Page 34 of The Physical Attraction Seminar
Sucking in a breath, she turns over her shoulder to look at me, her eyes wide with surprise. A beatpasses and there’s a subtle shift in her gaze. Her gaze lowers, fixating on my lips.
Time seems to halt. The anticipation crackling in the air becomes almost tangible, drawing us closer.
My heart thunders, reverberating in my ears.
Our faces are inches apart now, and I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. I inhale her perfume, a sweet mix of vanilla and roses, and my pulse quickens with each passing second.
The line between employer and assistant blurs as an unspoken desire lingers in the air.
I can almost taste the anticipation, the yearning for something more ardent, as our breaths intertwine. Her gaze lingers on my lips, an unspoken invitation hanging in the air.
Just as our lips hover on the brink of a forbidden embrace, a sudden soft cough from Lionel pierces the air—the spell breaks, jolting me back to reality.
I turn my cheek, feeling a fleeting shadow of regret sweep across my face. Clearing my throat, I compose myself and shift my professional demeanor back into place.
“I should get going. Have a good night, Lyla,” I murmur, my voice infused with a combination of longing and restraint. I reach over and grasp the handle, feeling its cool metal against my palm before giving it a gentle tug and swinging the door open.
A rush of fresh air jolts Lyla out of her trance, and she hurriedly exits the vehicle.
“Thank you for the ride, Lionel,” she says, closing the car door behind her.
I slump back into my seat, the faint scent of her perfume still lingering in the air.
This entire situation is a silent dance, uncovering the delicate balance between duty and whispers of desire. Each passing day, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with the steps.
FOURTEEN
LYLA
“What are you doing right now?”Barrett cuts me off as soon as I answer his call without giving me a chance to say hello first.
“Working,” I sigh, slumping back into the couch pillows, my eyes drawn to the cracks and imperfections on the ceiling. “I have this awful boss who makes me take home projects on the weekends and expects me to answer his calls after hours. I suspect he’s manipulating me for unpaid labor, but I can’t prove it yet.”
“Sounds like an asshole.”
It’s impossible to suppress the laughter that bubbles from my chest.
One of the things I like most about Barrett is how effortlessly our conversations flow and how we consistently match each other's energy. There are rarely any lulls or awkward pauses in the conversation. And even when there are pauses, they are not the kind that make you anxious for the other person to say something. Ever sincemy first week from hell, he has made a conscious effort to go out of his way to make me feel at ease.
Even after last nigh, and our almost kiss in his backseat, I can't bring myself to be upset at him. My emotions got the best of me, clouding my judgment, and I crossed the line. Despite the initial sting to my pride, I can’t deny that he did the right thing by keeping us in check. It would be childish of me to harbor resentment toward him for doing the honorable thing.
“Oh, he is,” I joke. “Last night, he made me stay late at work. And he didn’t even offer to bring me back a cup of the stale break room coffee when he got up to grab some for himself.”
“This guy sucks,” he says with faux seriousness. “Call me crazy, but I think you should consider filing a complaint with the Department of Labor.”
I hum, a smile curling on my lips. “I think you’re right.”
From his end of the phone, I hear a cacophony of street sounds and can’t help but wonder where he’s heading.
“So, what are you wearing?” he asks after a beat.
“Barrett!” I scoff, unimpressed with his comedic endeavor. “Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t work from home half-naked. I’m wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that has like four coffee stains down the front of it.”
The problem with Barrett and I is that we both struggle to follow the non-fraternization policy to a tee. We both cautiously tread the line, testing the limits to see who will be the firstto back down.
I'm not proud of it, but I can't seem to resist the temptation.
“Sounds hot. Send a picture.”
