Page 30 of His Curvy Castaway Obsession - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

I feel like I’m asking Zoe, but I mean to be telling her dad. But I have to make it clear to Zoe, I’m not just talking for the sake of it here.

“Will you?” I ask her dad, “Give me your blessing.” I instruct him now, not really able to get much more in his face without pressing him against the wall.

He gulps down, still wanting to press his point about money, I hear Zoe instead. The only answer that really counts anyway.

“Yes.”

I feel her squeezing my hand, then her other hand tugging me to turn and face her.

“The answer’s always yes, Michael. Anything and anywhere with you, as long as it’s you, my answer is always yes!”

Epilogue

Later That Year

Zoe

“Honey! Hurry up, you’ll be late,” Michael calls out from the hall. I can hear the keys jangling in his hand, I can almost see him sighing at his watch as he looks at our wedding portrait in the hall. Until I came along he was never a second late for anything.

I try to call out in reply, telling him I’m nearly ready, but every time I open my mouth the past few mornings, I throw up.

Nerves.

Part of Michael and dad’s masterplan to correct past wrongs within Parker Global includes hiring more women, that’s me.

Big mouth me though, I didn’t just want a company appointed position, just because I’m married to the boss doesn’t mean I should get special treatment.

That kinda defeats the purpose of the new message the department dad and I are heading up is trying to make.

So I’m back at college, finishing my degree like everyone else does who works at Parker Global. I’m glad I am too, so much has changed in the world and in finance, but one thing always stays the same.

My nerves and anxiety at the thought of going back to school.

The horn’s honking in the driveway now, if I don’t hurry Michael will be late too.

And I can’t make the boss late.

“Nerves again?” he asks, pecking my cheek as I get in the truck.

We got the door fixed, but decided there’s really no need for limos everywhere. The truck’s fine, and we live so close it almost seems crazy to drive that far, but Michael insists on driving me to and from class every day, even when I don’t feel like it.

Especially when I don’t feel like it.

My first week was a nightmare, not the workload or the stress of going back to school, but having a two hundred pound guard sitting next to me at every class, eyeballing every jock and male professor, anything with testosterone really.

It took a full week before Michael was satisfied I could walk the halls without any clear and present danger of a repeat of my past.

Phew. Now I can get on with the real work.

“I’ll pick you up at three, you’ve got that meeting, remember?”

“I remember,” I chime, holding my cheek out for him to kiss and gasping as I feel his hand on my thigh instead, sliding all the way up as he kisses my neck, nibbling me while he growls.

“And then there’s a de-briefing at eight… at our place. I’ll be sure to pick you up for that as well,” he tells me in his deepest, sexiest tone.

“Oh, I’ll be there for that,” I assure him.

“You okay, with the nerves thing? Sure it’s not something else? We can swing by the doc on the way home if you want.”

“Maybe we should,” I tell him, “Nerves are one thing, but this is ridiculous. I’ll make an appointment and see you at three honey, have a good day.”

He kisses me again as I get out of the truck, and I lean in through the window.

“And try not to worry about me today, alright?” I ask him, and he pretends not to hear, revving the truck before he drives off, his eyes on me the whole time in the rear view mirror.

“Well, Zoe… I think we can rule out a whole bunch of things. Your tests have all come back and you’re in perfect health.” Doc Jones smiles, a little too much maybe. Michael shifts in his seat and I can sense him tensing up, but Doc Jones attempts to put him, and me out of our curious misery.

“I won’t beat around the bush guys… you’re sick every morning not because of nerves, or college or anything else…”

Michael and I look at each other, shaking our heads before looking back to the doc.

“Well?” I ask, almost impatient, “What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s either one of two things,” Doc Jones says thoughtfully, tapping his lips with his pen as he leans back in his chair and I put my hand on Michael’s thigh to calm him down some.

I can sense how annoyed he’s getting with all this and I’m not too far behind.

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