Page 14 of Charmed and Alarmed

I eye the two women sitting across from me, suspiciously. Are daddy issues contagious? I make a mental note to do some research on the phenomenon I have found myself participating in. Or, at least, fantasizing about participating in.

As it turns out, the heated energy between us on New Year’s wasnota fluke. Nor, apparently, does my virginity or my newly fucked-up leg detract from his desire to screw me. After a full week of sitting just outside his office and feeling his eyes on me every time I move, I’m pretty confident that’s what he was up to when he took me along on the road trip to nowhere the other day, because there most certainly was no groundbreaking of an important project upstate.

I’ve been trying not to ask myself if I would be down for that now, because the answer isn’t pretty.

Yes.

Fuck yes.

Oh my god, please, yes.

“O-kay. I should go. This was fun!” I say loudly, slapping a smile on my face for the benefit of the women across from me. The strange looks suggest I’ve overdone it a bit, and I let my expression fall back to impassive.

Honor and Sophie watch me stand, and my sister’s eyes flit over my outfit. “Wait, you wore that to work?”

I glare at her. “Could you be any more judgemental?”

My sister sighs, rolling her eyes at Sophie as if to say,little sisters, am I right?

This doesn’t help my temper, and throwing her a filthy look, I turn on my heel. The storming off effect is kind of ruined by my cane, but I keep my nose in the air, aided by a lifetime of pretending not to be bothered by her opinion. Giving Honor the satisfaction of being right about anything goes against my rebellious little sister sensibilities.

That being said, she does have a point about the outfit.

There’s nothing inappropriate about it exactly, but it isn’t what I’d wear to an office job where my bossdidn’tlook like a six-foot-something Viking warrior king. The pencil skirt thing was an accident, but my four days of outfits since then most certainly haven’t been. Catching him looking at me, feeling the now-familiar weight drop into my core whenever his gaze lingers just a little too long… It feels good. Really good. Addictive, even.

So, because I have yet to find a hobby, I started doing it on purpose.

Today’s ensemble—comprised of the very same pencil skirt that kickstarted this whole thing, and a fitted, black lace blouse, lined with fabric to match my skin tone—might have been a touch too far. I’ve been getting double takes all day, but Holden choking on his coffee when I came in made it more than worth it.

I’m fighting a smile as I walk across the street and back through the doors of E&V, remembering my usually smooth-talking, smirking boss reduced to hurriedly dabbing brown liquid off the front of his shirt. Is this what people mean when they talk about job satisfaction? Somehow, I doubt it, but considering this is the most chipper I’ve been in months, I’m not going to complain.

Most of the team is still at lunch when I get back into the office, and Holden is nowhere in sight as I drop into my desk chair, wiggling my computer mouse to bring up the login screen. Today’s mind-numbing task is inputting all the staff birthdays into the company calendar so their coworkers can shower them with obligatory attention—whether wanted or not.

I fight a smile as I read the name on the next line.

Lenora M. Vogel — May 2nd

Without inputting a single thing, I check myself off and skip to the next line. As I do, a woman entering the room catches my attention. I’ve never seen her before, and while it’s not impossible a client wandered up here, it doesn’t seem likely.

She looks… worn. Her blonde hair is clearly dyed, and pulled back from her heavily lined face. In a building full of professionals, she stands out like a sore thumb in a cheap blouse, jeans, and a knock-off purse that’s so stuffed full it’s bursting at the seams. She scans the room, and I still as her eyes come to rest on me.

“Can I help you?” I ask in my most polite, customer service voice as she makes a beeline directly for my desk, a heavily laden handbag swinging from her arm.

“Hi, honey,” she says as she approaches, glancing into Holden’s empty office behind me. “Do you know when your boss will be back?”

“I don’t, but it should be soon.” I check the clock in the corner of my computer screen. Technically, everyone at E&V gets an hour for lunch, but if we take less, we have the option to subtract the unused time from the end of our day and go home early. As such, almost nobody but our workaholic leaders, Dad and Holden, actually use the full hour.

“I’ll wait.” The unnamed woman nods distractedly, reaching into her purse to pull out a pack of nicotine gum and popping a piece into her mouth. She shows no sign of moving from the spot directly in front of my desk.

“Do you want me to text him?” I offer, because even from four feet away, the cigarette smoke is clinging to her clothing and is making my throat hurt.

The woman chews her gum loudly, leaning over to examine a silver-framed architecture award on the wall beside my desk. “Oh, sure. That would be great.”

“Who should I tell him is here?”

She shoots me an annoyed look, but just as her mouth opens with a reply, a familiar voice cuts through the quiet room. “Mom?”

My jaw goes slack as I watch the woman—Holden’s mother, apparently—turn to face her son. “Well hey there, sweetpea!” She beams, opening her arms for a hug.

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