Page 4 of Sending Nudes to My Boss

I didn’t expect her to be so good at her job, but damn, she is. A few months ago, she was out sick for a week with the flu and my whole damn world fell apart.

Not only because I don’t know how to manage my calendar. But because, without getting a daily dose of seeing Dot, I become a real asshole. A bigger one than usual, anyway.

It turns out, she’s good for me. Not just making me productive but making me happier, a better version of myself. A little bit closer to the man I wish I was.

So when she called me, I answered. I always answer my clients, no matter what time it is, and when I saw the number pop up on my screen, I recognized it as the local jail. Thinking it was one of my repeat clients getting into a late night mess again, I picked up the phone.

Imagine my surprise when it was Dot’s sweet voice instead.

I was out of bed in a fucking instant. Didn’t hesitate. By the time she was telling me what was going on, I was dressed and in my car.

My line of work means I’m well acquainted with that jail and the people who are in it. An innocent little thing like Dot doesn’t belong anywhere near that place.

She sounded scared on the phone. I’d never heard Dot scared before. And I don’t fucking like it.

I still don’t know the full story, but Dot promised to give me a full rundown today after we’d both had some sleep. I cleared my morning appointments for her, even though Dot insisted I didn’t. It doesn’t matter. She’s my most important client right now, whether she likes it or not.

Maybe I can’t be anything more to her than her boss. Maybe I can’t be her man. But I’ll still defend her as though she’s my woman.

Because in my wildest fantasies, she is.

I know she’d like me to give her a hard time about getting arrested, like I normally would. That’s our relationship. It’s always been that way. She gives me a hard time, I give her one right back. Giving each other hell is all that we know. And her getting arrested for brawling in a bar is the kind of thing I probably should give her shit about.

But I won’t. I can tell she’s ashamed, and worried, too. The last thing I want to do is make that worse for her. This isn’t something she can joke about right now. There’s no humor in it, only pain.

When I dropped her off at the bar to retrieve her car and drive home, Dot made me promise to figure out some kind of favor she could do for me to make things “even.”

But I have no idea what I could possibly need from Dot that she either doesn’t already provide, or wouldn’t be completely inappropriate to ask of her.

Maybe I’ll think of some stupid chore. She could dust my bookshelves. It would take forever and would come with the added bonus of requiring Dot to climb up on a ladder, giving me the benefit of a spectacular view of her ass.

That’s sexual harassment, William. What the hell is wrong with you?

When I come into the office this morning, Dot’s already there. I frown, glancing at my watch.

“Is it daylight savings and I forgot?” I ask. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

Dot gets up from her desk in the reception area, hurriedly bringing me a cup of coffee and a bag from Dolly’s Diner.

“Here,” she says, taking my briefcase. Her fingers brush against mine when she grabs the handle and this does terrible things to my already weak self-discipline when it comes to her. “I wanted to get here early and give you this.”

I frown, looking at the warm coffee cup in my hand as Dot takes my briefcase into my office. She zips it open, unpacking my laptop and then my notebook and pen, placing them on the desk precisely where I’d usually put them.

It’s no surprise that Dot knows my morning routine well. We’ve worked closely together for two years now. But she’s not one to bend over backwards, or treat me like a helpless child.

This kind of treatment is over the top. I don’t like it.

“You’re not my personal slave, Dot,” I tell her, coming into my office and putting the breakfast on the desk. I turn to her, crossing my arms. “How long are you going to punish yourself?”

Her blue-green eyes look up at me. Damn, I love them. We both have blue eyes. But while my eyes are cold and grayish, hers are earthy and rich. Sometimes they’re the color of the ocean at sunrise. Sometimes they’re the shade of moss after a rainfall.

And they’re so big. Big and innocent and sweet, in sharp contrast to her shrewd mind and quick mouth.

“I have to punish myself,” Dot says. “Because for whatever reason,you’renot doing it.”

“Why the hell would I punish you?” I ask her.

“Please,” she sighs. “Like you don’t know? You’ve gotten on my case about everything from stapling the reports the wrong way to forgetting to fill up your car with gas before an out of town trial. But for some reason you’re not scolding me about getting into legal trouble.”

---