Page 14 of Sending Nudes to My Boss

Her hair is askew. Her makeup is smeared. She doesn’t seem to be too worried about that right now, though, as she exits my office, going to her bag at her desk and retrieving her phone before coming back.

She scrolls through her phone.

“Oh no,” she groans. “Oh no no no no. I was wondering why it didn’t send properly the first time.”

I’m putting my clothes on now too, horrified at what we both seem to be realizing at the same time: Dot didn’t mean to send those photos to me.

Which means she was trying to send them to someone else.

Who were the photos intended for? I’ll fucking kill him.

She looks at me.

“You thought I sent you my nude photos as a way to pay you back for representing me?” she asks in disbelief.

“I…”

Fuck.

I’m speechless.

I know how this must look. But…she sent me her nudes. With a message about them being a gift. Right after she said she was going to figure out a way to repay me for representing her.

Did I think it was a questionable gift?

Yes.

Did I think the wise thing to do would be to delete them and reprimand her for the inappropriateness the next day?

Also yes.

I should have known it was too easy. My deepest desire for Dot, fulfilled, handed to me on a silver platter. Like a starving man being offered a free steak, I didn't question why. I didn’t think too hard about it. I justtook.

And it turned out to be the worst misunderstanding of my life.

“Dot, I don’t know where to begin,” I tell her. “I…I’m sorry. But also -”

She shakes her head, adjusting her clothes while backing out of my office.

“William, I think I need to take the day off,” she says shakily. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” I frown, following her. “But we need to talk about this. It’s not how it seems.”

Except it’s exactly how it seems, you fucking asshole. You took advantage of your assistant. This is quid pro quo 101 and you are an asshole. A stupid, horny, love-drunk asshole.

“Later,” Dot says. “I can’t talk right now. I…I need to process this.”

There’s nothing for me to do right now but give her space. So I just nod, stuffing my hands in my pockets because if I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll reach for her. This is already a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen and I no longer trust my ability to restrain myself when it comes to her.

“Okay,” I say. “Okay. Go. Take the day. We’ll talk later.”

She nods. Then she leaves. When the front door closes, I slam my fists on my desk in frustration.

How could something that began so perfectly, end in this wreckage?

CHAPTER 7

DOT

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