Page 22 of Submissive Lies

I scanned both drawings, focusing on the section he emphasized, and saw nothing wrong. Lips pursed, I turned from the drawings to him. “Yes?”

“Well, someone got it wrong somewhere. The floor pocket for the power isn’t here.” He pointed once again to the spot on the electrical drawing. He flipped back to the ground plan and pointed to where the baseplate lay. “It’s here.”

My brows scrunched together as the information sank in. Just what I had hoped to avoid. An issue. There were two possibilities for what had happened here: either he had the baseplate in the wrong location, or someone had given our engineer the wrong information. As if reading my mind, Steve cleared his throat.

“I’ve run a tape on it twice, and I swear I’m reading the dims correctly. Maybe you should come check it to make sure I’m not missing something.”

I looked at him, head cocked at a slight angle. Was he seriously asking me to double check him? That was unique.

“No, no, I don’t doubt you.” I looked down where his hand held the drawing in place and sighed. This was exactly what I didn’t need right now. A problem. At that moment, however, something else attracted my attention, and it had nothing to do with an electrical floor pocket that wasn’t where it should to be. As he held the drawing in place, I got a closer look at the small tattoo on his wrist.

It was a triskelion.

Sonofabitch…

I must have been staring at it for longer than I thought, my mind racing, because I heard him clear his throat. When I looked up, he was staring at me.

“Umm…Jen? You there? You kinda zoned out for a minute.”

“Yes, sorry. Just thinking…”

Yeah, I was thinking all right. Just not what I should be thinking about. There were about a thousand questions and thoughts suddenly careening through my mind, and not even one of them was pertinent to what we were discussing. Or had any right occupying my time right now.

Come on, Jen! What the hell is wrong with you? Get your head out of your ass!

“Okay, where is the closest available floor pocket?” I reengaged my brain, forcing it back to the task at hand.

“Well, there’s one here.” Steve pointed to another spot on the drawing. “And one here.”

“Hmm.” I mulled over the two locations he’d pointed to. Both had potential issues. Running cords underneath the tower panels was never ideal. I’d dealt with similar circumstances before, so I knew it wasn’t insurmountable. However, it was one of those pain in the ass situations I’d hoped to avoid.

“This one is the closest, so I suppose that’d be our best bet.” I pointed to the floor pocket nearest to where the tower structure would stand. I looked up at Steve, and while he was nodding in agreement, there was a frown pulling at his mouth.

“You’re right, that one is the closest. I was thinking, though, that coming from that floor pocket might cause us a couple of issues. We’ll have a big bundle of cords passing right through where a lot of your clients will be walking, even if we channel out the padding. The other thing I’m guessing is when this tower is up it is fairly heavy, and when it settles, I’m a little worried the cords might actually rack it.”

And then he did something for which I was completely unprepared.

He gripped my hand with his and moved it to where the other floor pocket was on the drawing.

He gripped my hand.

Uh oh.

Umm… uh-fucking-oh.

He laid his finger atop mine, and with firm pressure, he moved both our hands together as he continued talking. The problem was that whatever he was saying, I heard none of it.

Nope. I was gone.

Oh God. Oh my God. What the hell? He’s holding my hand. No, wait, wait, he’s not just holding my hand. He’s gripping it. With his. Firmly. Tightly.

Holy shit.

After a moment, my head cleared. I caught up with what Steve was proposing, but I was not truly processing it. What I was registering was his presence next to me, our shoulders touching, his hand guiding mine over the drawing. He traced a path with my finger, emphasizing his solution to the problem. In response, a surge of submissive reactions I’d buried deep within me whipped back with a vengeance. They boiled up inside me, a sensory overload I was unprepared for. I felt flustered. Lightheaded. Giddy.

Like I was some 16-year-old pubescent girl with her first crush.

Jesus. Christ.

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