Bossed: A Steamy Office Romance

by Kate Gilead

  My heart stops and then races in my chest. I wonder if that’s because of me…?

  Me: He is?

  Flora: It’s unreal, Jenny! He came in for an early meeting, and he actually joked around with me! And when I brought the meeting agenda into the conference room for him…he was singing under his breath! Then he thanked me for doing such a great job around here!

  Oh geez!

  Me: Wow, what? You sure it’s Blake and not an impostor?

  Flora: I nearly died of shock, haha. I’m almost wondering if it’s because of you.

  Oh shit. Quickly, I wrack my brain trying to remember if I let something slip yesterday. But, no I didn’t…so how could she know?

  Me: Um…me? How could it be me, I’m not even there?

  Flora: That’s what I mean! You’ve called in sick exactly once, and it’s the one day Blake actually seems happy. Coincidence? YOU DECIDE!

  I get warm, tingly feeling, knowing that Blake probably is in a good mood because of me. But that is quickly followed by wondering just how much Flora knows…or can guess. She’s smart, she could be messing with me.

  As much as I wish I could tell her, I can’t. It’s too early anyway.

  But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some quiet happiness. Woo-hoo! I squirm delightedly in my bed, thinking about Blake thinking about me.

  Playing it cool for now, I text her back:

  ME: Thhhpppppttt… I fart in your general direction!

  Flora: LMAO

  Me: K, get back to work now, you’re starting to piss me off. ;)

  Flora: Alright, alright. Enjoy the rest of your day off, Rip. See ya tomorrow.

  I practically spring out of bed, happy as hell. Happy? I was happy before, but now I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to have dinner with Blake after my doctor’s appointment.

  Motivated now, I bliss my way through all my cleaning and laundry, making everything spic and span and orderly. Nothing brings me down, not the clumps of cat hair that somehow end up on the floor behind my toilet, or even scrubbing down my shower walls.

  The whole time, visions of those hot, steamy kisses with Blake dance through my head.

  I’m so energized, I even clean and organize the kitchen before I’m done. The rest of the day passes quickly and before I know it, it’s time to get ready for my doctor’s appointment, soon to be followed by…dinner with Blake!

  I can’t keep the smile off my face.

  Once I’m at the doctors office, though, my smile fades away. I was thinking the appointment won’t be more than an hour but it’s almost six thirty before I get out of there.

  What I thought was going to be a couple questions about my headaches and a short exam, ends up turning into a new patient intake physical, complete with full history, pap smear, blood work, everything.

  When the lady at the desk informs me of what’s in store and hands me a clipboard, thick with forms to fill out, I balk.

  First, this is all going to be very expensive. So I double-check with them to make sure that the billing for this visit will not be in my name.

  The secretary confirms that Blake Cameron is paying for everything. She turns her computer monitor to show me that it’s his name and information in the BILL TO field on her screen.

  The lady’s giving me the stink-eye now, so I take the clipboard to a chair in the waiting area. I start filling out the forms but I’m silently stewing.

  Okay, fine. Blake knows all about this expense and it’s not like I’m spending his money by accident or something.

  Problem is, I didn’t agree to a full physical exam. I didn’t agree to switch doctors. Even though it’s a far better clinic than the one my mom and I usually go to, something about not being consulted about whether I want to change doctors rankles.

  The presumption of it, I guess. It’s just…annoying.

  Is he trying to exert control already? Trying to get me used to him making the decisions? It’s fine for him to do that at work, but this isn’t work.

  So annoying! Just who does he think he is?

  I stop writing, pen poised over the form.

  Why should I put up with that? Yes I want a good man and a family. But I’m also a modern woman, and I need to be consulted in matters that concern me. Maybe he doesn’t mean to patronize me but I’m not a doormat to be told what to do.

  If I don’t nip this in the bud now, how can I expect things to go later on, down the road?

  I tap the pen on the paper, thinking.

  I’m trying to understand the consequences of allowing this. Will I be obligated to him? For what? Would it be setting a precedent or something?

  I don’t understand what, or why he’d want that.

  I resume the tedious form-filling, thinking hard about this. I want to understand what it means, and also, my own reaction to it, before I meet up with Blake later.

  If I can.

  I’m also feeling a tad bit guilty. What right do I have to cost Blake all this money? What value have I given him?

  And what does he expect in return?

  I don’t have to go through with this. But if I don’t, then I’m rejecting him, in a way.

  I suppose it depends on what his real motivation is. If it’s control, then I’m not comfortable with that and I need to make that clear to him.

  If his real motivation is to provide, like Mom was talking about, then it’d be stupid and ungrateful of me not to allow him to do that.

  With some misgivings, I finish the forms and hand them in. Since I’m the last patient of the day, I’m directed into the doctor’s office right away.

  As the doc asks me questions and makes notes, I answer by rote, my mind still obsessing over this new question.

  Control? Or provide? Which is it?

  Could it be both?

  Controlling me by making me change doctors? No, that’s just stupid.

  I go back to the idea of obligation. Obligation for what? Sex? He can get that anywhere.

  Besides, who’s kidding who? I’m already half in love with him, and highly looking forward to having sex with him, frankly.

  Which he’s probably well aware of.

  What I’ve seen of him so far shows that he’s a proper and honorable man. So why would he be doing this for less than proper and honorable reasons?

  The doctor directs me to an exam room where I change into the paper gown and wait, thinking.

  The physical exam begins. I endure the poking and prodding, answering more questions while I shiver half-naked in the stupid gown.

  Last night, Blake thanked me for letting him do this for me.

  He thanked me. And today, Flora said he was in an incredibly good mood. I still think––hope––that it’s because of me.

  But…why would a guy want to spend so much money on a girl he isn’t even officially dating yet?

  Mom’s right. He cares for me. He must, to be doing this.

  And maybe, he does need to take care of me, too. So that he can, well, ‘woo’ me, but also––and maybe more importantly––so that he can feel like a man.

  Maybe care-taking and being a hero gives men a boost of testosterone too. Maybe it feeds that whole hero complex-thing that certain men seem to have.

  And if I look at it that way, it makes me feel really good. Cherished. Wanted.

  Protected.

  What a feeling! As if, I have nothing to worry about anymore. As if, everything is taken care of.

  As if everything’s exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

  The last time I felt this way, I was a child. And maybe that’s partly what’s bothering me.

  I’m not a child anymore.

  I’m afraid this is too good to be true.

  And what are we always told about anything that seems too good to be true?

  When we’re done, the doc goes away while I get dressed, still swinging between exhilaration and anxiety. Not a good state to be in. I struggle to settle the worry that’s gnawing away in my chest.

  The physi
cian returns to consult with me about his findings. “You’re as healthy as a horse,” he says. “The concern most people have about headaches are that they may be caused by a neoplasm. That is, a tumour, either benign or cancerous. First, allow me to assure you that brain tumours are very rare, and that when they do occur, the vast majority are benign. Which is not to say that they can’t cause serious problems including disability or death.”

  I’m nodding, having heard all this before. He continues, reciting statistics about the rarity of tumours vs. migraines and the usual treatment options.

  “…so, in conclusion, your history and the way your headaches present, tells me that there is no cause for concern. Now, we can schedule further testing if you like, however, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

  Blah blah, yeah yeah. I know they’re just migraines.

  This whole thing was a waste of time.

  As I leave the medical center, my thoughts turn to my father. He was always saying “don’t worry so much, just do the best you can and then step back”…that sort of thing.

  Briefly, I wish he was still here now, to tell me what to do. Then I realize that he’d be too smart to do that anyway.

  He’d give me all the facts and advice he could…and then step back and let me figure it out for myself.

  And for the first time since he passed, his memory evokes something other than an overwhelming sense of loss and grief. I feel a wave of gratitude that I had his love and guidance for as long as I did.

  And with that, I realize that I’m still tired, stressed and over-thinking this whole thing. I make myself stop.

  I’m seeing Blake in a few minutes.

  I’ll just talk to him about it like an adult when I get there, that’s all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jenny

  The robot voice of my GPS leads me out of Maple Mills and about twenty minutes up route 605. The drive takes me to a secluded bungalow set at the end of a long driveway on a thickly-treed lot.

  When Blake texted me this address, he explained that this was his childhood home. His parents are away for a few weeks and we’ll have the place to ourselves.

  There’s a generous area for parking in front of the house, room for lots of cars. It’s very private and secluded, a lovely spot.

  We could run around naked on the front lawn here and no one would be the wiser. Who knows, maybe we will, I think to myself, and smile.

  He greets me at the door, wearing a pair of pressed khakis and a white button-down shirt that shows off his glorious arms and shoulders. He’s casual but just a little bit dressier than usual.

  And I know he did that for me.

  Over his clothing is an apron bearing the words:

  KISS THE COOK!

  His gaze is direct, warm and welcoming, and his presence…wow! His sheer presence is so sexual, so animal!

  The way he’s looking at me makes all my doubts about his motivations towards me evaporate.

  This man wants me. Not even I can doubt it anymore. It’s so obvious, so inescapable, it makes me flustered, fluttery and tongue-tied.

  And so very, very horny.

  I’m glad I wore a casual but nice skirt and blouse instead of the jeans I was considering at first.

  “Hi,” he says, showing me his wide, white smile.

  “Hi,” I say back, unable to suppress a wide smile in return.

  He just stands there for a moment, then he says, “You look beautiful.” He takes two steps towards me and both arms go around my waist as he pulls me against him for a hug.

  “Thank you,” Being in his arms feels so dreamy! And gosh, he smells good! “You’re looking very handsome yourself.”

  “Why, thank you.” He points at the apron and then grins at me. “This is your mission, should you choose to accept it,” he says, and his gaze goes to my mouth as I chortle.

  Before I can say anything, he kisses me, delicately. A rush of heat, and his gentle touch on my mouth becomes urgent, and before I know it I’m standing in the doorway with erect nipples and a slow, wet heat building between my legs.

  “Damn,” he murmurs. He chuckles softly, then looks down into my face soberly for the space of a few seconds. “How are you feeling today?” One of his hands caresses my jaw as he looks into my eyes.

  “I feel great! Thanks! And…thank you so much for that doctor’s appointment. I really appreciate it.”

  I make sure to smile at him, make sure to really show that I do appreciate it.

  His smile and the light in his eyes…he looks so happy and pleased.

  “Doctor Mendel is the best GP in Ohio. What did he have to say?”

  He takes my hand and leads me through a nicely-appointed living room into a spacious kitchen.

  “Just stuff I’ve heard before: It’s not a tumor, I’m healthy as a horse. Yes, he literally said that.” I grin. “He said that they don’t know what causes migraines; that I should try to discover and avoid food triggers if any; headaches can be exacerbated by stress, PMS, bright lights; lack of sleep; blah blah blah etc. I told you! I mean, look at me. I’m fine.”

  “You sure are,” he says, grinning.

  “Heh. Thanks.” I decide to tell him my other concern and get it over with. “It’s just that…Blake? Um. I wasn’t expecting, ah….that I’d have to have a full physical exam. Or, change doctors.”

  “Oh, no? You’d rather not?”

  “Well…I guess I’d rather…I mean, I guess I wish you’d asked me first. Don’t get me wrong, it was a thorough and detailed exam. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

  “I don’t think the doc would see you if you weren’t one of his patients. This is a private family physician, not one of those walk-in practices. And besides, any doctor will want a detailed history for new patient.”

  “Right, right,” I say. “It’s not the history that bothers me. What I’m saying is that…I don’t know Blake, I guess I felt you were a little presumptuous.”

  Shit. My attempt at a light and breezy tone fails. My nerves make me sound…bitchy, even to myself.

  “Presumptuous? Huh.” He leans against the counter and regards me soberly. “I’m sorry you felt that way. My thought was only to make sure we got a thorough examination. Better safe than sorry, you know?” His voice and expression is careful. Flat.

  He’s disappointed. Angry? I examine his face. No, not angry. Hurt.

  A knot forms in my chest. I feel bad, like a total ingrate. Say something, fix this! Quick!

  “Shit.” I say, run my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Blake. Look, the truth is, I just don’t know what to make of it. I’m not used to this level of…help, I guess.”

  Level of help? Argh. Why is it so hard to find the right words to express what I need to express?

  “This level of help?” He’s looking at me blankly. No wonder.

  “This level of…um…decision-making. By a, boyfriend-type. You know.” Crap! Not only do I sound like a complete moron, that’s not even what I really mean.

  Now his voice has an edge. “Ahhh…is that what this is about? Okay, Jen. What do you want to do? You wanna make all the decisions? Pay for our dates, too? You wanna be the man?”

  “No. Nope.” I shake my head firmly, a panick-y feeling beginning to take shape in my chest. “Why jump to that conclusion? I’m saying that I just want to be consulted in matters that concern me.” God, that sounds so stilted and formal. “I…Jesus, that didn’t sound right either. I…I mean, I already feel like you kind of push me around at work. Is it always gonna be that way in our personal lives, too?”

  Shit, shit, shit! This is not helping! Why is my tongue so tied right now? Jesus!

  “Push you around? You feel like I push you around?” His eyes are getting that fierce look. He shakes his head, places both hands on the counter behind him and glares at me. “You have no idea what I have to go through every day at work…the shit that’s shovelled at me from every direction!” He pokes himself in the chest. “I’m the boss! That mea
ns, I’m responsible! Don’t you get that?”

  Irritation flares in my chest. This is exactly what I mean. “Yes, I get that. How could I not? You make it impossible to forget!”

  “I wish I could forget it. But I can’t. You know why? Because it’s my ass on the line. My name, my reputation, my responsibility. People are relying on me.” His voice is low, tightly controlled. He’s not angry, but I need to clarify my meaning or this date could go south.

  We’ve had a few tense moments like this at work, and always managed to resolve them.

  But right now, the stakes are so much higher.

  We look at each other in silence for an uncomfortable moment.

  “You know what?” I look away, take a breath, then look back. I clear my throat and then speak gently, looking him straight in the eyes. “Nothing I’m saying right now is coming out right. I sound ungrateful, even to myself. And I’m not. In fact, I’m very grateful.” I search for the right words but I can’t find any, so I just go with the unsophisticated truth. “I…don’t know how to explain this graciously, and somehow I keep getting tongue-tied right now. But…I….I don’t want you to be the one in control, all the time. I mean…you can lead, yes. Mostly! But I need to have a say! And I don’t want to be obligated.”

  He makes a sound of exasperation. “You can have all the say you need. I didn’t think for a minute that I was ‘controlling’ you. So, put that thought right out of your head!” His stance, and his expression, relaxes. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re all right. The doctor’s office makes the rules about who they’ll see, what the procedure is. Not me. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And who said anything about obligation? There’s no obligation, Jenny girl.” The edge in his voice is fading.

  He comes over, wraps his arms around me and murmurs into my hair. “Don’t you realize that? Are you saying, you thought there’d be strings? Expectations?”

  A lump in my throat prevents me from speaking. I shrug and bury my face in his shirt. My arms creep up around his waist and hug him back, tightly.

  “Awww…shit, Jennifer. I like you. I’m attracted to you. Very much. I want to see where this could go. That’s what I expect and that’s all. If part of that is wanting to do stuff for you, then…sue me.” He holds me quietly for a moment. “But yeah, I want your input. And I’m not going to send you a bill if it doesn’t work out.” He rests his head against mine and rocks me back and forth. “Okay?”