Tell Me You Want Me by Willow Winters
Adrian
“You know how I know you want to push me today and not in a good way?” I question the vixen at my side. Her cherry-red heels clip on the pavement as I open the door, waving toward Noah that I’ve got it. The spring day is a cloudy one, with gray skies and the threat of rain clouds.
“How’s that?” she asks, gripping the door frame, one shoe inside the car, the other firmly planted on the curb. She stares at me from over her shoulders, the wool coat perfectly hugging her frame.
“Because you’re eager to get me alone in this car. I didn’t have to fight you.”
Her smile is wicked, her rose petal lips trying all they can to stay pursed, but they fail. “Inside,” I command her and she obeys, properly and politely as I shut her door for her, knowing damn well she’s going to try to get information out of me. While I sat through meeting after meeting, she came looking for me. Andrea let me know. She suggested I order flowers, of all things.
I’m not sure what exactly she thought Suzette was coming to see me for, but if I had to guess, with the cars buzzing by us and the nightlife of the city turning vibrant, it’s about her department and the upcoming meetings.
With a steadying inhale, I climb into the back seat and shut the door.
“I tried to speak to you all day.” She doesn’t waste a second. She peeled her coat off, laying it across her lap and at first glance, I’m given a damn good look of her breasts. Whatever contraption she’s wearing has pushed them to the top of her blouse which hangs low, I presume to display cleavage.
Not fair.
Reaching for my seat belt, I prepare myself.
“I had roundtables with my team.” The belt clicks into place and the tick of the blinker is barely heard as Noah rolls up the partition, allowing us privacy.
“Your team who’s talking to my team,” Suzette stresses and I can’t help but to let out a chuckle.
Leaning my head back, I turn to face her.
“I don’t find it funny,” she tells me and there’s a hint of hurt there.
“Because you aren’t in control,” I tell her honestly.
With her hands in her lap, she fidgets with her fingers and tells me, “I just need to know what your plans are.”
“It’s after six, Suzette.” I’m soft with the reminder.
“I don’t like this.” She’s equally soft with her disappointment. It’s unsettling. Not anger; she’s genuinely upset.
“It’s okay to be uncomfortable. That’s how progress is made,” I tell her, in an attempt to ease her mind.
“I suppose I could leave you uncomfortable then?” It’s not quite a tease or a threat, but some combination of the two.
My response is firm. “Don’t tempt me to punish that mouth of yours before we’ve had dinner.” She swallows, the threat coming through as it should. To remind her that she loves what I do to her, that right now the office is behind us and we’re to get lost in each other.
Her posture remains stiff, though, and her gaze guarded.
In an attempt at a truce, I rest my hand on hers, and she reciprocates by turning her small hand to hold mine. “Thank you,” I murmur and then run my thumb along her soft skin.
“Please, answer me one thing,” she presses and I close my eyes to respond with a short nod.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“With what?”
“The company?”
I remain silent. As if it were so simple to have a one-sentence answer, or to even know what would be best so early on.
“A split-up? Go public for shares? I looked into the other companies under your LLC, so I doubt you have a merger in mind.”
When I finally open my eyes and look back at her, fear lingers in every nuance.
I debate on confiding in her, knowing how quick office rumors are to spread and the chaos that little bits of information can create. But then she utters a single word, staring back at me like I could make every little worry she has vanish. “Please.”
“The plan is a split-up and the merger of the new entity and another company I have in mind … if possible.”
She doesn’t hesitate to question, “And what about the other? The original entity? The departments that aren’t useful for the merger?”
I’m silent, half wondering if she’s playing me. If all of this was a setup and she’s pumping me for information. “There are inefficiencies that cannot be overlooked.”
“Where does my department—”
My tone is harsher than I’d like as I interrupt her. “Not everything has been decided.” Gentling it, I add, “You don’t need to worry.”
“As your lover or as your employer?”
“When I tell you that you don’t need to worry, I need you to believe it. I need you to trust me.”
She’s silent, and every second that passes feels as if another weight has been added to my chest. It’s obvious I haven’t eased her concerns in the least. She wants a definitive answer and I can’t give her one. I can’t say anything with certainty.
“No more. It’s after six and I promise, I will make time for you at work. As your boss. Right now I only want to be your lover, as you put it.”
It seems for a moment that she’ll say something; her lips part and she inhales, but then her gaze falls and she merely nods. Not looking back at me.
“Thank you for respecting the boundary.”
“I don’t like it,” she whispers, at first looking out the window but then she meets my gaze.
“You look gorgeous squirming, though.” I pick up her hand and kiss the back of it, our fingers laced together. “It would please me if you wouldn’t worry.”
In a breath she laughs, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s heard. “Is that all you need, for me to just not worry?”
Softly, I repeat the reassurance, “You will be all right.”
She’s quick to tell me, “It’s not just me.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’m done. I’m done for right now. I won’t bring it up again.”
“I want you to confide in me, I do. I wish I had the answers for you, but I don’t.”
“When you do, will you tell me?” There’s hesitancy in her tone, but also hope.
“The second I know, I will tell you everything.”
Her shoulders drop slightly and she sinks deeper into the seat, not responding other than a nod and a soft, “Thank you.”
A moment passes, and the tension lessens.
“I had a hard day today,” I confide in her, our fingers still intertwined.
“I did too,” she speaks softly. “Fridays are long days, but at least we have the weekend.” Just when I think that’s all she’ll say, she offers, “Can I do anything?”
“Do anything?”
“To make anything better.”
“Not with work—”
“No, with you. Can I …” she trails off and tosses her hand in the air, the one I was holding. “Can I yell at someone, or massage your shoulders? I could …” she pauses and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, write an angry email or order us takeout for dinner.” In my silence, her tone is laced with exasperation when she says, “I could … I don’t know. What would make it better?”
“You could kiss me.”
“Would that make it better?” she questions, the hint of a smile on her lips.
“Yes. If you kissed me, it would.”
She doesn’t waste a moment, and when she kisses me, her hands wrapped around my face, I can feel her smile.