Tell Me You Want Me by Willow Winters

Suzette

Adrian fills my mind every hour that I’m awake, and most of the ones where I’m sleeping. His text messages make my pulse quicken with excitement.

I can hear how he would speak the words when I read them. It feels like falling. In only a week’s time, I feel like I’m falling for him.

No one else at the office is fawning over him.

I’m often worked up and overheated, carefully avoiding him and the topic of him because everyone calls him the devil.

They complain about not knowing what’s going to happen and how they think every task is in preparation for someone else to take over. Then there’s me. I can’t stop thinking of how he put that ice between my legs, and the soft groans that he makes when he fucks me on his desk. Purposefully avoiding the obvious and doing everything I can not to worry. Because he told me not to, even though all signs point to the company being sold off.

It’s all ridiculous and overwhelming. If I wasn’t fucking him, I might have quit already … well, not if I couldn’t take the clients with me. Maybe. I don’t know. Like I said, it’s all too overwhelming, so I choose to believe him. I’m doing everything I can to listen and not worry.

With my fingers tapping aimlessly on the keys, I have to snap myself out of it. Not that it matters; we’re on a freeze with clients this week. I could lose my shit and it wouldn’t make a difference in productivity. The only work that’s getting done is paperwork and severance packages. I could be a nervous wreck like the rest of the office, or I can fantasize about the clock turning six.

Every day, I rock back and forth between the two of them.

A light knock at my door takes me out of my thoughts. A young brunette in joggers and a flowy tank stands in my doorway.

“Maddie,” I say, greeting my friend for lunch. “I was wondering when you were going to get here.” My chair rolls to the left as I push my keyboard to the side to make room for takeout.

Passing me a brown paper bag she sighs and says, “Sorry. Traffic was hell.”

She’s gorgeous, as she always is, but there’s a sad curve to her mouth. “You okay?”

She takes the seat across the desk from me and opens her bag in her lap, waving me off with the other hand. “I think I need a man or a really good vibrator.”

“I vote vibrator,” I joke with a short laugh, unrolling the top of the bag without taking my eyes off Maddie. She’s young, naive, and a romantic. A.k.a. the prime suspect for assholes. She barely cracks a smile. “Is that dipshit Daniel still on your mind?”

Maddie groans. “He’s always on my mind, and I can’t get him off of it. It’s not fair. Why did such a shitty person have to get so far into my head?”

“That’s how it always seems to be. The worse the person is for you, the more you think about them.”

“Let’sgo out and go man shopping tonight. There’s a new club down on Madison Avenue. It’s like my grandmom always said, get over one by getting under another.” She takes a bite out of her turkey club and guilt washes over me.

I haven’t told Maddie about Adrian yet, and it seems like a betrayal of our friendship, almost. Suddenly I have no appetite. The chicken caesar wrap stays at the bottom of the bag.

I’m not sure what I would tell her. Being discreet means not blabbing your business to anyone who’d listen. I wince at the thought. Maddie’s not just a random person. She’s my friend, one of very few, and she’s been my friend for far longer than I’ve known Adrian.

“I’ve looked up Lucifer,” I joke. “He’s hot as hell.”

“Why don’t you cuddle up to him?” Maddie half teases although her tone is dull. Her large doe eyes twinkle as she grins, pausing between bites to say, “Get a little action. Save the day. You’d be the office hero.”

“The office needs a hero,” I comment, keeping my tone light. “Everyone’s nervous about their jobs now that entire divisions have been laid off.”

My department has kept the same workload, but four people have been taken for interviews. Not by Adrian himself, but by some team he hired.

“Speaking of heroes,” Maddie says, and then she talks about the new TV show she’s been watching on HBO for the rest of the time we’re eating. I’m grateful for the change in subject and somehow I’ve gotten out of going to the club with her this weekend. It’s pleasant conversation and a much-needed break in the day. The wrap was decent too although I barely tasted it.

All I could think is that I should tell her. Maddie would keep my secrets and maybe she would smack some sense into me.

I know part of the reason I don’t is because of that very fact: She would give her opinion, and what if it’s to stop seeing him? What if she says it’s wrong and it’s going to end in failure and heartbreak? She’s the romantic of the group, and yet I don’t even have faith she would approve.

When she’s gone, there’s a small fire under my ass. A need to prove there’s nothing at all wrong with it. We work during the day, play at night. I haven’t changed who I am and there’s nothing wrong with it.

This feeling that everything’s up in the air isn’t good for my productivity or anyone else’s, and the only way to know what’s going to happen is to ask him directly. And it’s not six yet, so business is business.

Every single time I gather the courage to demand answers or terms, to know what the hell is going on so I have something I can tell everyone who needs answers, there are people in his office.

Adrian’s secretary furrows her brow whenever I pass close to her desk. On my third trip, I decide to ask her what she knows. I imagine she’s got to know something, given how close she works to Adrian. And any little piece of info I can bring back would be a win. “Hi there,” I say, greeting her with a smile. Laying on the charm. “I’m Suzette. You’re new to the company.” My hip rests against her desk.

“That’s right,” she says with a tight smile. “Not new to Mr. Bradford, though. I’m Andrea.”

There’s a tinge that runs through me. It’s a feeling I don’t like. My gaze slips to this woman’s hand, a woman who could be my mother, and I find a wedding ring back there. Jealousy is unbecoming and I can’t believe I felt it for a second. In her white flowy blouse and pencil skirt, Andrea most certainly takes care of herself.

“How long have you been his secretary?”

“Oh, years and years. You know how it is with a good job. You stick with it.”

“I do know about that.” My stomach turns over. That’s exactly why I’m here—to talk to Adrian about the future. This job saved me after my divorce and made it possible to have the freedom I gained, but if I’m let go, I’ll be in an even worse position. “Sticking with it is usually for the best. I’ve heard he can be …” I deliberately let my voice trail, waiting for Andrea to pick up where I left off.

She gives me nothing, tilting her head with her perfectly plucked brow raised and her hands folded in her lap. Touché. I finish it myself. “A bit … ruthless.”

“I would agree with that at times.”

She nods and I do as well … neither of us giving the other anything.

“If you’ve worked for him for that many years, you must have seen him take over a number of companies like this.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, yes. It can be unsettling for the people who have been there the longest. Adrian insists on changing things where they need to be changed instead of sticking with the status quo. It means a lot of shuffling around at the beginning.”

I wince. “That’s what I’ve heard … the shuffling, though, that’s—”

“Ruthless.” Now she finishes it.

Hearingabout a powerful man like Adrian shuffling people around doesn’t soothe me when it comes to my own job. He’s merciless when we have sex, and he must be the same way when it comes to business. He won’t keep me on if it’s not the right thing for the company. My throat tightens at the thought of being let go by him. Stomach turning, I breathe deeply to keep myself in check. I’ve had to do this many times over the years, working with men who didn’t know how to listen to a woman.

Oddly, the thought of being fired for my job isn’t the only thing at the forefront of my mind. Adrian is there as well. If I’m let go from this position, there will be no more meeting up at six for discreet activities. So his secretary’s words aren’t very reassuring. I hadn’t considered how I might lose my job and Adrian at the same time. Though it’s a bit presumptuous to think there’s such a thing as losing Adrian when what we have is a fuck-buddy agreement.

“You work till six,” she comments and now it’s my turn for my expression to pinch.

“I do.”

“I only noticed because of the submissions.”

I pause, nodding but not contributing; it’s her turn to show her cards.

“Mr. Bradford seems to have changed his habits,” she says and leans back in her chair. “He never used to stay late. Once it was five o’clock, he went home. But it seems his preference, for this company only, is now six.”

“Oh?” The back of my neck tingles.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums.

“Well, that’s something.” Does she know? It’s all I can think as she stares up at me. She’s older, wiser maybe. I don’t know. But everything in me is screaming that she knows.

“I’m sure he won’t let you go,” the secretary says, her expression innocent. “Seems to me you’ve been doing quite a bit for this company.”

“I’ve done a lot of work,” is my distracted reply. She might not let me in to see him, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less hungry for information. I’m not sure how to phrase it, though.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks.

“Of course,” I reply and my nervous voice betrays me.

“He seems to be distracted lately.”

“Oh? I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

She takes in my red cheeks. “Hmm. I think you might. I’m good friends with his driver.”

I blush deeper. “I see.”

Reaching for her glasses, she barely contains her cat-ate-the-canary grin. “If it were up to me, I’d let you in there, love, but I can’t.”

“Oh, I’m not—I don’t do this kind of thing.” A numbness creeps through me. How long have I worked here, only to potentially have my reputation ruined by the rumor mill? I have no idea if I can trust this woman in the least, although she seems friendly. I did just lie to her face, though.

Restlessly, I shift my weight from one foot to the next. I stop as soon as the secretary notices. “I really don’t do this,” I say again.

“Neither does he,” she says, leaning in, her tone friendly still. It eases something in me. “I mean it. I’ve worked with him for over a decade now. Mr. Bradford … he doesn’t behave like this. He’s strict with his regimen and occasionally a woman has come in to speak with him. But it’s never … like this.”