I drift into sleep with thoughts of my hot boss.
Chapter 2
Deliriousness
[Pam]
Slowly, I open my eyes to the light behind my lids. Taking in the dim room, I notice the vaulted ceiling. The starkness of the wall. The dark windowpane, and the comfort of an unfamiliar bed. I roll my head to the other side of me and push myself upward on a shaky arm. My head screams in pain, but I’m focused on the man beside me.
Please tell me I’m dreaming.
“That must be some hangover you’re nursing, Lilac.” The raspy tenor ripples over my skin, and my arm bends, collapsing me back to the bed. I look up at him with fearful eyes.
This is not happening.
“I’m not hungover.” I don’t recognize my own voice, rough from disuse and dehydration. My throat is killing me.
“I’m just teasing,” Jacob says, blowing out a breath. With his legs stretched out before him, he sits with his laptop on his thighs and glasses perched on the end of his nose. He almost looks studious, but once those glasses are removed, his appearance will shift to tough, edgy, and almost hostile.
“What are you doing here?” I question, staring up at him as my brain slowly processes—I’m in Jacob’s bed.
“Seeing as it’s my home, it makes sense for me to be here,” he jokes as he removes the glasses and sets them behind him. I’ve been in Jacob’s room before but never when he’s been present. Hell no. I’ve been up here to instruct the cleaning lady or snoop around when he’s out of town. A low bookcase placed behind his bed acts as a headboard of sorts. The bed stands in the middle of his room, near the large floor-to-ceiling window facing west. There’s a little reading-writing area with an overstuffed chair, ottoman, and floor lamp on the other side of the bookcase. The bathroom is located behind that section. It’s an unusual setup for an unusual man.
“A better question is what are you doing here, Goldilocks?” Of all the nicknames Jacob calls me, he’s never called me this one before. I might resemble the errant child with my chin-length straw-blond hair, styled in loose curls on occasion, but presently, my hair is greasy and plastered to my head. If I’m Goldilocks, he’s one grizzly bear, and this bed is just right, but I’m still wondering what I’m doing in it of all places.
“I let the house cleaner in. You weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow.” My tone is defensive. I was to get in and get out, not under his directive, but my own. I’m upset he took a two-week vacation with his girlfriend, which reminds me . . . I’m in Jacob’s bed.
As I attempt to push my body upward again, my quaking limbs cause me to struggle. “I need to go home.” Tears fill my eyes at the possibility of moving as well as the reminder Jacob has a love life that does not include me. It normally doesn’t matter. I understand our positions. He’s the boss, and I’m the assistant. Only, I’m not in the proper headspace to deal with my emotions.
“Hey,” he softly says, moving his laptop and turning to me. “You aren’t going anywhere.” His hand moves forward as though he intends to touch me. As if he’ll cup my jaw and tell me he’s always wanted me in his bed.
That would be a fantasy—which he’s good at writing, and I’m good at reading—but it’s one neither of us lives.
“How did I get up here?” I ask, looking around the room while his hand retracts. I’m hoping to hide my disappointment, and then I remember I’m a sweaty, shaky mess. I’m sick.
“I carried you. What do you need? Water? Some food? Tea?”
I turn back to him, startled by his suggestions and overall kindness. It isn’t that Jacob’s particularly mean to me. He just acts indifferent. He teases me, and he flirts sometimes, but it’s just his personality. He likes me as his assistant, but we aren’t anything more to each other.
Ignoring all his questions, I ask one more important than the others. “Why am I in your bed?”
“With the way you’ve phrased that, I’d think you don’t want to be in my bed. And here, I’ve been wanting to get you in my bed forever.” He winks at me. The smug bastard winks.
This is not happening. I’m hallucinating because I have the flu, and my temperature has made me delirious. On that note, I glance down at myself