All of it…Zack’s carefree manner, the way the sun glinted off his shiny hair, or the way his eyes would sparkle with joy, and the way his muscles would flex and bunch as he held his son…all of it added to the massive crush that has been building inside of me for my employer.
Shaking my head, I finish cutting up the broccoli and place it in the strainer in the sink to give it a good wash. I’m such a fool to even entertain such fantasies, and I know that is all they are…fantasies of a fantastically beautiful man, who’s beautiful both inside and out, that will never be anything more than just girlie wishes for me. He’s an easy man to crush on—impossible to ignore, actually—but I try to take it all in good stride. Zack is Ben’s father. He’s my employer. He’s also a man that has been dealt a terrible blow.
Add all of that up and I’m playing with dangerous fire to even entertain this silly crush.
When we got back in Zack’s Range Rover late this afternoon, it took all of five minutes for Ben to crash in the backseat. Zack and I lapsed into easy conversation about nothing important, but still engaging all the same.
Cutting his gaze over to me as we hit Interstate 85, he asked, “So you’re back to the baggy clothes, I see?”
His tone was teasing and I took it as such, but I didn’t do anything but snort at him. He was clearly referencing the outfit I had on last night for the game as compared to what I was wearing today.
“Cat got your tongue?” he prodded, and I turned to gaze at him, noticing his expression filled with genuine curiosity.
“I only bought that one outfit,” I told him simply. “It was all I could afford, and besides, I am wearing my new jeans and boots.” I punctuated this by pulling up one leg, bending it at the knee so he could see the black riding boots that caused me to have indigestion with how much I was spending on them, even if they were on sale.
“So I see,” he murmured. “But you look like you’re about to drown in that shirt.”
“Well, you pay me good, but not good enough to get an entirely new wardrobe,” I quipped at him. “Baby steps, Mr. Grantham. I’m taking baby steps.”
He was quiet for a moment and I thought we’d change subjects, but he said, “If you want…I can give you some money to buy some clothes.”
My head snapped over to him so fast, I almost dislocated my neck. Without any regard for the fact that Zack is indeed my employer, I said, “That may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
“Why?” he shot back.
“Because I work for you. You don’t buy me clothes. And even if I didn’t work for you, you don’t buy me clothes.”
“Consider it a bonus,” he said with a grin.
“Consider it a dead subject,” I muttered. “I buy my own stuff. Always have.”
“Are you always this stubborn?” he asked with a laugh.
“Yes,” I said, and sniffed.
“Prideful?”
“Yes.”
“Unwilling to accept help?” he layered on.
“Always,” I said as I raised my chin and stared hard out the windshield.
He didn’t respond, and because I was curious as to what he was thinking, I turned to look at him. He never took his eyes from the road, but quietly said, “You’re something else, that’s for sure.”
Pulling the strainer out of the sink, I give it a good shake to get the excess water off it and pour the broccoli into a baking dish. I drizzle a little olive oil over the top and put it into the oven next to the chicken breasts I have baking. I line up some tomatoes on the cutting board to slice for the salad I made.
I give a quick glance down at the old flannel shirt I wore today over my jeans. It’s definitely in the baggy category and completely unfashionable. Totally the antithesis to what I wore to the game last night. I was so proud of my purchase. I spent more on that turtleneck and scarf and those jeans and boots than I’ve ever spent on anything for myself in my life. Granted, they were all on sale, but I still felt the sting to my wallet.
It’s a sting, however, that I think was well worth the price, if only for the look on Zack’s face when he first saw me. I’ve never had a man look at me that way…a mixture of awe and appreciation that warmed me from the inside out. For the first time since I was thirteen, I was glad to have the attention of the opposite sex.
It made me feel giddy and powerful all at once.
It made me want to run out and drop all my money on pretty clothes and fancy makeup if Zack would only look at me like that again.
I’m lost in the fantasy of my metamorphosis, so with one clumsy and misplaced swipe of the knife, I cut straight through the tomato and down into the tip of my index finger.
“Shit,” I yelp as I drop the knife with a clatter. It falls off the counter, spins end over end, and misses a potentially bloody stab into my foot by only about an inch.
“What happened?” Zack yells back, and I hear him running through the living room.
Turning quickly, I place my bleeding digit under the faucet and turn the water on, watching the bright red turn pale pink as the blood washes away. Snagging a paper towel, I wrap it around my finger and press hard just as Zack comes skidding into the kitchen with Ben hot on his heels.
“I cut my finger,” I say, and then bite down on my lip when I pull the paper towel back to look at it. The cut is small, but bright red blood immediately wells up, so I squeeze the paper towel back around me. I feel a little light-headed because I am not a big fan of blood.
Shaking my head, I finish cutting up the broccoli and place it in the strainer in the sink to give it a good wash. I’m such a fool to even entertain such fantasies, and I know that is all they are…fantasies of a fantastically beautiful man, who’s beautiful both inside and out, that will never be anything more than just girlie wishes for me. He’s an easy man to crush on—impossible to ignore, actually—but I try to take it all in good stride. Zack is Ben’s father. He’s my employer. He’s also a man that has been dealt a terrible blow.
Add all of that up and I’m playing with dangerous fire to even entertain this silly crush.
When we got back in Zack’s Range Rover late this afternoon, it took all of five minutes for Ben to crash in the backseat. Zack and I lapsed into easy conversation about nothing important, but still engaging all the same.
Cutting his gaze over to me as we hit Interstate 85, he asked, “So you’re back to the baggy clothes, I see?”
His tone was teasing and I took it as such, but I didn’t do anything but snort at him. He was clearly referencing the outfit I had on last night for the game as compared to what I was wearing today.
“Cat got your tongue?” he prodded, and I turned to gaze at him, noticing his expression filled with genuine curiosity.
“I only bought that one outfit,” I told him simply. “It was all I could afford, and besides, I am wearing my new jeans and boots.” I punctuated this by pulling up one leg, bending it at the knee so he could see the black riding boots that caused me to have indigestion with how much I was spending on them, even if they were on sale.
“So I see,” he murmured. “But you look like you’re about to drown in that shirt.”
“Well, you pay me good, but not good enough to get an entirely new wardrobe,” I quipped at him. “Baby steps, Mr. Grantham. I’m taking baby steps.”
He was quiet for a moment and I thought we’d change subjects, but he said, “If you want…I can give you some money to buy some clothes.”
My head snapped over to him so fast, I almost dislocated my neck. Without any regard for the fact that Zack is indeed my employer, I said, “That may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
“Why?” he shot back.
“Because I work for you. You don’t buy me clothes. And even if I didn’t work for you, you don’t buy me clothes.”
“Consider it a bonus,” he said with a grin.
“Consider it a dead subject,” I muttered. “I buy my own stuff. Always have.”
“Are you always this stubborn?” he asked with a laugh.
“Yes,” I said, and sniffed.
“Prideful?”
“Yes.”
“Unwilling to accept help?” he layered on.
“Always,” I said as I raised my chin and stared hard out the windshield.
He didn’t respond, and because I was curious as to what he was thinking, I turned to look at him. He never took his eyes from the road, but quietly said, “You’re something else, that’s for sure.”
Pulling the strainer out of the sink, I give it a good shake to get the excess water off it and pour the broccoli into a baking dish. I drizzle a little olive oil over the top and put it into the oven next to the chicken breasts I have baking. I line up some tomatoes on the cutting board to slice for the salad I made.
I give a quick glance down at the old flannel shirt I wore today over my jeans. It’s definitely in the baggy category and completely unfashionable. Totally the antithesis to what I wore to the game last night. I was so proud of my purchase. I spent more on that turtleneck and scarf and those jeans and boots than I’ve ever spent on anything for myself in my life. Granted, they were all on sale, but I still felt the sting to my wallet.
It’s a sting, however, that I think was well worth the price, if only for the look on Zack’s face when he first saw me. I’ve never had a man look at me that way…a mixture of awe and appreciation that warmed me from the inside out. For the first time since I was thirteen, I was glad to have the attention of the opposite sex.
It made me feel giddy and powerful all at once.
It made me want to run out and drop all my money on pretty clothes and fancy makeup if Zack would only look at me like that again.
I’m lost in the fantasy of my metamorphosis, so with one clumsy and misplaced swipe of the knife, I cut straight through the tomato and down into the tip of my index finger.
“Shit,” I yelp as I drop the knife with a clatter. It falls off the counter, spins end over end, and misses a potentially bloody stab into my foot by only about an inch.
“What happened?” Zack yells back, and I hear him running through the living room.
Turning quickly, I place my bleeding digit under the faucet and turn the water on, watching the bright red turn pale pink as the blood washes away. Snagging a paper towel, I wrap it around my finger and press hard just as Zack comes skidding into the kitchen with Ben hot on his heels.
“I cut my finger,” I say, and then bite down on my lip when I pull the paper towel back to look at it. The cut is small, but bright red blood immediately wells up, so I squeeze the paper towel back around me. I feel a little light-headed because I am not a big fan of blood.
