Every girl has that one thing she will not do. No matter how hard times get. No matter how little money she has. No matter what…there is that one thing she will refuse to do.
Ian Ferguson was that for me.
Working for one of the world’s most eligible billionaires taught me many things: I can tell the difference between BCBG and Balenciaga. I know how much mileage I can put into my Jimmy Choos before I have to get another pair. I know when Ian was in a good mood and when I should get the hell out of dodge.
Working for Ian also taught me…I can’t separate my personal feelings from our professional relationship.
Lady luck and a killer bod was on my side, though. Amateur night at the local strip club taught Ian I was no longer the desperate college student he met a few years ago, but a grown-ass woman with grown-ass needs. And honestly, I think he already knew that but never acted on it.
I just hope this experiment is worth the effort from both of us. He’s got me feeling some type of way…
I hate this awkward part now. There’s a comfortable silence between us but there’s also an underlying tension. How can we go back to being friendly and professional after everything that happened tonight? There’s no way I can look at him in the same light after he’s seen my pussy print. “How come you never took me seriously? Is it because of my age?”
“What do you mean? I listen to your advice all of the time!” He took a sip of the Crown Royal. “Sometimes I wouldn’t know what to do if it wasn’t for you!”
“No, I don’t mean as your assistant. I mean personally.” I sip on my water. “You always flirt with me but you never took me out on a date.”
“I take you to lunch all of the time. I give you some pretty nice birthday and Christmas gifts.” His sharp blue eyes blinked at me. “I think our relationship is pretty personal.”
The first year I worked for Ian, he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told him I had my eye on a necklace from the local jewelry shop I was saving up for. To my amazement, he bought it. The next year, he asked what I wanted for my birthday and I told him I didn’t have a clue. At lunch, he surprised me with a mini shopping spree at Celine and Jimmy Choo.
I don’t know about you but I’m pretty sure a lot of bosses aren’t that personal with their assistants. “That’s different.”
“You’re right,” he agreed with me, “not even the women I date get that generosity.”
It was clear Ian saw me as a child, though tonight proved to him I was anything but. I wonder what else I would have to prove he was dealing with a grown-ass woman. “You’re really stuck on my age, huh?”
“Part of it,” Ian admitted, “I also didn’t want to mix business with anything personal.”
I didn’t know how to take that revelation. Ian made several personal comments to me over the past few years that told me he was interested but never pursued anything because well, he probably didn’t want a sexual harassment lawsuit. He actually said that in a jokingly matter, ‘I don’t want to get sued.’
While I originally took it as a joke, I wonder if he was serious. “You honestly think I wouldn’t be able to separate what we do in the privacy behind closed doors and our working relationship?”
“Yes,” his British accent caressed my ears, “I’m not saying you can’t, but I thought we got along better as friends and nothing more.”
“But now everything is different,” I set my water bottle down, “you saw a side of me that hardly anyone sees. Granted, it’s not every day I do amateur night at the local strip joint, but you’ve seen all of me. You can’t possibly say after tonight you’re willing to go back to our working relationship.”
Ian grabbed my hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it. His hand is strong and a bit dominant. I wonder how the rest of him would feel. “Domi, I’m 13 years your senior. You should be dating boys your own age. Frolic and do whatever your kids do nowadays, I don’t know.” He flashed that beautiful smile of his. “But you can see why we can’t date.”
Ian was right – he was older than me and I knew that was also a deterrent from him dating me. I also knew that was a crock of shit. “You date girls my age, Ian.”
“No, I fuck girls your age, Domi.” He was clear as glass. “There’s a big difference.”
I can’t knock his honesty. Ian never beat around the bush before and he wasn’t about to start. It’s something about him I love and loathe, though it can be rather endearing at times. “So, you won’t fuck me because you’re afraid I’ll become attached?”
“You’re speaking of two different things now,” he turned to me, “at first, you were mad at me because I wouldn’t date you. Now you’re upset at me because I won’t fuck you. Which is it?”
“Why does it have to be one or the other?” I ask. “Why can’t it be both? Why can’t you take me to a three-star Michelin restaurant and then take me home and fuck me until I can’t talk?”
“Maybe it’s because I don’t want to fuck you,” Ian’s eyes become serious and his British accent touched every nerve in my body, “maybe you’re worthy of being made love to.”
