Page 20 of One Rule

Maybe with a glass of wine. A little chocolate for dessert.

Rushing to the door, I peek out through the keyhole and find no one. Completely empty.

“Weird.” I’m not worried about my safety. This building is owned by a friend of my father, one of his donor/golf buddies, and the security downstairs is tight. No one is let up without being approved or signed in, so I open the door and immediately my attention is brought down to the ground. Set up on a pedestal-like contraption is takeout from one of my favorite eateries and I squeal.

This beats my plans of mac and cheese and the half a bottle of a Chilean wine I have in the fridge. It’s a fruity red with notes of spice that pair well with the richness of my favorite comfort dish, but will now be exceptional with the brick-oven pizza and what I’m sure is one of each signature desserts the restaurant offers.

My mouth waters as the aroma permeates the hall and I find myself smiling as I pick everything up. Once again, Micah’s words from earlier today, a different conversation, rush through my head:

Expect a treat from me tonight. It’ll be there at six.

And it’s confirmed after I set everything down on my kitchen counter, finding a note attached to the lip of the bag. I recognize his writing while a quick flick of my eyes toward the wall clock gives me the time.

The man is punctual.

He’s also killing me.

I’m a man of my word and pay all of my debts.

I promised to spoil you, my little rebel.

Your Boss,

Mr. Royce

“Why areyou doing this to me?” Doesn’t he realize how much a gesture like this builds giddy excitement within me? How I’ve created castles in the sky in his honor, and each sweet gesture only erects another tower in his name? “Micah Royce will always be my ruin.”

Yet as the words leave me, I’m already opening the box and a few seconds later, giggling. He knows I love a good Margherita pizza, the combination of mozzarella and basil is heaven to me, but to literally have them spell out the wordsstuck with mein basil makes my night.

Because even after everything and knowing my feelings are one-sided, I can’t help but melt at the adorableness of this gift. Sure, his meaning and mine are vastly different—one day I’ll move away and find someone to love and adore me back—but for now, this soothes me.

Let’s me live in a make-believe world where he’s a man taking care of his woman. Where I’m wanted by him, and my every need is met while I return every gesture with one of my own.

It’s why I will stay as his assistant for now.

It’s why I grab a plate with two slices and my wine before heading to the couch, bypassing the few boxes I’ve yet to open. Nothing of mine has been unpacked and this gives out theliving out of my suitcasevibes, but that’s okay. Instead of worrying over my lack of desire to make this place homey, I return to my original plan of finding a movie or a show between bites.

And while I still turn on my TV and put on a random house-flipping show for background noise…

I’m enticed by something else.

A calling. This itch.

At the edge of my coffee table lies a black and gold notebook that I don’t hesitate to pick up. There’s a pen clipped on the page with my last entry, and I read the quick lines jotted down in a messy scrawl that indicates I was in a hurry. The feelings are the same; my love for him is clear and honest, but what surprises me is the coincidence in topic.

This goes back to him asking me to keep another secret. Not so much for him, but in case anyone asked how much I make at Royce Cruise Line—especially from those in my department. And while I found it odd then, I nodded but came back to the same torturous memory:

My first kiss.

The feel of him against me.

Diosito, I need help here. Help me find a fault in him.

Maybe if I knocked him off the pedestal I placed him on, I’d be able to move on.

Yet none of those things happen. Instead, I simply finish my delicious pizza and then grab two mini cannoli before settling back. One show has ended and another one begins to play, the same renovation type that usually draws me in, but I’m still pulled in by that last entry.

It doesn’t take long for me to click the pen and place it against a new sheet of paper.

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