Page 6 of Forbidden You

He’s like the big brother I never had.

“I’m not. I promise.”

“Stanford was your dream school.”

I swallow to hold back the tear that threatens to push through. “Dreams change, Jensen. You should know that.”

“One day, we’re going to have this conversation, Kayla.”

“I know.”

But I’ll do anything to postpone that as long as possible.

2

TWO WEEKS LATER

There are some secrets I will take to my grave.

Like how my middle aged office manager is becoming the highlight of my day lately.

My tablet sits in my hand as I stroll off the elevator, my sunglasses pushed up in my brown crest of hair. A smile splits my face when I’m greeted by Agnes giving me a short wave. Her silver-gray eyes sparkle as much as the hairspray in her hair, and her already rosy cheeks are highlighted with a brighter pink blush.

“Good morning, Agnes. How are you today?” I stop in front of her desk.

Our eyes meet from under the glasses sitting on her nose, giving me a friendly smile.

“I’m good, Mr. McKay.”

“After six months, you still won’t call me Bodi?”

A small smile forms on her red painted lips. She reminds me of my grandmother, radiating comfort. Someone you can rely on when life makes you believe nothing is certain, like your dad slowly forgetting your name.

At least she’s always here greeting me with a smile that comforts my inner child to make up for the lack of parental guidance I currently have in my life.

“I know you youngsters like to be on a first name basis with everyone, but my generation was raised differently. I will never call my boss by his first name. Even if he’s thirty years younger than I am.” She eyes me from over the black rim of her spectacles. “And certainly not during work hours.”

I grab my heart. “Wait, are we not in the same generation?”

“Charming, Mr. McKay. I bet you will have great success with the ladies.” Her giggle warms my chest.

When I opened my office here in Atlanta, I got a lot of applications for the office manager positions. Many young girls, straight out of college. Many young girls who wanted an audience with the owner of Kayman Publishing International.

Meaningme.

A few men who were either overqualified, asking for way too much money, or didn’t really feel like they would fit my team. But then Agnes Nichols walked in.

She was wearing a gray pencil skirt that hugged her elderly curves and matched it with a white button down that was all the way up to her neck. Her shiny hair was up in a bun, and other than the choice of make-up she went for, she wouldn’t necessarily stand out in a crowd.

She looked like the stereotypical secretary that’s over sixty. But when I looked down, noticing the white Adidas Originals she was rocking on her feet, I knew she was something special. Then, when my eyes locked with her friendly gaze, I knew we had a winner. Any woman over sixty who shamelessly walks around in sneakers paired with a pencil skirt is a winner to me.

“I can’t complain, but I’m not as lucky as your Flint.” I shoot her a wink.

“Oh, please.” She swishes my words away. “Maybe if you spent less time looking for new sneakers online, you’d actually have the time to find a nice girl.”

She peeks over her desk to look at my sneaker choice of the day.

“Are those new?” There is a suspicious glint in her now-narrowing eyes.

---