Page 85 of Dr. Bad Boy

She hands me the wine menu as we listen to the specials.

The waiter looks at me, and I look at her. “The Gamay Noir? From Niagara?”

She nods. “Yum.”

“Done.” The waiter hands over the regular menus. “And I’ll give you a few minutes to decide on the food…”

As soon as he disappears, Ellie closes her menu. “I’m having the special.”

I scan the list of entrees in front of me. “Uh…I’ll have the warm harvest salad.”

“Good. Now spill. Please.”

I get a brief reprieve when the waiter returns with our wine—delicious—and leaves with our orders.

But that’s all I get. I take a deep breath. “I’m a junior associate. The rules are probably similar to what it’s like for you as a grad student. I don’t get to pick my clients, they’re assigned by the firm, and my willingness to do anything and ability to bill well are key factors in advancement.”

“And Max is a client?”

I nod. “One that was assigned to me, and it was stressed that we not do anything to risk losing his account.”

“But he would never—”

“No, I know, but being involved with him is a major conflict of interest. I can’t say anything about it, and no matter what I tell myself…I can’t stop seeing him, either. It’s a rock and a hard place. And I’m terrified that one of these days, I’m going to be found out and fired.”

“So what if they do?”

Irritation flashes through me. “I can't be glib about my career.”

“Of course not.” Elle lowers her voice, softening her tone. “You like him.”

More than I ever expected. “It’s…getting real. That wasn’t the plan, really. We thought we could keep it contained to agreed upon weekends, but I find myself wanting more of him. Wanting him, not just…”

She gives me a secret smile. “You want the man, not just the Dom?”

Heat slams through me. “Yes.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Until I lose my job.”

“I know you’re scared of that. I understand that, really. But in my experience fears are way worse when they're unspoken. If you want to talk it out, I'm a decent listener.”

Fear. Yes, I'm riddled with fear.

She doesn't ask again. I could leave it. Turn the conversation to eating local and women's rights. Or spa appointments and junky TV. Ellie will let me lead the topic wherever I want.

But most of all, I want to know why her eyes are bright, not shrouded in worry. “Have you thought about the impact on your own career, because of your relationship?”

She nods. “I sure have.”

“And? You seem so Zen about this.”

“Zen…yeah, maybe that’s a good way to describe it. One of the things that I research is the way that women bend and flow in their career paths, so much more so than men. It’s actually a real strength of women. How many men do you know that lose their jobs in their forties or early fifties and then it’s just game over? Their entire identity has been tied up in that particular role for decades and they can’t think of themselves outside of it.”

“God, you’re describing me.”

She shakes her head. “I’m really not. Because you’ve got coping skills you don’t even know you’ve got. If you were to lose your job, you’d bounce back so hard. You’d make them regret firing you.”

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