“Oh,” Amanda says, her smile wavering. “Sure, that’s no problem at all. Just keep in mind that this unit will go quickly, so I encourage you to put a deposit down as soon as possible if you’re interested.”
“Understood,” Margot replies.
We follow Amanda back to the leasing office, where she retrieves our IDs and makes a last-ditch effort to pry a deposit out of us. Margot stands firm on her decision though, and we head back to the parking lot.
Once we’re in the car, Margot sits back in her seat and stares out the window like she’s pondering something.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says easily, but her voice carries a note of tension. “It’s just… are you sure you don’t know that woman from somewhere?”
“Absolutely positive.”
Margot nods, mostly to herself.
My stomach clenches a little, guilt pooling deep in my gut. This is an unfortunate side effect of these last couple years of dating apps and one-night stands. I never really stopped to consider how it might affect a future partner, mostly because I didn’t actually expect to fall for anyone. I hate the thought of Margot second-guessing my past with any of these other women, or my future with her.
“Listen,” I say softly, turning to face her, “I know I have a past, and I’m sorry that sometimes it catches up to me. I never want you to feel uncomfortable or wonder if I’m telling the truth. I’ll never lie to you about anything, Margot.”
Her smile is soft, reserved, but her gaze still feels a million miles away. “No, I know. I just got a weird vibe from that woman, but let’s not dwell on it.”
I agree that whole interaction was a bit strange, but I also agree that it’s not worth dwelling on.
“Okay,” I say. Then I lift my eyebrows suggestively, changing the tone of the conversation. “Want to go back to my place for a nooner then order some Thai food?”
Margot’s smile widens and her eyes finally find mine. “Obviously,” she says with a laugh.
25
Margot
The following week brings a new set of challenges.
For one thing, we’ve almost been busted—twice. Once stealing a quick kiss in the elevator on Tuesday morning, and again in the stairwell yesterday afternoon.
Okay, so that one was more of a full-on make out session.
Apparently, we’ve forgotten how to act like coworkers after an entire weekend of not keeping our hands to ourselves.
Then there’s the other challenge: dealing with the complex emotions I’m feeling over my promotion. It hasn’t happened yet. The board meets next week, and Ethan has no doubts they’ll vote in my favor. After that, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be his assistant. Maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks while he searches for a replacement.
Obviously, I’m thrilled to get a promotion. I love this company and my job. I also love the idea of a little extra padding in my monthly budget. I want to grow professionally and take on new challenges.
But it also feels like the end of an era. For as long as I’ve worked for True North, I’ve worked under Ethan. We’ve foundour rhythm and build our foundation in this space. Meetings that turned into late nights. Late nights that turned into… well, me getting drunk and having to spend the weekend recovering at his house, which led to a whole lot more.
It's a bittersweet ending to our professional relationship and the start of something new for us.
When I arrive at the office on Friday morning, I set my purse down on my desk and head straight into Ethan’s office for a quick meeting. His eyes flick up from his computer then freeze on me.
“Jesus, Margot, what is that?” His gaze rakes slowly down my body.
I follow his stare, wondering if I have a big coffee stain or ink smudge on my dress, but find nothing out of place. Furrowing my brow, I glance back up at Ethan. “It’s just a dress…?”
Ethan admires me as if I’ve just flounced into his office in a lace negligee instead of a relatively modest red shift dress. It has a high neckline, cap sleeves, and a hem that grazes my knee. The only thing remotely salacious about it is the color, which is a little bolder than the clothing that I normally wear to the office. Still, it doesn’t hold a candle to the skin-tight athleisure wear that some of the women wear around here.
Ethan’s chair creaks as he leans back, still watching me as if he is considering ripping the dress off entirely and bending me over the desk that separates us.
“It reminds me of the dress you wore on our first date.” His voice is a low simmer that I feel between my legs.