Page 45 of My Boss

I hear Jan’s footsteps moving away. After a moment, I hear the sound of water pouring from the faucet. Some kind of splash. Some rubbing.

I lift my eyelid and nearly fall off the bench.

Engler is washing my blouse! I manage to hold back a snort but only barely. Oh boy, they haven’t played this tune yet. I’m amused, shocked, a little touched and, strangely enough, even more excited. I watch stunned as the muscles of his broad back and taut shoulders are hard at work washing out the coffee stain.

MY. BOSS. IS. DOING. MY. LAUNDRY.

I smile to myself. This is something I didn’t expect. I look at him, satisfied, but after a moment it occurs to me that, after all, I don’t have any clothes to change into at work.

Shit, what am I going to put on now?

“What are you doing?” I jump off the bench, foam trickling down my chest and belly.

“What do you think?” he answers dispassionately, without even looking at me.

“Well, that’s what I don’t know. How am I supposed to put this blouse back on now? It’s all wet.” He comes across as smart, but he didn’t think of such a small detail.

“There is a hand dryer in the restroom,” he replies, rubbing the stain.

“Which barely works. I won’t get it dry until the New Year.”

The jerk! I shoot my irritated gaze at his large hands violating my poor blouse. He’s about to rip it to shreds.

“Can’t you see that your rubbing isn’t doing anything? The stains won’t come off in a hand wash.”

“They will come off. I sprinkled them with baking soda,” he says, as if he knows perfectly well what he is doing.

This surprises me. How does he know such things? And where the hell did the baking soda come from in the employee lounge?

Whatever. It still won’t help the stains.

“Please leave it alone. I’ll soak it in bleach at home.”

“You must finish your report today. You will not work in such an outfit.” He rubs the fabric harder.

Stubborn bastard.

“There is no one here anyway.” I shrug my shoulders.

“But I am.” He twists the blouse, shakes it off and lifts it. The stain is still there. “What the hell!” He looks as if he stepped in dog poop.

It makes me want to laugh at him. It makes me want to laugh at the whole situation.

“After all, you’ve already seen me half-naked anyway,” I joke because this is the only thing left I can think of.

“You can’t work in just a bra.”

And without a bra? I don’t know where this fucked-up thought came from, but I shake my head to get rid of it. Unfortunately, my imagination has already started to wander. I wonder what kind of face Jan had when he saw my topless selfie?Did he like it? Did he get aroused? Or did he take matters into his own hands while looking at my photo? The image of Jan jerking himself off flashes before my eyes. His hand sliding over his erection, his gaze fixed on my naked breasts, a murmur of pleasure coming out of his slightly parted lips… My throat dries up, I clear my throat and this immediately catches his attention. He tears his eyes away from my unfortunate blouse, looks at me for a moment, then—instinctively—glances at my cleavage, where a white, sticky liquid is running down.

His pupils widen, I hear him gasp, and he holds his breath.

“You will wear my jacket,” he says firmly, looks away and walks to the chair. “And fasten those damn top buttons.” He hangs my wet blouse on the backrest and leaves the lounge, taking his stained shirt with him.

*

My eyeballs are about to bulge out from staring at an Excel table full of numbers. I’m about to melt from the heat, wearing my down jacket.

It was predictable that I would not be able to focus on my work while wearing Jan’s jacket. The perfume that saturates it makes my most intimate places tingle, driving me insane, its fragrance distracting me and arousing emotions I really shouldn’t feel. I’m furious with my body for allowing itself to be manipulated so easily.

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