Becoming His Mistress

By A.E. Murphy

Rose Sinclair counts through life in sixes. It's how she gets by when she's not in the company of her best friend and Tourette's sufferer, Laurie, or focusing on her busy work schedule as the personal assistant and office manager for the extremely attractive and extremely married, Ezra Conti.
Everything has a place and Rose likes it that way. It must be that way.
But even her quirks aren't enough to keep her in her lane and away from temptation. No matter how hard she tries to fight a detour in her life's perfect navigation system.
She doesn't like-like her boss. Not one bit. He belongs with his wife, and Rose...
...
Rose belongs by his side.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. E. Murphy
• Release date: Feb 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215912348

Book preview

Prologue

His eyes and all their imperfections.

G ood afternoon, Mr. Conti, I say, holding out my hand, turning it slightly upwards so he can see my perfectly manicured nails. I do them myself, a little hobby of mine. I think pretty, clean nails say a lot about a person, even men. Hygiene is so important. I’m Rose Sinclair.

His large hand engulfs mine, making me feel so very breakable. His grip is as firm and warm as his eyes.

Mr. Ezra Conti, an American-Italian megalomaniac lives to make other people feel so very breakable. I have spent the past three weeks of my life memorizing his life and his role at WhyTech. I know more details about his life, his business, and his family, than I know about myself.

Though that’s likely because he has more details in his life, family, and business.

He is the unattainable Mr. C.

From what I’ve read, women throw themselves at him despite his marital status. Once the most eligible bachelor in Rome, now a married man, smitten with his wife of twelve years, living in LA and not looking to slow down with his business responsibilities anytime soon.

To say he has travelled much in his life would be an understatement.

One of the main reasons I want to be a part of his personal team. The travel.

His handsome, gray eyes, heavy-lidded and narrowed in a way that is so sharp and assessing, look me up and down. It’s a general look, not a seedy lingering look and I’m glad of that. Though I am most unassuming, but that is for a reason.

I’m not here to look hot. Not that I could. I’m not even sure I know how. I’m here to work. Well… interview. But I know the job is mine so that’s a moot point. This job was meant for me. There isn’t a single thing on the list of duties that I cannot do with quickness and efficiency.

It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Sinclair, but I’m afraid to inform you that I already filled the position.

I blink slowly, still holding his hand with a tight squeeze. I’m afraid to inform you that you made the wrong decision. Releasing his hand, I push my glasses up my nose, aware of the fact they make my eyes look almost half the size they are, but I’ve had them long enough to not care what people think. I’m legally blind without them.

He chuckles and continues smiling as he speaks, Is that so?

His voice is deep and gruff, but also smooth. It’s exactly as it was on the phone when I first called about the position almost a month ago.

He pushes his hair back, it’s neat, dark, trimmed, slightly longer than his last most recent picture. He is cleanly shaven, so smooth and kempt and he has clean fingernails. I can see why women throw themselves at him. The way he looks, plus his voice, his clearly good hygiene, and his incredible laugh. It’s a concoction for heartbreak.

Luckily for me, he’s not my type, so I won’t spend my days working for a man that I’m pining over, knowing he can never be mine.

There is nobody better for this job than me, I state simply but I know it’s true. I’m only twenty-three but I have been working for a position like this since I was fifteen years old. "Nobody."

Is that so? he repeats, and I can tell he thinks I’m cute in the way one finds a puppy cute. The man I employed has fifteen years’ worth of experience already. You have none. You have no connections, no ties in the business world, wouldn’t you be better suited doing a work placement in a less demanding position? He waves his large hand in the air, still smiling kindly.

"That may be so, but I’m friendly and very persuasive, I don’t find it hard to make new friends. I’m never late. Never sick. I have OCD, I won’t lie, but I’ve taught myself to use it in the best kind of ways. I am excellent with numbers——"

OCD? What kind of OCD? he asks, and they usually find that interesting. There are so many misconceptions about OCD that I worry it might put them off, but the way my brain handles it only makes my job easier. So it’s always worth mentioning.

If you hire me, you’ll see what I’m talking about. I smile up at him. Up because he’s about a foot taller than me.

Give me a bit of an insight.

Well, I’m organized, I repeat, I can’t leave a task unfinished and I can’t leave it less than adequate. This doesn’t mean I take more time though; I’ve trained myself to be super-efficient with it. I grin at him, hoping it looks confident. I can multitask. And… I also have a photographic memory.

He raises his brows. You do?

Yes. I do. Genuinely. Which means you’ll always have somebody to prompt you with your sales pitches and such. I know you do a lot of those, what with controlling the sales sector. I shift to my other foot and raise a hand. You can test me if you like?

With what?

Any kind of document. Show me, I look, I remember it word for word. I am so proud of this fact. I’m one of very few people with this talent. I find it hard to forget things.

He laughs at that; he has such a nice laugh. I bet you hold a mean grudge.

I don’t have time for grudges, Mr. Conti, I jest, I work too hard.

Still smiling, he picks up a sheet of paper from the bottom of a stack off his desk. Just in case you cheated and read it already.

I laugh nervously and look at the paper he shows me. It’s an article on his company, talking about their excellent technological advances with solar energy. I look at it, scan it, look up at him and smile.

Done? he asks, brows still raised.

I nod and turn around.

What are you doing?

So, you know I’m not cheating, I’m going to read it back to you word for word.

This should be interesting.

Clearing my throat, I begin, Two thousand and nineteen has breached milestone upon milestone when it comes to new advances in solar-powered technology. Here at WhyTech…

I read from brain, and don’t stop until I hear him slow clap.

That’s incredible, he tells me, impressed. But memorizing documents isn’t enough to secure you a position as my PA. I try to be fair especially with newcomers and young people fresh out of college, but I need the experience and networking right now.

I’m not one to swear often but I really want to curse right now.

This is pants.

I need to convince him.

Think, Rose, Think.

I understand. I do. But… give me two weeks. Just two, I beg, trying to look as cute and endearing as possible. And if my excellent skills in your field, your company, and your life don’t impress you, then I’ll walk away without an issue. You don’t even have to pay me. Look, you read my resume meaning something about it must have enticed you to invite me for an interview… I know experience is essential, but I promise you will not even notice that I’ve never worked for a man like you before. When he hesitates I put on my brightest smile. Did I mention I was a foster kid? Raised in poverty, risen from the ashes of my deadbeat parents, paid my own way through university…

Okay, okay, he replies, laughing as he raises his hand. I’ll give you one week to impress me and show me that you’re a better choice than Fisk.

Ah, I click my fingers. Fisk means fish, Rose is a beautiful flower… already I’m winning.

He chuckles and looks me up and down, again, not seedy, he’s just assessing me and my body language. You can start tomorrow, be back here at seven, have my coffee ready, notes are in my prior PA’s desk.

I’ll do you one better, I reply, pushing my glasses up my nose again. I’ll start right now.

Well, he comments, shaking his head with amusement. You were right about one thing.

What’s that?

"You are very persuasive."

Chapter One

He gave me a chance that no one else did.

Six Months and Two days Later

M orning, Mrs. Conti, I call, maneuvering the door and kicking it closed behind me.

Their home is grand, an open lobby of sorts with one of those wide, curved staircases that leads to an open space above. Their walls are cream and gold with tasteful art and ornaments in all the right places.

You are a lifesaver, she replies loudly, greeting me, covered in flour and jam. She doesn’t look dressed for cooking of any kind and this is totally out of character for her. I’ve never seen her with a hair out of place.

I press my lips together, so I don’t laugh. Are you baking, Mrs. Conti?

Absolutely not, Maria is but she decided to overfill the mixer, my kitchen is a sight. I haven’t had time to shower yet. She takes the bag from my arms as I juggle it with Mr. Conti’s files that he requested.

I try not to laugh. Maria, their ten-year-old daughter, is wild to say the least, but not in a naughty way. She just doesn’t have any boundaries. She’ll go where she wants and do what she wants as she wants it.

It was no problem, Mrs. Conti, I respond. I’ll just put these in Mr. Conti’s office.

Sure, go on up. She turns away from me, reminding me of the first day I met her.

I had seen her emails to her husband about hiring a whore to tend his office and shadow him, she was terrified I’d sleep with him, but then she saw me, took one look at me, turned, and walked away. He never got an email like that again.

It’s not that I’m ugly or anything, I just purposely don’t make myself look amazing so that I can get on with my job without the appraising eyes of others. I respect women who can look sexy and work but I don’t have the balls to put up with judgmental people. I just want to keep myself to myself and do what I do best. Be invisible and work hard.

Besides, I’d never sleep with Mr. C. Sure, he is gorgeous, but he’s clearly married, he’s faithful to his wife, and lastly, I don’t need that kind of situation messing up my schedule. Everything in my life has a place and Mr. C has his place with his wife and child and as my boss.

I’m happy doing what I do. I get to travel. I get my own vehicle. I get excellent perks doing what I do. I would never fuck that up by fucking my boss.

Also… he’s like so old.

He’s thirty-seven. That’s a whopping thirteen years and five months older than me. Gross.

Still, I can’t deny that I like staring at his back sometimes. He’s got really nice shoulders.

Le sigh.

I head upstairs, clutching the binders and files tight to my chest. My phone starts ringing in my pocket and with a bit of shuffling I manage to answer it and squeeze it between my shoulder and ear.

Rose Sinclair, how may I help you?

Dude, please tell me you’re not gonna bail on Saturday. You haven’t been answering my messages.

I laugh, happy to hear my closest friend and anxious, also OCD-crazed woman called Laurie. We met during group therapy sessions as teens to help us deal with our abandonment issues and anxieties. She’s quirkier than I am in all the best ways. She has mild Tourette’s too and her favorite thing to say around me is, Mrs. Cuntyflaps. Referring to my boss’ wife.

It’s not that we don’t like Mrs. Conti, she’s a… erm… pleasant enough woman. She’s just a bit cold and impersonal with her staff. She expects perfection and the way she speaks to us when she doesn’t get it is shocking to say the least. She uses the words idiot and moron a lot.

Mr. C dotes on her though. Forever sending her gifts and touching her when they’re around. It’s sweet. She’s entirely different with him than she is with her staff, from what I’ve seen in the open anyway.

My hands are full. I’ll be there, I promise. Just no blind dates, I will kill you. I’ve never been into dating; guys just mess up my schedule and take up all of my free time.

I swear it. This Saturday is all about you and me, baby. FUCK A LIGHTSWITCH.

I snicker at her twitch.

THE LAMPSHADE IS ALWAYS WATCHING YOU!

Have you been shopping for home stuff?

Yeah, I forgot my meds this morning and didn’t have time to do my exercises. I’m a bit jerky. BEEF JERKY UP YOUR BUM!

I laugh so hard I almost drop the things I’m holding. Gotta go. Love you, babe.

Love you more, she replies just as I use my foot to press down the handle to Mr. C’s office. The door clicks open.

I announce, It’s only me.

There you are, right on time as always, Mr. C declares, sounding his normal disinterested self. He has yet to get mad at me personally to be honest which is a relief. I’ve seen him mad at others and it wasn’t fun. He’s super intimidating.

He rounds his desk to help me with my load, smoothing his thick, shiny, dark brown hair back with a large hand. A smile is fixed on his face, showing white teeth behind pink lips and cleanly shaven cheeks.

He smells citrussy. He’s been using the aftershave I helped his daughter pick for his birthday back in March. It’s so good.

Everything on track?

Ahead of schedule as always, Mr. C, I reply happily. Is there anything else I can help with?

He wanted me to call him Ezra, but I just can’t, especially since his wife wants me to refer to her as Mrs. Conti at all times. It would have been weird being so personal with him and not with her. I don’t mind. But still, we came to an agreement that I’d call him Mr. C. A happy medium for both of us.

Nothing that comes to mind. I appreciate you bringing these out here, he comments, forever gracious. He’s the opposite of his wife, he treats his staff with respect and kindness… when we’re doing our jobs right anyway. Though he still doesn’t get familiar. In the six months we’ve worked and travelled together, we’ve eaten in the same space only a handful of times and even then he was looking at his phone or laptop. I can’t remember us ever having much of a conversation. How long have we been working together now?

Six months and two days.

Have you ever taken a day off?

See? He doesn’t pay attention to me beyond the work I’m doing. I shake my head. Not a personal day off, no. But the mandatory days off, yes.

He sits behind his desk and eyes me inquisitively. You should book your annual leave.

I don’t have anything planned, I reply simply.

Then plan something and get back to me with the dates.

I hesitate. But then you’ll have to hire somebody to cover me and they’ll mess up my desk and my calendar and…

He gives me a look that signals that it’s time for me to go and says, I’m extremely busy right now, Rose.

Right. I’ve been dismissed. That’s annoying.

I head downstairs, arms empty, feeling slightly aggravated which must mean I’m due for a visit from Aunt Flo because I never get aggravated.

I just don’t like the idea of somebody else screwing up my job and I know they will.

ROSE! Maria cries when I reach the front door, ready to slip out silently. The kid has bat ears or something. Rose! Wait!

I turn to look at her and she is covered in flour, oil, colorful sprinkles… you name it.

Hey, squirt, I say, patting the only clean part of her head. You look like you’re having fun.

You can’t go yet. I did something. She goes to grab my wrist with her greasy little fingers but thinks better of it. The last time she did that I had to wash my hands thirty-six times. Because six times six. My hands were sore afterwards. It’s not that I’m opposed to a bit of dirt, but I don’t like sticky things or… okay I’m totally opposed to visible dirt, especially sticky things or oily things, but I have it under control now. Come on.

I follow her towards the kitchen, already having a panic attack at what I might find.

It’s worse than a mess… there’s just stuff everywhere. And this is a really big kitchen.

Oh my God, I whisper, feeling my heartbeat rise as I step over a pile of flour and almost slip in a dollop of jelly. I catch myself on the worktop, putting my hand in something gloopy.

Oh dear, are you okay? Maria asks as I calm my breathing. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was this bad. Daddy is going to kill me. Are you going to cry?

Nope, I lie. I actually might. What is it you wanted to show me?

She rushes to the counter where the cleaner is ready and waiting with a bucket full of supplies. She looks as close to tears as I am.

I give her a toothy smile that probably looks more like a grimace and return my gaze to the child who is approaching me with a cake in her hands. It’s big, and kind of round, covered in rainbow frosting, edible glitter, and sprinkles. And in the center is my name with one candle sticking out of the E.

I made you a birthday cake, she announces, looking so proud of herself. The dimple in her chin is so deep with her beaming smile. Margot helped.

Margot is the maid, we don’t really speak because we never see each other, so the fact she’s stopped work to help this ten-year-old make me something is so sweet.

Nobody has ever made me a cake before, I breathe, choking back tears.

I was raised in foster home after foster home and I got birthday cakes of course but never one that was homemade.

My tears fall as I take the cake from the little brown-haired angel and blow out the one candle.

Did you make a wish? she asks, and I nod, still crying. What did you wish for?

That one day I’ll have a little girl who is just like you, I reply, crouching down so I can hug her. She squeezes me around my neck, almost making us both fall. Thank you so much, Maria. This is the best gift I have ever received in my entire life.

Standing, I pay no attention to the fact I’m now covered in flour and whatever else. I’m too emotional. I take a knife and cut into the cake, sharing a slice with Margot and Maria. It’s actually delicious. It’s moist and buttery and sweet. I could eat it all in one go but that would be greedy.

Why don’t you take a piece to your dad and then come help us clean up? I suggest and her big gray eyes light up. I put her a piece on a plate and off she goes, watching it carefully with each step. Then I look at Margot. How did this even happen?

When she whimpers in response, I grab a cloth from the side of the sink.

Don’t worry, we got this.

We start with the counters, washing them down and piling the dishes into the dishwasher. We dump the bigger ones in the sink and leave those for later.

How many cakes did she make?

Margot laughs. She doesn’t talk much. I actually wonder if she can talk at all or if she’s just shy.

Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday? Mr. C’s voice booms as he enters the kitchen through the same door as me. He stops in his tracks to take in the scene, much like I did. Jesus fuck… MARIA!

Don’t, I plead with him, wiping my hands on my dirty trousers. He looks me up and down, aghast. She didn’t mean to make a mess.

I’m going to clean it up, Daddy, Maria says, rolling her eyes at him as though he’s overreacting. He’s not. Margot and Rose are helping me.

Don’t ever do anything in this kitchen again without your mother or I, he says firmly, and the little girl nods her head, unfazed by his anger.

Me, I put in softly. Your mother or me.

He blinks at me, his gray eyes like storm clouds blocking the sun. Did you just correct me?

I didn’t want Maria to pick up the wrong way of saying it, I respond, cringing. Also… nervous tic.

He mutters a curse in Italian likely aimed at me and snatches the sponge from my hand. I’m surprised when he gets stuck in, helping to clean the kitchen alongside us.

You’re not doing anything, he tells me just as firmly as he told his daughter. This isn’t part of your job and it’s your birthday. Don’t you have any plans? Nothing with family or friends?

I shake my head. No family, remember? I’m going out with my friend on Saturday night though, so I’m not a total lost cause.

Sighing, he takes my bicep in his hand which is damp from the sponge and leads me out of the kitchen.

Go home, do something… other than work.

I’m pushed through the doorway as I call over my shoulder, Best cake ever, Maria.

Woohoo! she cheers from somewhere behind me.

Chapter Two

How much he loves his daughter.

Iknow I shouldn’t have, but I showered twice. I didn’t have a choice. My brain made me. It was the only way to rid myself of the flour and jelly that wasn’t there.

My hair smells and feels awesome though. It’s a warm, almost natural dark brown, I obviously use red toners and such to keep it vibrant.

I braid it twice too and curl up in my pajamas on the sofa. I’m watching Bumblebee. I love action films, which is funny because they’re so messy on screen. Debris flying everywhere and stuff.

I’m at the part where she’s just discovered him when the buzzer sounds, signaling that there’s somebody at the entranceway to my apartment building wanting to see me.

I press the button and hold it down, Hello?

It’s MEEEE! Maria cries. And my dad!

Can you stop shouting? Mr. C. asks his daughter as I mouth the panicked words, OH MY GOD!

Did I forget something? Do you need me to babysit?

Nope, we’re here to celebrate your birthday, Maria replies. Can we come in?

My mouth flaps open and closed as I look around my apartment. It’s clean. It’s always clean. But something might not be.

Sure, I reply and press the other button that opens the entrance door. "I’m the only door on this floor, just on your left by the stairs.

I hear it buzz-beep (that’s a thing) and rush around to ensure that everything is in its place.

I don’t often get visitors; I can’t relax with visitors and this is my boss… I’ll never be able to relax around him. I didn’t hear Mrs. Conti. I really hope she’s not here.

I pace twelve times, because six add six, and then open the door when I hear Maria’s loud chatter getting closer and closer.

I’m in my pajamas, I say the second it opens. My pajamas are baggy and plaid that I love so hard.

Awesome! Maria’s excitement soon fades when she sees what I’m wearing. They’re boys’ jammies.

Mr. C. who looks as uncomfortable as I feel stands in my doorway that I’m still blocking. His lips twitch when he checks out my sleeping outfit of choice. A boyfriend’s?

Shaking my head, I reply, No. I got them from the men’s section in a sale at Macy’s. They’re so soft though. How could I not?

Then I hold out my arm to him and he actually pats it with an awkwardly muttered, Nice.

What is wrong with me?

I push on the bridge of my glasses and finally stand to the side. Come in, please. Make yourselves at home.

Your apartment is so small, Maria says with childlike innocence.

I like it small. There’s just me.

She kicks off her shoes and jumps on my sofa. We want to take you out to dinner, but you have to get dressed first.

I look at Mr. C for confirmation but he’s eyeing my certificates on the wall. Dark frames hold my degree and other conquered projects.

Unless you made plans? he asks, still eyeing my belongings with a disinterested look on his face.

I didn’t but——

Then get dressed, we’ll wait, he orders, using the same tone he uses at work. Firm and to the point.

After six months I should be used to him, but he still makes me nervous.

Well… actually… I chew on my lip. I already ordered Chinese food. They do the best duck ever.

He clicks his tongue against his palate. Too late to cancel?

Definitely, but I ordered loads. Enough for all of us, if you want to stay and join me?

He looks around my apartment once more. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Then he kicks off his shoes, takes off his jacket, sits on my sofa and asks, What are we watching?

Is it bad that I was hoping he’d say no, thank you and leave?

This is weird.

Bumblebee.

Haven’t seen this one yet, he comments and restarts the movie.

Wine, whiskey, or soda? I ask, moving to my little kitchen space.

Whiskey, he replies.

Me too, Maria jokes.

I stick my tongue out at her and pour the drinks. Pouring myself two fingers of whiskey and mixing it with a dash of water. I add ice to his and give it to him neat. I get Maria a grape soda that I buy for when Laurie comes. She loves sugary drinks. They both do.

Thank you, I’d have brought something with me had I known we’d be staying in.

That’s why phones were invented, I remark playfully, sitting on my favorite recliner seat and bringing my feet up to my butt. I hold my glass and tap my fingernails against the side. I know it annoys him when I do that but my house, my rules.

He still gives me a look of irritancy though and I just smile and smile and smile.

Maria wanders around my first-floor apartment for a while, looking at trinkets but not touching. She’s good like that. Well, I say apartment but really, it’s a house that has been separated into two. I share an entrance door with my neighbor but the second apartment is above mine, so I rarely see her. I’m on the first floor.

I sip my whiskey and water in an awkward silence. Mr. C. sips his whiskey in his own awkward silence. The movie plays but nobody is really watching it.

Why don’t we play a game? I suggest, chewing on the corner of my mouth. I have cards. We can play Go Fish?

YES! Maria cheers.

Why not? Mr. C mutters, putting his phone away after checking it for the hundredth time.

I sit cross-legged on the sofa, moving to the space beside Mr. C because Maria took my space on the recliner. I don’t mind, she’s a guest and I’d look like a dick if I asked her to move.

After dealing out the deck we play two rounds before food is here. Mr. C retrieves it, muttering about me being indecent despite the fact my body is probably draped in more fabric than I have bedding in this house.

He pays for it too and refuses to take my money when I offer it. That’s sweet but he always does that when we eat together. Money isn’t an object for him.

I get the plates and spread them on the dining room table, pouring us both more whiskey as Mr. C serves it.

You really did order a lot of food, he comments quietly, his lips twitching with a smile.

I usually save it and eat it for breakfast.

That’s gross.

Meh. Each to their own.

Did you know that cold rice houses more bacteria than almost every other food? Maria asks excitedly and I make a mental note to check that fact out later.

Kids just know things, I say, sipping more of my whiskey.

This is so entirely awkward still, even after two boring rounds of Go Fish. Either Mr. C just has no personality when it comes to games, or we have zero chemistry in any way. And I don’t mean romantic chemistry, just chemistry in general. Like if I was sitting here with Laurie right now, we’d be laughing so hard we’d have tears and snot all over our faces.

A gross picture but such truth.

We eat in silence, listening to Maria yammer on about something to do with romance and the Mayans. I didn’t know those two things were related but, apparently, they are. And aliens. Aliens are involved in some way too.

We finish our dinner and I start to clear the plates away. Mr. C helps, wiping down the table and taking the trash to the garbage shoot down the hall. I’ve almost finished when he returns and smiles at me. Still awkward.

Fuck, I wish this night would end.

Maria screeches with glee, holding up a microphone that connects to the TV. We both jumped at her sudden screech, my wet hand goes to my heart and Mr. C looks at it and rolls his eyes, smiling with amusement.

OMG, you have Sing IT! She actually said O.M.G. instead of oh my God like the rest of us losers.

I do, I reply.

You sing? Mr. C asks, disbelief marring his handsome features. He really is very handsome to look at. Not that I’m being creepy or anything.

I compare it to going to a museum and looking at a piece of pretty art. It’s great to look at occasionally, but I don’t want it in my apartment within touching distance.

I don’t, I reply using the same tone as when I said I do, and he chuckles.

Ha. I made a funny.

I drain my whiskey because I just know she’s going to make me sing with her. She sets both microphones up and starts flicking through songs.

I need more whiskey.

I pour myself three fingers’ worth and smile when Mr. C’s glass, hand, and arm appear over my shoulder. I pour him some too.

A Disney song starts… eff my life.

---

Approximately fifteen minutes and another whiskey later.

A WHOLE NEW WORLD! Maria sings at the top of her lungs.

A new fantastic point is through! I continue, slurring my words a little, swaying on the spot, ignoring Mr. C as he laughs and falls sideways onto my sofa.

NO ONE CAN TELL ME NO!

Or where I’m going!

Those aren’t the words. He’s laughing so hard now his eyes are squeezed shut.

OR SAY I’M ONLY DREAMING!

Unbelievable sights…

You already sang that part! He sits up and wipes his eyes on his sleeve, still laughing and choking on it. You’re supposed to read the words on the screen.

I can’t see the words on the screen, I yell at him, playfully angry. I push my glasses up my nose and collapse on the sofa beside him. The song hasn’t ended yet, so I shove the microphone into his chest, making him grunt. His chest is so firm.

I want to poke it with my finger.

I don’t. But I want to.

Your turn. I’ve done like three.

Pick a song I know, he tells his daughter who is still singing her heart out.

I’m doing a solo, Daddy, she snaps and goes back to it.

My head is spinning. I giggle, watching the little girl bend her legs and yell out the words to Let It Go. I drank way too much whiskey.

Me too, he agrees, eyes on his daughter too. I don’t normally drink.

You work too much.

He laughs at me incredulously. You work just as much as I do.

True, I reply, feeling giddy and less uptight now. Maybe more these days. I can’t stop.

He stretches his body, waiting for Maria to pick something he can sing to us.

She instead yawns really loudly and stretches her body just like her father just did.

Mr. C looks at his watch and blinks. Yikes… I best be getting her home. It’s getting late.

I almost feel disappointed.

Just one more song, Daddy, she begs, pouting at him.

He glances at me through the corner of his eye and holds his hand out for the mic. Not tonight, Maria. Rose wants to sleep.

Are you trying to say I look bad?

He laughs nervously. I feel like no matter what way I answer this, I’m chancing a slap around the face. Standing, he stretches again and puts his phone to his ear. So does that mean he thinks I’m ugly? Not that I care. Bring the car around, we’re ready to go.

I’ll walk you out, I say, catching Maria who throws herself at me to hug me. We both stumble because I’m a little tipsy and she’s a solid little lump. Thank you so much for coming.

Maria insisted, he answers, scratching the back of his head. We were in the area already visiting family.

Your sister? I ask because I know that she only lives a couple of apartment buildings down from me. He nods in reply. She’s nice, I like her.

I’ve met her a few times, they work together but she’s more sexy science geek and not really interested in the sales side of the business so it’s rare we end up all working together. I know her mostly from when she’s come to take her brother for lunch, or he has needed me to call her to set up an appointment for something or other.

He clicks his tongue against his palate and points his thumb at the door. See you at work tomorrow. Sleep in. I won’t need you until one.

You underestimate how much work I have to get done. I’ll be in at eight like always.

Fine, but I’ll bring the coffee this time.

No! I blurt, placing my hand on his bicep but then I quickly release it because ewww. Touching is flirting to men… isn’t it? I don’t want him to think I’m coming on to him. Don’t… I have to have it a really particular way.

It’s coffee.

But if it’s not the right coffee then my day is wrong.

He blinks at me and sighs, but he still looks amused. Okay then, you get the coffee. But don’t say I never do anything nice for you.

I wouldn’t even suggest it, I reply.

Chapter Three

His smile and his laugh.

Ihope it’s not weird.

I mean… okay, yeah, it’s weird. I don’t like that he was in my space last night. It’s made me feel weird. Has it made him feel weird?

I count my steps to take my mind off it. I’m obsessing.

Mr. Conti, I say his full name, a statement to him and myself that I don’t suddenly think we’re friends.

He looks up from his desk as I approach and then place his coffee and bagel on the table.

Eight AM sharp, as always, he states, checking his watch. Not a second before or after. He’s exaggerating about that last part… mostly. Thank you, Rose.

I give him a salute because that’s not weird and then turn and head to my desk which is just on the other side of his office door.

Rose, he calls, and I stop to look at him with a slight smile.

Yes, Mr. Conti?

Thank you for hosting us last night at such short notice.

I open and then close my mouth