A sultry wisp of heat curled in my core. Most days I felt like a tiara-wearing toddler playing dress up with my mom’s heels and checkbook. I was in a grown-up life I didn’t know what to do with. And yet, that email had made me feel like anything but a little girl.
I added lines around the pupil, making it appear bloodshot. Then I sketched some shadows on the bottom lid, darkening the corner, spreading a bruise beneath. In a few seconds, I’d transformed something mysterious and beguiling into a grotesque version of itself.
I took a deep breath. That felt better.
By the time Henry wrapped up the meeting, I was in desperate need of another cup of coffee. McDonald’s didn’t have the worst brew in the world, but the overdose of sugar and carbs from that excursion pulsed at my temples with the beginnings of a headache.
“Stay a sec, honey,” Henry ordered as Ethan gathered his things.
I nibbled my bottom lip and hugged my notebook against my chest so he couldn’t see the Eye of Sauron Ezra I’d distorted.
“I’ll start sending mockups as soon as I finish them, Molly,” Ethan added with his belongings in hand, already halfway out the door. “If you have notes on anything, feel free to share them. I’d love some feedback.”
My mouth lifted in a genuine smile. “Will do. Thanks, Ethan. I’ll send you what I come up with too.”
He tipped his head. “Sounds good.”
Ethan walked out of the office, but before he could get out of hearing range, Henry bit out a gross accusation. “He’s married.”
My throat dried out and all the moisture in my body evaporated. If I could have shriveled into a Molly raisin, I would have gladly welcomed it. “Excuse me?”
“Ethan is married, Molly. I thought you had more class than that.”
My heart jumped in my chest, trying to climb up my throat and throw itself out of my mouth. I eyed the window behind Henry, loosely debating the impulse to jump out of it. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”
Henry’s annoyed expression turned patronizing. He let out a patient sigh and stood up. His fingers trailed over the desk as he came to stand in front of me.
His office was the second biggest, inferior only to his dad’s. There was plenty of space to spread out, but I’d moved my chair closer to his desk during the meeting so I could see everything on his computer and appear interested. Which turned out to be a huge mistake.
Now that he’d stopped right in front of me, he leaned back, balancing his butt on the edge of his desk and stretching his long legs toward me. They settled on either side of my own, brushing against my almost-bare calves.
I pushed back with my toes, greedily putting space between us. Unfortunately, my chair legs got caught in the carpet. His ankle pressed against mine causing my mind to spin with anxiety. How did I get out of this situation without making it even more awkward than it already was?
Was it totally out of line to fake a heart attack?
Or what was less sexy than a heart attack?
How about diarrhea?
If Henry was coming on to me again, diarrhea was sure to shut that shit down.
Literally.
Imagined or otherwise.
But could I live with the whole office knowing I had to flee Little Tucker’s office because of a bout with dysentery?
No. No, I could not.
Inappropriate or not, I’d rather face Henry than that reputation. Besides, between this and the Christmas party incident, I was starting to wonder if maybe Henry Tucker just didn’t consider personal space? His love language was obviously physical touch and making everyone around him uncomfortable with his overreaching, inappropriate behavior.
Instead of making an excuse to leave, I tucked my legs beneath my seat and looked up expectantly at my boss. He might not know how to be a professional, but I did. He could learn a thing or two from me and my gigantic personal bubble.
“He’s married,” Henry repeated. “I didn’t peg you for the kind of girl that shits where she eats. But I guess I was wrong.”
His comment reminded me of pretend diarrhea and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “I’m not interested in Ethan,” I said firmly, needing him to get this immediately. And also to stop talking so loud. “Even if he wasn’t married, he’s not my type.”
Henry’s lips lifted in a sly smirk. “Oh, really? What is your type?”
“Men that aren’t married,” I bit out, trying desperately to stay polite.
“So me then?” He grinned.
I noted a coffee stain on his lapel. “Excuse me?” I heard myself say for the second time. This could not be happening. He could not seriously be hitting on me! Even three shots of tequila deep, I’d been super clear at Christmas. My name was no. My sign was no. My number was hell no.
“You said you’re interested in men that aren’t married. I’m not married. You must be interested in me.” His grin stretched, greedy and wolfish.
Swallowing down nerves, fear of losing my job, and a hefty dose of awkward, I admitted gently, “Actually I have a long list of criteria. Which is why I’m still single.”
“Thank the good Lord for that,” Henry muttered. His eyes took another trip down my body, slowly caressing every inch of me from the open neckline of my blouse to the pantyhose I had been so set on wearing today.
A sick feeling crept over me everywhere his gaze lingered. I resisted the urge to clutch my collar together and slap him.
He was my boss. Maybe he was being inappropriate and obnoxious, but he was still my boss.
And the reason I was on this account to begin with.
“Do you need anything else, Henry? Or am I free to go?”
I regretted my wording as soon as the question left my lips. I couldn’t have told you exactly what I’d said, but whatever it was seemed to encourage him. His expression lit with interest and he leaned toward me, bringing our bodies closer together. He smelled like cheese and cheap cologne.
“For now, Molly. You’re free to go for now.”
I scurried out of his office like a scared church mouse, but by the time I’d gotten back to my desk, I had almost convinced myself there was nothing wrong with his behavior.
Henry Tucker was an ass, but he was still my boss. And the son of the CEO, set to inherit this entire office. He wouldn’t mess that up by overstepping with his minions.
Still, it wasn’t hard to consider passing off this account to someone else, to someone more qualified and not nearly as grossed out by the Little Tucker. Maybe there would be an equally glorifying account in the future. Maybe I could make progress at the company without a big account, without drawing attention to myself.
Maybe a long lost aunt would die and I would inherit a huge sum of money making me independently wealthy.