Page 15 of All Your Firsts

I always get what I want, when I want it, but she’s the exception to my rule of never going without.

She’s the forbidden fruit that dangles just out of my reach. A delectable bite I have no right to taste or savor, because that’s what I’d do if I touched what needs to stay just out of my reach.

I knew it would be tough to watch her, but I never expected the self-inflicted torment to be so profound.

“You’ll start Sweet Escape on Monday, and you’ll continue to work for me on Fridays and Saturdays.”

Her face falls the second the words are out of my mouth, and even her disappointment makes me happy.

As long as I’m giving her the emotion that shows so willingly on her face, I’ll take it.

“Why?”

“Because as a responsible employee, a notice comes with a period for me to find your replacement and avoid being short-staffed.”

“But why do I still have to work here?”

Because I want you close.

“Those two days are our busiest, so we need extra hands.”

This entire conversation is the biggest load of shit that has ever come out of my mouth, but I won’t take it back. I enjoy watching her steal glances at my coffee table when she thinks no one’s looking. Her cheeks get so unbelievably rosy, showing how innocent she is.

“Your furniture does more work in the shop than I do.”

“What furniture are you referring to, Princess?” I say with a satisfying smile as the blood drains from her face.

With an annoyed huff, she snatches her food and storms out of my office, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. I use the opportunity to admire the way her ass sways in her black and white polka-dot minidress, the fabric tight in all the right places.

My phone rings as if on cue. Gage must possess a peculiar sixth sense, suspecting my impure thoughts toward his little sister.

Gage

Checking in. Everything good?

Vic

Yep.

Gage

Is she giving you any trouble?

Vic

Nah. All good, man.

Gage

I owe you. Talk toyou soon.

I pocket my phone and walk out of my office. Without even realizing it, my eyes search for her.

On the stool I dubbed her throne, she sits with a scowl, arms crossed and legs swinging. She’s pissed and well on her way to hating me.

“The looks you keep shooting her way when she isn’t looking don’t look too platonic. Should I pick out your casket now, or do you want to be cremated and sprinkled in the lake?” Ax says to my right.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

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