Page 63 of Loathing My Boss
It is wholly a different sort of affirmation than the ones I normally feed myself. The more I hear it, the more I believe I’m capable of beingsweet—just because I’m not biting people. The bar is low, but I’m scaling it. I’m sure there’s a clinical diagnosis for whatever is happening in my brain right now, but I sure don’t know what it is.
Viktor cleans my hair and face, making certain the stickiness is gone before he has the staff bring me another meal to take back to camp.
Sipping chocolate milk out of a to-go cup, I poke at myeggs in the front seat of Viktor’s car, trying not to look at him.
“Are you okay?” he asks, as we hit the road leading to Canter Creek Ranch. The quaint, manicured storefronts turn adamantly into countryside.
I release the straw from between my lips. “I’ve never had chocolate milk in a to-go cup before. It feels illegal.”
“It’s not. Don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried. What makes you think I wouldn’t want something to be illegal?”
“You come off rather strait-laced.”
I’ve been committing myself to actions that should have seen harassment charges for the past year and a half. What is he talking about?
“You’ve never once been late to work,” he clarifies.
“Work,” I say. “You mean that thing you’ve let me set my own hours for since March of last year?”
He’s smiling.
I shove a scrambled egg in my mouth. “Not funny.”
“A little funny.”
“Thirty pages.”
“Or what?”
Orwhat? What else? “Peanut butter broccoli smoothies for dinner. Since you refuse to tell meno, I know you’ll drink it, too.”
“Actually, I’m taking more initiative in setting boundaries with you. The only way I’m ever putting peanut butter and broccoli back in my mouth at the same time is if you do it with me. Equality and boundaries are very important in a relationship.”
I crunch my toast, deathly careful not to spill crumbs in his car. “Is that so? Have you been reading a self-help book or something?”
“Perhaps. It’s one of the books Desmond worked onbefore he switched genres. It’s calledHow to Make Your Enemy Fall for You. Very insightful.”
My brows rise. “There’s no way it’s called that.”
“I promise you. It is.”
“Also, did you justcomplimenta book?”
A smidgen of confusion settles into his smile. “Yes? It’s a good book. I’m severely concerned for the author’s mental health, but she succeeded in capturing the complicated emotions associated with handling an enemies-to-lovers trope in real life rather well.”
I gotta get my hands on this book. “Who’s the author?”
“Melanie Richards. If you’re interested, I can read it to you. Bedtime story.”
Bedtime story.
First, he brushes my hair. Then, he makes sure I get home safe, ignoring the fact he was pulsing with the denied urge to tuck me in. This morning, he buys me breakfast and cleans me up when I make a mess of myself.Now, he’s introducing bedtime stories into this dynamic?
“Viktor.”
“Hm?”
