Page 75 of Work: Strictly Professional

Pleasure rolls through me again and again, wringing me out until I’m limp and the only thing holding me up is a huge pane of glass and the dick I’m speared by.

He pulls out, and I crumple to the floor. He does too. We sit side by side, our backs against the glass. Feverish skin soothed but not cooled. Neither of us talks for a very long time. I’m overloaded. Overstimulated. My mind is whirring, and every emotion known to man is jostling for position. I’m happy and sad. Sated and shocked. Angry and ashamed and crazy about the man who’s just paid me to feel all these things.

Eventually, Derek lifts my chin and makes me face him. He’s not completely back to himself though. His eyes still crackle with fire.

“Wyn,” he says with a slow smile, “I would have paid double.”

That does it. I vault to my feet, an athletic maneuver I had no idea I was capable of, as every emotion I’ve felt in the past two months explodes out of me.

“Really?” I yell. “Really? Well, the joke’s on you, you douche, because I would have done it for free.”

I tear around the room blindly as I search for my clothes, my physical and emotional nakedness no longer amusing or in any way enjoyable.

“Wyn.” I ignore him and move faster. Finding my pants and kicking my feet into them. Jumping around as I pull them up. “Wyn, stop!” The idiotic part of me that wants to please Derek no matter what freezes. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

He blinks slowly and looks at me as if he’s never seen me before. “But, but then, why am I paying you?”

“I don’t fucking know!” My voice creeps up and starts growing breathy. “How the fucking hell should I know? You said…I said…you said…”

I can feel I’m about to start crying, and I hate that for me. I put my shirt on, one arm and then the other, and do up the two buttons that remain attached to the garment. I turn my head and look down so Derek can’t see me cry, but I don’t move.

Derek gets to his feet and stands in front of me, running a finger along my jawline and tilting my chin. “What do you want, Wyn?” There’s a seriousness in his voice that’s paralyzing. It’s impossible to ignore. Impossible not to obey.

“I want it all, you ass.” Dark eyes approach and retreat. I understand in this second, right as I stand here, that this thing between me and Derek, the way it was, the way it’s been, is over. There’s not a damn thing I can do about it, so I go for broke. I don’t hold back. I unleash the full force of myself on him. “I want the whole package. I want romance and…” I desperately want to say love, but I can’t make the leap, “butterflies. I want heart palpitations and grand gestures. I want…pizza. You know the first bite of pizza? Well, I want it. And, and, I want a home that’sa house, and, and tiny, miniature little people, and, did I already say grand gestures?”

Shit. I did, didn’t I?

I’m completely out of breath, and when I try to rectify that, a loud sob bursts out of me. I’m fumbling this badly, and I sound so goddamn stupid I can hardly believe myself. I should stop talking now. I definitely should. I’d love it if I could, but we all know that’s not very likely. “I want to be wooed.” Thewooedcomes out as such a long, pathetic sound that it sounds like something the wind made by rushing through the space between tall buildings.

Derek reaches down and steps into his pants, zipping and buttoning up before looking at me. I stand immobile as I try to decide whether to throw something at him or tender my resignation with immediate effect.

“How many?” His voice seems to come out of nowhere. It startles me so I have a hard time deciphering the words. “How. Many?” he asks again, clearer this time.

Kids? He’s talking about kids. He is, right?

Right?

Oh fuck, it’s hard to breathe.

“You know, just two or three. Or one. Definitely one. There has to be one, and I guess if that one turns out okay, and it’s possible to have more, I might want to consider having another one.”

“Done,” he says so softly I think I must be hallucinating.

I put the rest of my clothes on, socks and shoes, and Derek gets his stapler off his desk and staples my shirt closed where the buttons have been lost. I’m pretty sure I’ve dropped into an alternate reality, but I like it here, and I’m loath to make any sudden changes lest it upset this strange balance we’ve landed on, so I take my leave.

“Wyn,” Derek calls after me. “What are you doing?”

“The expense report,” I say as though he’s the one who’s taken leave of his senses. “I said I’d have it done before the start of business tomorrow, and I meant it.”

There’s a low tremor. A deep, throaty chuckle. “All right, fine, but don’t take too long. Wooing will commence at eight p.m. sharp.”

33

Wyn

I become aware thatsomething is amiss as soon as I open the door to my apartment. Bridget’s face holds a strong clue for one thing, but for another, I’m hardly able to step inside. Every surface, including the floor, is covered with roses. Pink, lilac, yellow, and white. The entire apartment is awash with them. Bunches and bunches of them. Mixed bunches that are a riot of pastel colors. Plain bunches that are an excessive repeat of the same bloom.

---