Page 111 of One Bossy Disaster

Until she lit up like a hot July night bursting with city lights.

Then she was bristling with so much infectious happiness and gratitude, a lightning bolt couldn’t have kept me off her.

In the heat of the moment, it was mind-blowing.

Earthquake sex.

The kind men won’t brag about in dingy bars because you’ll never admit you were ever that damned lucky.

Regrettably, the best of my life, and so rampant it didn’t matter if it was outdoors on the grass and leaves and dirt. It could’ve been on arctic snow and dagger rocks and it still would’ve been too exquisite for life.

It was also psychotically unethical.

I’m sure I just broke rules of engagement in ways I don’t want to contemplate.

Fuck, even if she’s a tall drink of trouble and an intern, she’s practically half my age and technically no different from fucking an employee.

Possiblyworse.

It’s easy to forget she’s so young sometimes when her passion for animals comes out and she cares enough to do her homework. Her ideas are sincerely good, better than the bland boilerplate shit I get out of my PR specialists and Corporate Giving people now.

When we get home, I’ll have to revisit that.

Right now, I’m too paralyzed to think about anything but this colossal blunder.

When Monday hits, I’m going to have the mother of all scandals on my hands—if and when Destiny comes to her senses and decides to out my fuckery to the entire world.

Vanessa is one thing, but she wasn’t my employee. It’s easy to work against her, too, when I know every word out of her mouth is a lie.

We didn’t have sex.

I wasn’t the villain.

With Destiny, Iamthe devil who couldn’t keep his dick tucked in his pants.

I have no idea what to do.

What to say.

The second she gets home and starts chattering on social media about fucking Shepherd Foster, you can stick a fork in me.

Right now, I have bigger problems, though.

Like how if this grass tickling my nose doesn’t stop, I’m going to sneeze in her face.

I hate to imagine her giving me the hell I deserve when she’s so real with me.

The way she reacted to those otters was genuine.

Her enthusiasm was sweet and innocent and entirely authentic. Definitely not faked for any clickbait shit she might post about it later.

She might dress up a few smiles for the online filters and fight for the best angle, but I know she didn’t manufacture that joy.

Or that smile just for me, brighter than the sun.

Which means I need to find a way of broaching this mess without hurting her.

Somehow, while we’re still naked.

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