Right," I mutter. "You're going to pick me up."
Something dark flashes across his face, but it passes quickly. "That sounds an awful lot like a challenge."
"Trust me, you don't want to hurt yourself."
He frowns. "I'm not sure which one of us you're trying to insult, but if it's you, I'll kindly ask you to back off. That's my job."
He flicks a bit of water in my direction, but I dodge it. "Also, Ms. Burns, I could definitely bench-press you."
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." I'm staring at the water, actually contemplating his insane offer. "I don't want to get my clothes wet."
"Well, you have two options, then." He feigns a thoughtful expression. "One, I'm pretty sure you can figure out on your own. I'd have to check the employee handbook, but I think it's probably a textbook example of things bosses aren't supposed to suggest to their employees. Two, you've got a bag of brand-new clothes to wear. Right in this very building."
"I'm pretty sure bosses aren't supposed to trade vacation time for wet t-shirt contests, either."
"Meghan. I'm offended." His voice drips with sinful promise, or maybe that's just my denied libido going into overdrive. "This isn't about me, this is about you having a little fun for once."
At that, I let out a very undignified guffaw. "Are you serious? You know you're the reason why I can't have any fun, right?"
"And that's exactly why it's up to me to fix it."
"You know what? Fine. This is ridiculous." I kick off my shoes, violently enough that they skitter across the floor. "You think I'm too uptight? Fine. Fine."
"I didn't say that."
Something inside me has snapped. I don't know what or why. Maybe it's just the cumulative effect of five years of this bullshit, and then having the enjoyment of my books taken away, and my friendship with Natalie, and now I've realized the only thing I really want is standing right in front of me with a maddening smile, but he might as well be ten thousand miles away, for how likely that is.
I'm unrolling my pantyhose, because that just seems like a bad idea in the pool, and Adrian is staring at me so hard I'm afraid I might catch on fire. Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.
"Meghan, I was just kidding about the…"
I look up at him. He's…flustered, actually. And not in a bad way, which is a surprise. He looks intrigued, and a little…
Excited?
"What? Which part?" I throw the balled-up hose in the same vague direction as my shoes. "Relax, I just wanted to have some traction. I'm not going to corrupt your virgin eyeballs."
"The stripping," he says, a little quieter this time. "I was kidding about the stripping. Not the deal."
Of course he was. Adrian Risinger probably has a Victoria's Secret model waiting for him at home. Me, I don't even qualify as a "plus size" model. Too squidgy around the middle. Too many stretch marks. They don't even have cellulite, for fuck's sake. Whatever perfect creature Adrian bought that nightie for, she certainly only has curves in the exact right places.
I'm stepping into the water, and he's staring at me with something like awe. He didn't really expect me to do it. For once, I win - kind of. "How many weeks of vacation would I get for skinny-dipping with you?"
He shakes his head, slowly, his eyes locked on mine. "Don't, Meghan," he says, and I watch his grip around the edge of the pool tighten. "I know this is a laughable request, coming from me, but - have mercy."
This is ridiculous. He's got no reason to want to see me naked, except being on a massive power trip. "I don't think I will, on account of the security cameras," I tell him. I'm walking towards him, closing the distance between us, but he's not moving. "But what if I just stripped down to my bra and panties? That's basically no different than a bikini."
I've never worn a bikini in my life, but it's worth it to see the look on his face.
Maybe it's the full moon, or the saline seeping into his brain, but Adrian Risinger looks like he actually wants me. Me. I'm so giddy I've almost forgotten that I want him even more.
Oh well, I still have the upper hand. Right?
Is that how this works?
It's so long since I've been in mutual lust, I'm not even sure anymore.
"Not for the cameras," he says, quietly. "Please."
I smile at him. "But for you?"
His chest is rising and falling, very quickly. "Are you wearing a wire, Ms. Burns?"
Laughing softly, I take one more step towards him. We're close enough to touch, now. "Yeah, you got me. This is all part of a giant sting operation to finally make you pay for your multitude of sins. And I was the best bait they could come up with."
"Sounds plausible so far." He licks his lips, watching me.
"Fine." I grab his hand, and bring it to my stomach. His eyes are like saucers. "If you don't want me to strip in front of the cameras, then you can feel for yourself. No wires. No mind control devices. Just me."
His fingers splay out, feeling, caressing, his other hand joining in and pulling me closer. I make a little encouraging sound as his fingers pluck at the hooks of my bra, unfastening it under my shirt so he can slide under and feel my breasts, floating free in the water.
My arms hook around his neck as he presses his leg between my thighs, and I let out a keening moan. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It's been too long.
"If you wanted me, you should've just asked," he whispers, grabbing my hips and sliding me even closer until I can feel his hot
, hard length pressing against my inner thigh. "I'll always make reasonable accommodations for an employee's health and comfort."
"Shut up," I whisper back.
He grins.
Swallowing hard, I try to still my movements. I need to stay in control of this situation. "How many weeks do I get for a kiss?" I ask him, turning my face up to his.
He shakes his head. "No bribes for that," he says, roughly. "If you want to kiss me, kiss me."
I do, and I do.
Until it's actually happening, I don't realize how badly I've wanted this, and for how long. It's five years worth of wanting. Five years worth of anger and frustration and misunderstandings and pure hostility. Five years of lust, five years of wanting to know what he tastes like.
Bourbon and citrus, it turns out.
Our tongues are at war, but he wins. And that's fine with me. While he plunders my mouth, his fingers find me, slipping underneath my panties, and if only we weren't in a pool he'd feel exactly how wet I am.
I can't hold back. The edges of my climax spark to life almost instantly, embarrassingly so, and it usually takes me a while to get used to a new lover's touch. Not that I've tried, lately.
He breaks the kiss, but he keeps his head close to mine, and we're breathing each other's breaths as lose myself to the rhythm of his fingers.
"Ah!" I cry out, sharply, as the pleasure crashes through my system. I don't know if it's one long orgasm or ten short ones, but by the time I'm finished shaking and moaning, he must have a cramp in his wrist.
He's not complaining, though.
My thighs are still wrapped around his leg like a vise. I reach into his swim trunks and grab him, throbbing and pulsing in my hand, long and thick like I imagined Dirk's would be. Not that this is really about Dirk and Amanda anymore. I'm starting to doubt it ever was.
How long have I wanted to do this? How many times have I pushed aside thoughts of how good he looked, those sinful lips, those expertly-tailored trousers that left no doubt in my mind which side he dressed to? You could almost count the change in his pockets, if he carried any, which of course he doesn't. Ruins the line of the suit.
"Please don't ask me how many vacation weeks for a handjob," he murmurs.
"I wasn't going to," I whisper. He shudders as my breath tickles his ear. "I just want to watch you come."
His breath catches in his throat and he groans softly, his knuckles whitening as he grips the wall.
The moment I get my wish, the spell is broken.
I can feel it. His eyes close when it happens, he makes a noise I can't even describe, but it's going to be echoing in my head for the rest of my life. And then his head falls forward, he's panting, and…
Yep. I just jerked off my boss in the pool.
He doesn't look at me, so I have to imagine something similar is going through his head. I let him go quickly, and we sort of drift away from each other, and I'm heading for the staircase and climbing out, the sudden weight of normal gravity and my soaking wet clothes trying to drag me back down.
"Meghan -"
I stop, water still streaming off of me.
"Don't go upstairs like that. I'll call one of the interns to bring down your clothes."
He hoists himself up over the side of the pool, from the deep end, because of course he fucking does. Adrian Risinger doesn't need stairs. I take the towel he offers me, standing an arm's length away, and I wish he'd just say something about what happened but I know that's not going to make it any better.
It was a mistake, and we both know it.
I sit in one of the pool chairs with a towel around my shoulders, my hair hanging down in lank, tangled strands. How did this happen? How did I let this happen? On the scale of Bad Workplace Decisions, it goes something like this: Sex with a coworker, sex with your boss, sex with your boss at work, sex with your boss at work in a place with cameras where anyone could walk in, and finally, sex with your boss at work in a place with cameras where anyone could walk in, when your boss is also an egomaniac control freak with whom you have a horribly unhealthy codependent relationship.
The intern leaves my clothes outside the door like this is some kind of fucking hostage exchange. Adrian brings me the bag, setting it at my feet.
"Don't forget the signing's on Saturday," he says. "Finish the books by then. I'll send a car for you. Eight o'clock sharp."
I swallow before I can speak. "I'll be ready."
Probably the biggest lie I've ever told in my life.
***
I hate the smell of new clothes.
I hate the feel of them, how stiff and unfamiliar they are, and that nagging worry that you've forgotten a tag or a sticker that's hanging out somewhere.
I focus every bit of my hatred on these clothes I'm forced to wear home, because it's more productive than thinking about anything else.
I stop by my desk before I go home. As I'm gathering up my things, I hear Adrian's voice through his office door.
"…yes, the pool cleaners….yes, I know they were just here last week. Do I have a fucking stutter? Am I speaking fucking English?….who died and left you in fucking charge of the FUCKING POOL CLEANING SCHEDULE?" A moment of silence. "Thank you."
Once I'm safely in the elevator, I start laughing until I cry.
Chapter Five
SAVED DRAFTS: UNSENT
Account: [email protected]
This is so fucked up.
I have no idea why I'm writing to you. I know you're not really you. I can't send this. But I don't know who else to talk to. I'm afraid to look back at our conversations now, because even if it was just your publicist, who knows what she told you? I mean, if he knew all the shit I said about him, he'd probably be using it against me. Maybe that's a good sign.
I keep thinking it can't be true. I feel like the narrator in Fight Club or that Beautiful Mind guy. I mean, how do you accept that somebody you felt a real connection with is not, in fact, real?
I mean, it's nuts. You can't.
This is what it feels like to be Catfished, probably. I just never thought it would happen to me. I thought I was too smart for that. Let's be real: too isolated. You just came out of nowhere, and took me by surprise. There's all those little things, moments when Amanda reminds me of myself so much that I have go back and reread the passages and smile. Sometimes, even tear up a little.
Shit, have I mentioned that before? What if Adrian finds out about that?
Shit.
See, I still can't even accept that you and Adrian are the same person. My brain just refuses to wrap itself around that fact.
Plus, I slept with him.
Okay, not really. We didn't actually sleep. We didn't actually have sex, we just…gave each other handjobs in the pool, I guess. Which sounds terrible. But it wasn't. It was actually pretty fucking great.
Natalie, I'm losing my damn mind. And it's all your fault.
***
Adrian's car is ten minutes early. Of course it is.
I was prepared for this eventuality, so I'm out on the curb before his driver has a chance to put on the parking brake. I've gone with a simple black cocktail dress, one with cap sleeves, and put up my hair in a simple bun with some tendrils that frame my face. I haven't had a chance to wash the silky underwear yet, so it languishes in a drawer while I return to my old stand-bys.
He's informed me that he'll be playing the role of my editor. Of course. He needs a excuse to hang over my shoulder and correct my every word.
He turns to me as I slide into the seat next to him, giving me a nod of acknowledgement before his eyes return to his lap.
Ugh. As bad as it's been sometimes between us, quiet awkwardness is the worst.
"Well?" I look at him expectantly. "What do you think?"
He glances at me again, then quickly glances away. "What about?"
I roll my eyes. "You were so concerned with my outfits. Does this dress make my success look big?"
That earns a slight chuckle.
"It's fine," he says, with another hasty glance.
My stomach is like a clenched fist. I knew it was a bad idea to give in to that momentary lust. As fucked-up as things were, we actually had a thing going that worked. Now it's going to be weird, and I don't know how to come back from it.
Like he's reading my mind, he hits the button for the partition. "I think we should talk about the incident."
The incident. I smirk at him. "Are you sure we should be discussing this here? It might be bugged."
Adrian rolls his eyes, but at least he smiles a little. "I hate to break it to you, but I think everyone already knows."
"Oh, shit? You think?" I lean back in my seat. "I'm sure it didn't look suspicious at all, to anyone with working eyeballs."
"Not so much that, as the fact that you didn't warn me you're a screamer." He's not really looking at me now, but he's running his thumb along the pad of each finger, over and over and over again, a nervous tic. "Pools tend to echo, you know."
I scoff at him, eyes widening. "Uh, if you think that was a scream…"
He gives me a sour look. "Don't. I'm trying to be serious."
Well, that's something new.
"Yeah, well." I clear my throat. "As long as we're being serious, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let things escalate the way they did."
I don't really know what I'm saying, but I feel like I have to say something.
"You're sorry? Meghan…" He sighs. "I goaded you. It was immature. I didn't think things were going to move in that direction, of course, or I wouldn't have. But I started it. There's no question about that."
"Don't look so scared."
"I'm not scared," he insists. "But this isn't like everything else with us. This is different. I crossed a line."
His Secretary: Undone Page 5
