Page 56 of A Ticking Time Boss

“Snakes,” Booker had called them, but her tone had been admiring.

Carter is beefing up this department. There was an email just last week to the entire department that encouraged all personal projects. Pitches welcome, it had said.

Carter.

Just thinking about him sends a shiver down my spine, and it’s not uncomfortable. I can’t believe what had happened on Friday evening. It’s Monday today, and we haven’t spoken since. Not a single text.

I’ve written three different ones and then deleted every single one. Nothing feels normal. Nothing feels the same.

There had been something so freeing about our conversation… and about what had happened. He gave me the feeling that I could say anything, do anything, and he would be on board. He’d never laugh or reject me.

But he’s also my boss’s boss’s boss, the man who quite literally owns the newspaper I work at, and a relationship is so beyond inappropriate that it’s practically a crime. My colleagues would never respect me. Booker would… I don’t want to think about what Booker would say. Wesley would look at me like a bug.

None of that matters, though, when it’s just him and me.

When he’s sitting across from me in a diner in Queens or on the other end of the phone, his deep voice hoarse with the sound of his pleasure.

The elevator is empty as I ride it down. It’s only a little after lunch, and people are still hard at work. The lobby is mostly empty. I tug my bag up higher on my shoulder and look at my watch. I should make my appointment if the C-train isn’t late.

A group of suit-clad men enter the lobby. I pause to the side, waiting for them to pass through the revolving doors.

“Thanks,” one of them tells me.

“Of course,” I say.

At that, a tall man looks up. Auburn hair. Tawny eyes. Carter is among them, and he turns his head to meet my eyes as they pass.

My cheeks heat up with memory. He raises an eyebrow, and I give a tiny, teeny shake of my head. Not here. Not now. Not in front of other members of the executive team. He turns his head forward and keeps walking.

Disappears with the others into the elevators.

I breathe a sigh of relief. He’d looked just like he always did. Larger than life, impossible to understand, an enigma in a suit. Handsome and powerful and very clearly not for me.

I’ve almost convinced myself Friday was a fever dream when my phone chimes.

Carter: Leaving your post? It’s the middle of a work day.

My fingers shake just a little as I answer. Wasn’t he heading into a meeting?

Audrey: Keeping track of your employees, are you?

Carter: Someone has to. Are you following a lead?

Audrey: Yes. It’s leading me all the way to the dentist’s office. I have the honor of losing two wisdom teeth.

There’s a two-minute break before he replies, and I imagine him listening to someone pitching ideas, to Wesley talking in his ear, fingers tapping against a desk.

Carter: I’d make a joke about that, except nothing about it is funny. Sorry, spitfire. Taking tomorrow off too?

Audrey: Working from home. Or I’ll at least attempt to.

Carter: The paper will survive without you.

Carter: I realize how that just sounded. You’re crucial for the Globe’s success, but not so crucial that you can’t rest after surgery.

Audrey: Not offended. Just determined to cut your negativity out of my life. Don’t text me again.

I’m grinning as I write that, standing on the subway platform. This, I know how to do. Talk about nothingness with him until I can forget the sound of his hoarse breathing in my ear.

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