But the way Emerson makes me feel. The way I feel about him. How my heart seems to almost expand in his presence, the way I like myself more when I’m around him. How I want to be the only girl in the world he ever sets eyes on again.
I’m falling hard for Emerson Grant.
I’m so fucked.
RULE #20: ESTABLISH YOUR LIMITS…AND WISHES.
Charlotte
The list is on my desk when I come in the next morning—the list. It’s opened to page four, the unanswered questions. Words like anal, nipple stimulation, threesomes, orgasm denial stare back at me, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.
“What’s this?” I ask, glancing at Emerson as he walks in. He’s dressed impeccably in tight blue slacks, brown leather shoes, and a white button-up shirt that looks a couple sizes too small. Has he always looked this good or is it my lovesick brain starting to distort reality?
After taking a sip of his black coffee, he sets it down on his desk and walks over. Standing only a foot or so away from me, he glances at the paper in my hands. My cheeks start to heat up, this unspoken thing between us growing more intense by the second.
“I realized that what we did yesterday was wrong of me. I should have never used that…toy on you as punishment because it was an unanswered question on this form. I don’t normally make mistakes like this.”
“But I was okay with it,” I reply quickly. Is he really worried that he did something to me against my will?
“But I need to know you’re okay with it. I need to have your consent beforehand for everything, Charlotte. Not just some things…”
His piercing green eyes lift from the paper to my face, and I instantly liquefy from the contact. He wants to know about the sex stuff. Can I really answer these?
“But you said…”
God, I can’t say it. I can’t bring up sex so casually again. Without a hint of romance between us, treating it like a check mark on a list of activities, like it means nothing.
“I know what I said, and just because you say it’s okay for these things to happen it doesn’t mean they will.”
My eyes shift downward, hopefully conveying the disappointment I’m feeling from that statement. It’s not how I wanted any of this to go down. Where I’m in the position to say, ‘yes, I’d like you to fuck my brains out,’ only for him to tell me he won’t. I feel like an idiot.
Should I just save my pride and write a zero next to all of these? How would that make him feel?
“It’s best to be safe than sorry,” he says gently as if he’s trying to spare my feelings.
“Okay.”
This whole conversation first thing in the morning puts me in a sour mood. I’m feeling vulnerable and embarrassed, like a stupid young girl pining over her boss, who has no intention of ever reciprocating these feelings. I’m just another Monica.
Stupid, stupid, Charlie.
I shove the packet aside as I get started on my tasks for the day, mostly replying to emails and helping to organize the vendor forms for the new store going into the club. I am so distracted by everything that I didn’t realize, until almost lunch time, that today was supposed to be what I like to call our ‘special’ days. I wonder if he even remembered. Does he even care that I’m not kneeling by his side?
Gotta love anxiety, when one paranoid thought spirals into a hundred. Like how I’m suddenly wondering if Emerson even wanted me for a submissive secretary at all, or if I was just a dumbass who threw myself at him and he was too polite to say no.
During my lunch break, I eat alone in the kitchen. With my earbuds in, I pick at the leftovers I packed. I feel his presence behind me before I hear him. Pulling out one of my buds, I turn toward him.
“What’s up?” I ask with a touch of attitude that makes his brow twitch.
“Why are you pouting?” He seems strangely unraveled.
“I’m not pouting.”
“Yes, you are. Ever since this morning, you’ve had an attitude. I should be clear that I don’t really like the brat thing, Charlotte.”
My mouth falls open. “Brat thing?”
“Yes. Where you intentionally misbehave and warrant yourself punishment for my attention.”
This time I audibly gasp and turn in my chair. “You can’t be serious.”
He crosses his arms, standing in front of me like a pissed-off statue. “I am serious. You pulled it yesterday at the club, flirting with Drake just to spite me.”
For some reason, I stand up. He still towers over me, but at least this time I don’t appear to be cowering so much. “I can flirt with whoever I want. That had nothing to do with you. You know what…maybe you should fill out a form too, so I know exactly what you want and we can settle all of this confusion right now.”