Authors: Marie Turner
Lying next to me with closed eyes, he looks as
though the world were pleasing to him alone. The sheets partially cover us, and
against me I feel his leg, warm and strong and covered in soft hair.
“I’d take you again if I had the energy,” he
jests after a few unmoving minutes, as if he were a much older man. “But you’re
awfully demanding. I’ll need to break for sustenance if we’re to continue.” He
smiles at his own comment. Before I have a chance to respond, he teases, “Did
you?”
“I’m not answering that.”
He chuckles. “How many times?”
“Not saying.”
“Why?” he demands.
“Because it’s weird to have that conversation
with you.”
More frown.
“You’re my boss,” I explain.
“Technically I’m not your boss. I’m unemployed.”
There’s a pout hiding somewhere beneath the stern, beautiful face.
“I’m so sorry.” I squeeze his hand and bring it
to my mouth to kiss, feeling like a criminal still. “If only I could turn back
time.”
“It’s not your fault. I did an excellent job of
making you certain I hated you, which couldn’t have been further from reality.”
I hear morning birds and cars coming to life
outside as the dawn makes its way into the room.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too.”
“I do have something to tell you though,” he
confesses.
I turn and look at him, trying not to worry
about what he’s about to tell me. A mountain of ideas moves through my brain,
but his thick-lashed blue eyes are enough to make saints cry and make my fears
vanish.
“What?” I ask.
“You know that hamburger place over on the
wharf?”
I wonder if he wants to go eat. My stomach
likes this idea.“The one with the overcooked burgers and stale bread?” I remember
I’d gone there once after the opening hype and sat down at a table to eat a
burger alone just as Robert walked through the door. He’d taken his food and
strode out looking majestic in his suit. Just before he crossed the street, I
noticed his eyes rebuking me. Now I wonder what his thoughts must’ve been.
“Yeah, that one. It went out of business, and I
rented the location. I’m opening my own practice there. With a little
remodeling, it’ll be a fine office space with a view of the bay, perfect for
clients.”
We lie there silently while his toes touch my
own. I worry that my hair must be a wild, tangled mess at this point. I’m
afraid to go check.
“So I interviewed some people to be my
assistant,” he continues.
“You did?” I hide my concern. “And?”
“They were all very qualified candidates.”
“Really?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t lose my
timesheets, and they could all spell
definitely
. I checked.” He smirks.
I smack him on the stomach, which feels like
stone. He looks at me severely.
“So what do you think?” he asks.
“About what?”
“Being my assistant.”
I frown, not sure what to make of his question.
“Would you make me wear that stupid office uniform every day?”
“As long as you live here with me, you can wear
whatever you want to the office.”
While seconds pass, the weightiness of his
suggestion forms like fireworks in my brain.
“
Live
with you? Like move in?”
“Uh-huh. You could be my assistant at the
office
and
at home. We’ve practically lived together for two years
anyway. What’s the difference? I’ll just get to see you at night, too.”
An unpleasant vision of doing all his laundry
and dishes and grocery shopping works in my brain. And boxing all his shirts.
Jesus, the shirts. I frown.
“What do you mean?”
“I need a lot of help around the house. All
that wanton desire must be quenched.”
Somehow I think he’s gotten plenty of quenching.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good, but you’ll definitely come work for me,
right?”
Seeing that I’m unemployed and have no
prospects of a job, I answer, “Yeah, I’ll work for you, as long as you promise
not to be mean.”
“I can’t promise that,” he says scowling. “I’m
cruel and terrible. I’m a lawyer, you know.” He kisses my temple. It feels
weird to think about working for him now, after all we’ve just done, weird in a
climactic kind of way. “You going to tell me about this business with the
bulletproof vest, the torn clothes, the missing shoe? I’m afraid to ask, but I
must know.”
“The men who picked me up were FBI. They’ve been
tracking a child prostitution ring. They needed me to act as bait at Collin’s
house,” I confess.
His eyes look as though he’d like to mangle someone.
“You didn’t?”
“I did. What else could I do? It was the only
way to get probation.”
“
I
could’ve gotten you probation. You
have no criminal record. You didn’t even steal anything.” He shakes his head slightly.
“What happened?”
“I hung around Collin’s house for a couple hours,
waiting. Nothing happened. Then Todd showed up.”
“Todd?”
I explain to Robert all that happened as he
lies there listening and looking post-coitally glorious, his hair equally wild,
his hand over his forehead as if soothing his brain. Afterwards, I ask, “What
do you think will happen to Todd and Collin?”
“My guess is they’ll turn on each other, and
one will confess. Either way, they’ll spend a good portion of their lives in
jail. Child prostitution is not taken lightly in the criminal justice system.”
After a minute he groans. “I can’t believe you did all that.”
“I don’t know why you’re surprised. I did lots
of things for you. I broke into homes … I wore stupid uniforms … I got your
boxed shirts.”
And then he’s on top of me. “Mmmm, you did,” he
says, and I think that I could live in a room full of boxed shirts and
timesheets and Robert frowns as long as he took off his clothes and made those
sounds and kissed as he does.
“Don’t ever do anything like that again,” he
orders.
“You’re not my boss anymore. You can’t tell me
what to do.”
“Technically, I am. You just agreed.”
“Still.”
“Well don’t anyway.”
“I don’t intend to,” I say. “Why would I?”
There’s a moment of tension while he hovers
over me looking ready to become a beastly dragon. Perhaps this will be our
first real fight.
“Now that I have you, I can’t be without,” he
explains. “I can never go back to being angry and frustrated and alone again.”
And the fireball inside me returns.