It isn抰 a lie. I spent the entire night tangled in my sheets, sweating and miserable, and I still feel overheated and raw.
I think Ben might have given me a virus. That kiss went on for a while.
I should have fucked you then, too, just to see how else surprise makes you yield.
There was something so shockingly filthy in the way he said it, as if he hadn抰 ruled the possibility out. As if he knew I hadn抰 either. Maybe he did it to win and maybe he didn抰， but I remember that bulge of his pressing insistently against me, so it wasn抰 only to win.
I close my eyes, and it抯 almost as if he抯 here. Almost as if his mouth is brushing mine and his hands are fisted in my hair. It leaves me feeling like I抦 all nerve endings, as if even the slight breeze of my door shutting behind me is sexual in a way.
I imagine that抯 just the virus too.
I prepare for the staff meeting Monday as if it抯 some bizarre battle with rules only I抦 aware of: my favorite V-neck blouse, my best lingerie and, of course, my precious baby-blue, suede slingbacks. Though I抦 not sure what, precisely, I抦 hoping the lucky shoes will bring me.
Maybe just the return of my sanity.
I don抰 feel any better now than I did Saturday. No matter how hard I try not to think about that kiss, I can抰 seem to stop, and I suspect the only cure might involve getting him to do it again. Getting him to do more. And since I refuse, I guess this situation is permanent.
I take the seat across from his in the conference room. Our gazes lock. He doesn抰 smile, nor do I. We are definitely at war now, though I don抰 know what he抯 got to be pissed about. Neither of us speak, and the meeting ends unusually fast, which leads me to think our bickering might have been wasting more of the staff抯 time than I realized.
When he walks out without a word to anyone, I tell myself I抦 relieved. It抯 strange, sometimes, the way relief feels a bit like disappointment.
I spend the day trying to ignore the lingering effects of the virus he gave me梩he repeated clench of a muscle low in my abdomen, the warmth and occasional breathlessness. I almost feel normal again by the time I meet my favorite client for dinner. Walter is in his early sixties and is possibly the one person capable of restoring my faith in men: he adores his wife and kids and he cares deeply about the well-being of his employees. That he specifically requested me when he came to the firm梤ight on the heels of Ben stealing my biggest client梬as nothing short of a miracle, and since that time he抯 sent me more work than the rest of my clients put together.
We meet at his favorite steakhouse, and briefly discuss some litigation I抦 handling for him before he sets down his fork and knife and looks at me.
揝o, when are they going to give you a piece of the pie over there, at that law firm of yours??he asks. 揧ou抳e certainly earned it by now.?
I force a smile. 揑f it抯 up to them, never.?
揧ou can always come to us. You told me yourself I needed in-house counsel.?
揧ou do. You抮e paying FMG twice what you would otherwise.?I don抰 understand why he抯 still going through me.
揟hen work for us. Think how much shorter your days would be. These are the best years of your life. You抮e letting them pass you by.?
If FMG doesn抰 make me a partner this winter, I抣l have to consider it梚t could be another five years before the opportunity comes again梑ut the mere possibility fills me with dread.
揟his isn抰 the time to let my foot off the gas,?I tell him. 揑抣l think about having a life once I抳e made partner.?
揧ou could still find time to date,?he argues. He抯 said it before. I used to worry he was going to try to set me up with one of his umpteen children, but fortunately he has not. 揑 bet there抯 some nice young man in your office, working the same hours you do.?
All I see in my head for a moment is Ben. Ben, who beats me to work most mornings always looking like a million bucks in his perfect fucking suits, that smug smile permanently fixed on his face. Ben, who lives to torture me, who tortured me all weekend in my apartment when he wasn抰 even there.
揥e抮e lawyers, Walter,?I say with a smile. 揘one of us are nice.?
He laughs and shakes his head. 揊orget I said anything.?
I go back to the office after dinner. The halls are empty, but there抯 a light on in the conference room and, somehow, I know it抯 him. I can抰 avoid him forever, I tell myself, but I抦 walking awfully fast for someone who is theoretically reluctant.
His face is deadly serious as he watches me walk in, his gaze almost palpable. A shiver ghosts over my skin, and my thighs press tight as I try to will away the effect he has on me.
I take a chair and his mouth quirks, as if he just thumbed through every filthy thought I抳e had over the past seventy-two hours and their sheer depravity has left him embarrassed for me.