Page 12 of His Curvy Obsession

His whole body is tense now, his eyes dangerous, boring into me with so much intensity that I think I could catch fire right now from his gaze alone.

Bits and pieces of the night before are coming back to me. Finishing my last glass of wine. Giving Larry — the man with the boring golf stories — my phone number. Going to the elevator and being surprised when he slid between the closing doors at the last minute, an unsettling smile on his face.

He wouldn’t leave me alone. He followed me all the way back to Eric’s office, where I was trying to escape behind his heavy, lockable door.

“I didn’t know he was like that,” I mumble. “You’re saying this as if I knew. I didn’t know.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Eric replies. “You’re right. You didn’t know. And I plan to personally make sure that Welch never bothers you again. You have my word on that.”

These words send a chill up my spine. I’ve never seen my boss like this. His body language exudes a quiet, controlledanger. As if he’s thinking very carefully about what he is going to do to Larry Welch. And in a way, that’s so much more threatening than if he were to just let it all out, to rant and rave.

Somehow, I know that Eric means what he says when he promises me that Larry Welch will never bother me again. I believe him completely, without question.

“What I want to know,” Eric says. “Is why you’re associating with men below your rank.”

I blink at him.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “What?”

“Welch,” he says. “And the others. You dated that accountant for a while.”

“The accountant…” I wrack my tired brain, trying to remember an accountant that I dated. “I never dated an accountant.”

“Patrick Thorne,” he replies curtly.

I nearly laugh.

“Pat?”I repeat, recalling the awkward blind date that my sister set me up with. “I didn’tdatePat. I went ononedate with him.Three years ago. How…how did you even remember that? I barely remember it myself.”

“I remember many things. You know this.”

“I do,” I agree. “It’s scary how much you’re able to keep in your head. But that’s different. That’s work related things, research, hobbies and interests. Important things. Why do you remember the name of a man I went on a single date with from three years ago?”

“You’re my assistant,” he says. “Why would remembering details about your life not be important to me?”

“Maybe because of your general disdain for anything you consider to be a waste of time,” I reply. “Things like going out on dates. Or company parties. Or…”

I trail off. I don’t have another example. My head is pounding and the more that I talk, the more that I think about last night, the harder it pounds.

My boss is acting so out of character right now that I wonder if maybe I’m hallucinating. Maybe I’m actually still black out drunk, back at my own apartment, drooling onto the couch cushions in my living room. Maybe this is just a weird dream; a bad trip from a high I didn’t intend to catch.

“We’re getting off subject,” Eric continues. “And I’m running out of time. I have a meeting in an hour.”

“It’s Sunday,” I remind him.

“Yes,” he agrees. “It’s a Sunday meeting.”

I press my palm to my pounding forehead and close my eyes.

“I was going to ease into this subject, but you and I both know that I’m no good at delicate communication,” Eric says. “So I’ll just say what’s on my mind, and I’ll leave you to think it over. You’re on fertility medicine. I don’t know all the details. I don’t know the reason. All I know is that women don’t take medication like that unless they’re trying to induce ovulation.”

I nod, my eyes still closed, both hands on my forehead now. Is this really happening? Is my boss really talking to me about my ovaries right now?Seriously?

“If you want to have a child, that’s your business,” he continues. “But as far as genetic material, you could find a lot better than some accountant schmuck. Or Larry fucking Welch.”

What the hell is happening right now?

“These men are beneath you,” he says quietly. “Don’t reproduce with men who are beneath you in rank, who won’t be able to provide for you and the child.”

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