"So, have you settled into your new apartment?" I ask her.
She looks puzzled by the change in topic.
"Small talk," I explain. "You said I should do it. I thought I'd start with you."
"Oh."
She tries to stand so I help her to her feet before handing her the other papers. She hugs them to her chest.
"I haven't unpacked everything, actually," she says. "And I still need a few more things, but yeah, it's starting to feel like home."
"How are you finding Chicago?"
"Drier," she answers with a chuckle.
I grin.
Stella falls silent, pursing her lips. I realize she's back to being shy again. Hopefully, as time passes, she'll be less so.
"Go home and get some rest," I tell her. "We still have one more day to go before we call it a week."
"Yes, sir." She turns around.
"Oh, and maybe make it a maximum of three meetings a day starting next week," I suggest. "Like you said. Less pressure."
Stella nods. "Okay."
"Good night."
"Good night."
She gives me a final smile over her shoulder before walking off. I find myself smiling, too, as I cross my arms over my chest.
And aching. I've never had a woman tell me what I should do like Stella just did. And it's hot. I just want to drag her back here, push her down on top of this table, let her tell me everything she wants me to do with her, do it, and then bury myself inside her until I've got nothing left.
But no.
As amazing as Stella is, she is my assistant, my employee. Maybe my most valuable employee at the moment. I can't mess with that. I can't break the rules and jeopardize both our careers.
It's tempting, but I can't. So I'll just wrap this desire in a pretty parcel and throw it inside a pit in the back of my mind where I hope it will eventually get buried and disintegrate into nothing.
I'm the boss and Stella is my trusted employee. That's all there is between us.
That's all there ever will be.
Chapter One
Stella
Two years later
"No!" I scream after I turn the page of the book I'm reading to find the next one blank except for the words To be continued...
For a moment, I just stare at the paper with eyes and mouth wide, part of me hoping that more words will magically appear like the details of a Polaroid picture exposed to light and air. When they don't, I accept my defeat with a sigh. I close the book and hug it to my chest as I sink into the heap of pillows on my bed.
I can't believe the author ended the book just like that, with the revelation of a shocking secret that I never saw coming and which now changes everything. I don't even know how the main characters are going to end up together now, and I'll be heartbroken if they don't. It's just so mean. And yet, I have to admit it's also pure genius. It's just like when you're watching a movie and you hate the villain but then you're also in awe of the actor because he played his role so well and made you hate him so much. This way, I'm definitely buying the next book when it comes out. In fact, I can't wait to devour it.
When is it coming out? I go online on my laptop to check. Next year? I have to wait that long? Now, this is just torture.
I allow myself to simmer in my frustration for a minute. If I had someone to talk to about this book, I'd probably feel better faster, but I don't. It's sad, really. The only thing sadder than finishing a book is not having anyone to discuss it with. That's why book clubs were invented. But what can I do? I left my few friends back in Seattle and I haven't made any new ones. Well, there are some people from the company that I have lunch with, but I haven't had the chance to hang out with them after work. More accurately, I haven't had the time. I usually have to stay at the office until late at night. Even when I don't, I'm on the phone or the computer or by Ethan's side nearly every minute of the day, trying to keep track of everything without losing my own sanity and composure. By the time I get home, I'm so exhausted I go straight to bed. Except Friday nights like tonight. Knowing I have two days