Page 16 of Obsession

I immediately reconsider.

“I’ve always wanted to be a manager.”

He smirks at my quick response. “At least I know what motivates you now.”

He leans back in his chair. “You can go home for the day, but I expect you to start interviewing potential hires tomorrow, so come in early.”

I stand up quickly, a little dazed by what’s happening.

I’ve just turned around when he adds, “And Megan-“

I look over my shoulder to see him looking at my attire. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my faded jeans and cropped sweater, but he has a look of disapproval on his face.

“Wear something appropriate for your new position.”

“It’s not like your establishment is the Four Seasons Hotel or something,” I retort in a snarky tone.

When he just gives me one of his flat looks, I shut up. I’m learning quickly that those kinds of looks from Mr. Middleton don’t bode well for anyone...even me, his new manager.

“I’ll figure it out,” I mutter, telling myself not to provoke the man.

I can feel his eyes on me as I leave his luxurious-looking office, and it’s only when I close the door behind me that I acknowledge my wildly beating heart. Aside from the slight incident of him carrying me, he has been nothing short ofprofessional, and yet, the way he looks at me is almost like a dangerous beast eyeing its prey.

My core moistens at the memory of the way he spanked my ass in one smooth movement.

Jesus, that man has red flags written all over him; I scold myself. Don’t even think of him like that.

He’s too damn old for you, anyway.

“So, he just offered you a job? Like out of nowhere?”

My hand moves in deft strokes as I draw Naomi’s features with the charcoal in my hand. “Yeah, and can you stop moving your face, please? You’re throwing me off!”

My roommate and best friend shifts on the couch, striking a suggestive pose and grinning. “Paint me like one of your French girls, darling.”

“I swear to God, Naomi,” I growl. “This is for my assignment.”

However, I have already lost momentum, so I crumple the paper and throw it in with the rest of the pile in the corner behind me.

Our apartment is a one-bedroom piece of crap. The living room (if you can call it that) is tiny, as is the kitchen. Over the past two years, we’ve raided garage sales and fixed up tossed-aside pieces of furniture to fill our tiny home. The whole place is a mix and match of assorted colors, but it’s home.

Naomi stretches her lithe body across the couch. “I can’t sit still. You know I can’t. Just draw somebody from memory or a TV show or something. I’ve had five expressos since this morning. I am incapable of sitting still.”

I glance at the vintage wall clock I found at a yard sale last year. I still have a few hours before my first shift as the new part-time manager of The Blue Whiskey.

“If this works out, and the pay is good, we can move to a better place,” I murmur. “God, I really want to leave this hellhole. Mickey is a fucking pervert of a landlord.”

Naomi is still in cosmetology school, but she works at a salon nearby. She doesn’t make much money either, but it’s enough to pay her share of the rent and manage some savings (at least that’s what she tells me). She stands to her feet, and I watch her rummage for eggs in the fridge. I stare at her and contemplate just how much we are the complete opposite of each other.

Naomi is playful, whereas I’m usually safe. I barely style my natural coils, whereas she wears a different hairstyle on any given day. A red wig on one day or long braids on another. She looks like a fucking supermodel most times and is also the complete opposite of me with her flirty personality. She’s a people person. I, on the other hand, don’t like people much.

“I want a condo,” she muses, looking for a pan in the pantry. “With glass windows that overlook the city. And a water bed. I definitely want a waterbed.”

My hand is idly sketching some broad features with my charcoal piece, and I ask, “What do you want a water bed for? Do they even still make those?”

She looks over my shoulder, winking at me. “Have you ever had sex on a water bed?”

I look up at her. “It can’t be that good.”

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