Page 5 of Arranged Addiction
“It’s professional. Right? It’s professional?”
I stare at myself in the floor-length mirror on the back of my bathroom door. Natalie’s sitting on my bed. I have approximately a half hour before Mr. Whelan’s driver will be outside my house, and there’s no way he’ll be anything but exactly on time. Nobody works for Boss Bastard long if they’re ever anything but prompt.
“It’s got to be.” Natalie looks as confused as I feel. “You said he picked up the vibrator?”
“He turned it on.”
“Seriously?” She shakes her head with pure wonder. “Was it hot?”
“No! It was terrifying!”
“Right, scary, but it’sDeclan Whelan. I mean, the man’s absolutely insane and probably a sadist, but he’s beautiful. Like, I’d let him burn me with cigarettes if it meant getting to lick his toes kind of gorgeous.”
I stare at her, eyebrows raised. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t kink shame me.”
I groan and turn back to the mirror. “It just doesn’t make sense. He saw the lingerie and the vibrator, and he knew it was all mine. Then I spilled my soul to him, gave him this pathetic speech about feeling lonely, and instead of firing my ass?—”
“He made you make dinner reservations. Seriously, the more you tell me the story, the crazier it sounds.”
I think back to that moment when he held the vibrator up and switched it on. He didn’t seem angry, more confused if anything. And there was that other look he gave me, the hungry one, laced with desire and lust. A look I didn’t even think he was capable of. But for the first time since he hired me, it felt like he was seeing me as more than a glorified coffee-fetcher and note-taker.
He was looking at me like I was a woman.
I mean, I am a woman. Twenty-five and in my prime. In theory, anyway. Men still treat me like I’m hideously disfigured even though Natalie swears I’m pretty. And I think she’s right. I have thick auburn hair, nice lips, and a solid figure. I’m on the short side and I could probably lose a little extra weight, but it’s all in my boobs and my butt, so it’s not a huge deal.
That just makes this all so much more confusing.
“It’s got to be a professional thing,” I say with more confidence. “Mr. Whelan wouldn’t cross that line, right?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s not capable of it.” She hesitates, tapping a finger against her lip. “Well, I mean, I’m sure he’scapableof it, just based on his tight suit pants?—”
“Natalie!”
“But he’s Boss Bastard, right? With the emotional range of a broken refrigerator?”
“Exactly.” I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. “But what if it’s not?”
That question hangs in the air between us and she doesn’t have an answer.
It’s why I’m wearing this black, knee-length sheath dress, in theory safe and suitable for work, except it’s got a neckline that dips downjuston the wrong side of low, showing off slightly too much cleavage.
I’ve never worn it before. Never had a reason. It’s serious enough that I wouldn’t take it on a normal date, but too revealing for a work event.
But this is neither of those things.
I can’t be on a date. Not with Boss Bastard. But Mr. Whelan would never take me toDolce Vita, the most trendy and expensive restaurant in New York City at the moment, not for a work reason. He’s way too cheap for that.
Nothing about this situation makes sense, and my outfit reflects it.
I put on a pair of strappy heels. Again, they’re not exactly screaming fuck-me, but I wouldn’t walk around the office in them. I keep the jewelry minimal, just small pearl studs, but I finish the whole outfit off with bold red lipstick.
Natalie raises her eyebrows when I put it on.
“Sexy and confident,” she comments. “I like the choice.”
“I want him looking at my mouth and not at my tits.”
