I grimaced. “Come to work with cash tomorrow. You’re going to need it.”
Emily laughed and sauntered off.
I tried very hard to focus on my work once she left. I pretty much accomplished nothing all afternoon. As the clocked inched its way toward the end of the work day, my ability to think dwindled to counting along with the changing numbers. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a knock sounded on my door. I spun in my chair, jerking myself to a stop at the sight of my boss in the doorway.
He looked exhausted. I fully expected the first words out of his mouth to be that he was going to have to take a raincheck on dinner, or forget the idea altogether. Instead, he said, “Reagan, look, I completely understand if you’d rather not do dinner tonight, but on the slim chance that you’re still willing to come, I’d love to take you if you don’t mind something a little more relaxed than Brie.”
“I…” My voice stuck in my throat. “Really?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Are you going to make me say please?”
“It’s usually more polite that way,” I said, the words seeming to come from nowhere.
He chuckled. “Would you please come to dinner with me and give me a chance to apologize for this afternoon?”
Apologize? He had to be kidding, right? “Um, sure.”
“Great,” he said. His shoulders relaxed. “I need to drop a couple files on Pedro’s desk, but I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll be ready.”
No need to tell him I’d pretty much been staring blankly at my computer screen for the last few hours. Mr. Gabriel nodded and continued on his way down the hall. I stood slowly, feeling uncertain my feet would support me, for some reason. My steps were hesitant as I walked around my desk to find my misplaced purse. It took me so long to find it, Mr. Gabriel was back by the time I was tucking the clutch under my arm.
“Ready?” he asked anxiously.
I nodded, feeling pretty much the same. Walking toward the door, he moved back as I stepped through to close and lock the door behind me. As I turned toward him, his hand slipped onto the small of my back, and it took everything I had not to jump in surprise. I thought maybe I had gotten in his way, but his hand remained pressed to my back the entire walk to the elevator. He only broke away to press the call button. As soon as the doors slid open, he was guiding me once again.
Trying to think of something to say in the silence of the ride down to the lobby left me with absolutely nothing. I was so confused and off balance, it would have been a miracle if I’d been able to correctly spell my first name. Mr. Gabriel either didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with idle chatter, or was in a similar situation. I had no clue which.
His hand pressed against the small of my back when we reached the lobby, and stayed put until we reached his car and I pulled away. “Oh, um, maybe,” I began, hesitating as worry clouded his features. “Well, I just thought, maybe we should drive separately, so you don’t have to come all the way back here to drop me off at my car.”
“I don’t mind,” he said as a sultry smile slid into place. “If that’s what you want to do after dinner.”
If? I swallowed hard and nodded, though I wasn’t sure what I was saying yes to. He reached past me and opened the passenger door. I took the hand he offered and sat down, both hands gripping my small purse in my lap. A few seconds later he slid in beside me and put the key to the ignition.
“Are you okay with pizza?” he asked.
Surprised, I nodded anyway. After the day I’d had, pizza and a beer sounded amazing. No whiskey, though.
We drove only five or six blocks over before he pulled up to the curb. Glancing out the window, I noticed the nice-but-not-too-nice pizza joint tucked in between an accountant’s office and a dry cleaners. Neon in the window promised beer, and a couple college students coming out onto the sidewalk said it really was a place you could relax.
I’d been so interested in checking out the place, Mr. Gabriel was at my door before I realized he’d even gotten out of the car. I hadn’t meant to make him feel that he had to get my door for me and worried he would think I was presumptuous. Taking the hand he offered, I had an apology poised on my lips.
“Thank you for letting me get your door this time,” he said before I could say anything.
Startled by his gratitude, it took me a moment to come up with a response. “Oh, um, sure.” I sound like a silly little girl on her first date! What was wrong with me? Put me in a work situation with anyone else and I was articulate and put together. Add Mr. Gabriel to the mix and I turned into a fool.
As we began walking, he didn’t reach for me. In fact, his hands were in his pockets. I couldn’t figure out if that was because we’d been alone leaving the office and out here we could be seen, or if my awkwardness had pushed him away. Feeling guilty if it had been the latter, I kept sneaking glances at him, trying to puzzle him out. He caught me watching as we reached the pizza joint and stopped to let a couple guys go in ahead of us.
I don’t know if he guessed what I was thinking, or just felt it was an appropriate time for it, but as he caught the door one of the guys had held open for us, his free hand inched its way onto my back. He hesitated, as if asking me if it was okay. He hadn’t seemed concerned about that leaving the office, but I offered a timid smile all the same. God, if he only knew how much I wanted his touch. Pulling in a shaky breath, I stepped ahead of him and into the restaurant.
The hostess sat us at the back of the dining room, in a dim corner with empty booths on either side. It was perfect. Mr. Gabriel slid in next to me. He gave me enough space to be comfortable, but like at the tavern the night before, closer than seemed normal for a boss and employee. Leaning back against the booth, he seemed to deflate as a large portion of his tension melted away.
“What can I get you both to drink?” the hostess asked.
“Sam Adams,” Mr. Gabriel said without hesitation.
When she turned to me, I hesitated. I wasn’t a big beer drinker, but when I did, I was somewhat particular. “What do you have on tap?”
“Sam Adams,” she said with a nod toward my boss, “Bud and Bud Light, Stella Artois, Yuengling Lager, and Fat Tire.”
“Fat Tire,” I said, thankful they had something I could stand. I knew it made me sound girly, but I when it came to alcohol I preferred sweeter drinks. That or straight up whiskey. It was the one thing my dad regularly kept in the house growing up.
She jotted down our drink orders, then asked, “Do you guys know what you want already, or do you need a few minutes.”
“I know what I want, but she might need a few minutes,” Mr. Gabriel said.
Taking that to mean he came here often, I took a chance and said, “Tell me what you recommend.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me, but didn’t have to think about his answer. “Calzones. Build your own with whatever toppings you like and choose either alfredo or marinara to go with it. They have the best calzones in the city.”
“Okay,” I told the waitress, “a calzone with pineapple, black olives, and Canadian bacon.”
“Marinara?” she asked. When I nodded, she wrote it down and spun away without asking Mr. Gabriel for his order. Creature of habit, I supposed.
“That was awfully trusting of you,” he said as he turned slightly to face me.
I gestured at the clothes I was wearing. “Well, you seem to have good taste in clothing. I figured you wouldn’t let me down with food either.”
He smiled, hesitant at first, but more confident after a moment. “The clothes are from Claudette’s,” he said. “It’s hard to pick something that isn’t in good taste from her boutique.” He looked away as another group piled into the restaurant, then looked back at me. “If you’d like, I could take you there some time. Help you pick out a few more things.”
“Oh.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate your current wardrobe, but Marie and I both have plans for you. If you’re j
ust going to be around the office, where whatever you want, but you might want to keep something on hand in case Marie or I pull you into something at the last minute.”
His expression was serious, but I had a hard time imagining Marie needing me for anything, and I suspected any further lunches with Mr. Gabriel would be more personal in nature.
“I doubt Marie would ever pull me into anything important.”
Mr. Gabriel shook his head. “Actually, she emailed me right before I came to your office to see if you’d oversee a shoot for another magazine she runs. She was very impressed with the skin tone shoot.”
My eyes widened. “She saw them already?” I squeaked.
He chuckled, though there was an undertone of pain to it. “Yes, I sent them to her this afternoon.”
I felt sick.
A waitress, different than the young lady who’d seated us, arrived with our drinks and promised our food would be right up before disappearing again. I took a long drink before setting it back down. My boss took his time. When he set his bottle back on the table, his fingers lingered on the neck.
“She didn’t recognize you,” he said, “but even when she asked who the model was and I told her, she was actually rather impressed you’d had the balls—her words—to do something like that.” He peeled his gaze from his drink and leveled it on me. “The guy who usually oversees photoshoots for Edible was in a car accident this morning and will be out for the rest of the week with a broken foot. She asked if she could borrow you, but jeans won’t fly with her.”
I gulped, and nodded, taking another drink of my beer in hopes of calming my nerves. “Helping me pick out a few things to wear would be great. Thank you.” He seemed to know Marie well enough to tell me what would and wouldn’t work with her. He’d been spot on with just about everything so far. Why not trust him on this as well?
“About the pictures,” he began.
I may have flinched away from him a little. He tensed. I attempted to appear more relaxed, but waiting for his criticism was painful. I hated thinking he was disappointed in me. Even more, I was terrified of him taking Marie’s route. I didn’t know what that would mean, or if I could handle it.
“I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier.” He shook his head. “I wish you would have just told me what Brandon had asked. He and I are going to have a few words the next time we see each other for pushing you into something like that, even though I understand why he did it.”
“You do?” I asked.
The waitress arrived with our calzones and set them down, but neither of us touched them. “Yeah,” he said. “You did have the perfect skin tone for what we wanted, and I’m well aware of how beautiful you are. The pictures he took of you, they were amazing, and only partly because of his skill.”
At that, I shook my head. “It was all him. I don’t know how he managed it, but there was no way I’d have ever been calm enough to do that if he hadn’t eased me into it.”
“Oh, he definitely knows how to work with his models to get exactly what he wants, but you…” He ran his hand over his mouth and I watched every movement. “Brandon sent a second set of pictures after the ones for the article.”
I felt my stomach drop out. “He did?” I hadn’t expected that. I knew he planned to use some of them in his next show, but why on earth had he sent them to my boss?
“Not here,” Mr. Gabriel said, “put at some point, I’d like to discuss them, if you’re willing.”
Unsure of what that meant, I offered a vague nod that could have been either a yes or a no.
I wasn’t sure I could stomach anything, but when Mr. Gabriel’s attention turned to the calzone, I picked up my fork. My movements were mechanical as I cut off a piece and dipped it in the sauce. I was so unfocused on the meal, I had the food in my mouth and had chewed several times before actually tasting it.
“Oh my god, this is amazing.”
Mr. Gabriel laughed. “I’m glad you like it.”
I took another bite, the flavors of the rich sauce and creamy cheeses bursting over my tongue. Moaning before I could stop myself, I couldn’t think of the last time I’d eaten something so comforting and delicious. Movement to the side of me drew my gaze and I paused in the middle of taking another bite when I saw my boss watching me with a pained expression.
Thinking probably looked like a fool shoveling bites of calzone into my mouth, I thought maybe I should back off, but I put the fork to my mouth anyway. I was starving and it was too good to resist. Mr. Gabriel’s fingers tightened around his fork. He shifted, as if uncomfortable. My gaze darted downward and I saw why. It was then that I realized he wasn’t disgusted by my hasty eating. He was turned on. Oh my god, Emily is right.
I didn’t know what to do then. My fingers twitched. How many times had I daydreamed about something like this? How many times had I wished he wanted me so badly he’d grab me as soon as I walked into his office? All the times I’d spent scribbling notes during a meeting to keep my mind and hands busy, had he been doing the same things? Was that why he so often kept his gaze trained on his computer screen when we discussed work issues?
“The clothes,” I said in a raw voice, desperate for something to distract us both. “This weekend? Do you have plans?”
“No,” he said without pausing to think about it. “This weekend would be fine.” He sounded much more composed than I did, but he was still attempting to strangle his fork.
“And…the pictures?” I froze as the words left my mouth. It was surprise at myself for bringing them up again as well as the way Mr. Gabriel’s whole body went rigid. My thoughts seemed slippery, and I struggle to finish what I had started to say. “When…to talk about them, I mean, you said…”
He nodded, slowly. “Tonight?”
Now I was nodding, equally slow, feeling stupid for being unable to speak suddenly.
We both jumped when something dropped onto the table. The waitress had returned, setting two takeout boxes next to our plates. She didn’t say a word, just winked at Mr. Gabriel and walked off. He grunted in response, but didn’t waste any time transferring his food. He started in on mine without asking me. I wasn’t going to complain.
When he slid out of the booth, he grabbed his jacket and folded it across his arm, holding it in front of him to hide his growing erection. I stopped moving, stunned that had been caused by me. He reached for my hand, tugging me the rest of the way out of the booth. Standing next to him, I felt unsteady. He tossed several bills on the table, grabbed the boxes with his free hand, and then gestured for me to go ahead of him.
I wondered for half a second why he didn’t touch me again. Maybe because he was carrying his jacket and the food. Maybe because he didn’t trust himself. My pace quickened and I was to the door a few seconds later, pushing it open and holding it for him. As soon as we were through, he grabbed my hand and began towing me toward his car. I was thankful I was wearing flats or I would have certainly tripped.
He didn’t say anything as he helped me into his car. I took the takeout boxes when he handed them to me, but still jumped a little when he shut the door. It seemed to take a very long time for him to cross behind the car and arrive at his own door. Even then, he seemed to hesitate before opening it and getting in. By the time he was seated next to me, he’d regained some of his composure. Something I was still struggling to manage.
“Is my place okay?” he asked. “We can talk about the pictures and…finish eating.” He glanced up at me, vulnerable yet filled with desire. “If you’d rather not, though, just say so.”
“No,” I said quietly. “Your place is fine.”
He exhaled slowly then put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street. We rode together in silence. Even once we made it to his place, the walk into the building and ride up the elevator was filled with tension, but not a single word spoken. He unlocked his apartment door and let me in ahead of him. Unsure of what to do with the takeout boxes I was holding, I turned to ask him, but found he had disappe
ared.
Not sure where he had gone, I moved to the breakfast bar we’d eaten at that morning and set the boxes on the counter. The shuffle of bare feet against carpet spun me around. Mr. Gabriel left what looked to be a study and strode toward me, computer in hand, determination in his eyes. I knew what the screen most likely held, but I wasn’t sure I could face them. Not in front of my boss. What had I been thinking?
He set the laptop down on the countertop and turned it to face me. Staring at myself, I didn’t know how to react. Brandon had shown me the pictures on the digital screen on the back of his camera. That was much different than on a large monitor. I reached up to cover my mouth as I realized just how much detail could be seen in a larger scale. Terrified to think of the image being shown in front of random strangers, my fingers trembled against my lips. No wonder my boss had been so upset.
I turned to face him, to apologize or beg forgiveness. It wasn’t anger I saw in his expression. Suddenly, no one else’s reaction to the images concerned me. The molten desire in his eyes consume my every thought.
SIX
Intention
“You were scared,” I said. “In this first one.”
She nodded, not speaking as her hand slid down her throat to curl at the base of her neck. Her breasts pulsed with every labored breath, the movement accentuated by the placement of her fist.
“Don’t be scared.” I shook my head. “Not of a camera. Not of people seeing these.”
Competing desires warred inside of me. Purely on an artistic level, I relished the thought of these being part of Brandon’s show. Everyone should appreciate something so intoxicatingly beautiful. Jealousy and possessiveness told me that wasn’t okay. I should be the only one to see so much of her. She wasn’t even mine to feel so possessive about, but that didn’t change anything.
I changed to the next image, my hand balling into a fist as I saw her expression again. “What did he do to get this image?”
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