Page 57 of Loathing My Boss
“I…yes.” He fortifies himself. “It is.”
“So?”
“If…if I’d be a good father, I wouldn’t be opposed to children.”
My eyes narrow. “That’s the answer to a different question. Do youwantchildren, or not?”
“I wouldn’t be bearing them.”
My brow arches. “Yeah, no, duh. You don’t have the hips for it. Once again, you’re avoiding the question. Be direct with me: yes or no.”
Agony on his face has never been so complete, and that is definitely saying something. The answer leaves his lips as though I pulled it from the back of his throat with a pair of pliers. “Yes.”
“How many?”
“At least two. I don’t want one to be lonely. But I don’t want the eldest to raise the younger, either.”
I sense that statement has something to unpack in it, considering he is firmly the eldest in a family that did not treat any of his brothers or him well.
Two kids.
I’ve never given thought to children. Or a husband. I expected that my family would begin and end with me, because—genuinely—who would lovemeenough to raise a family with me? It’s a miracle I’ve even survived this long when I thought I wouldn’t make it past twenty.
Two kids.
I could see having two kids.
I ask, “To what extent of intimacy do you believe in before marriage?”
The man’s eyes bug, amber and shaken. They slash toward the rest of the room, return to me. “What?”
“You’re right. The first question should be: are you looking for marriage? Or is this more of an itch you’re trying to scratch? I jumped to kids too soon. Skipped a few steps. My bad. I’m all over the place. Is that going to bother you? You normally see me more collected, but that’s business Crisis. Normal Crisis is a crisis. The end. What exactly are your intentions here? Assistant on the desk during work hours, or matrimony?”
He clamps a hand to his red face, stammering, “M-matrimony.”
“Ah.” I blink. That’s nuts. Matrimony. With me? A forever sort of situation, withme? “Back to the other question then. How much of myself do you expect me to fork over before you marry me?”
“Nothing.”
“Yet, you’ve already kissed me. So try again.”
“That…was a lack of willpower.”
“Crazy. See. Lack of willpower can apply to anything, so tell me what your limit is.”
“That’s…” He frees a tight breath. “…true. I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t know if I have a limit, but I do know I will respectno.”
I relax my face, nodding. “Ah, yes. That’s why you kissed me out of nowhere. So I wouldn’t have a chance to sayno.”
“It wasn’t out of nowhere.”
“I don’t recall giving you permission.”
“You asked me to spell it out for you. My mind went blank. I’m sorry.”
Guilt weighs me down, so I put my spoon back in a soup that is swiftly growing cold. “I’m sorry, too. I’m a lot. You don’t deserve interrogation. I just have trust issues. And my trust issues have trust issues. It’s never too late to change your mind. We can go back to how we were before…sans broccoli peanut butter shakes. Assuming you don’t care about your health anymore and want all your hair to fall out, of course.”
“Of course,” he murmurs, resting his elbow on the table and studying me. “I don’t want to go back to how we were. I want to love you.”
