Taking Her Boss Read Online Free PDF Page B

subject.
    “Sure,” she said, and turned back to her computer.
    Bruce didn’t come back to the office and I wasn’t sure what to do about dinner. I went home and changed. I went with my black spaghetti-strapped Audrey dress. I wanted to look nice, even if I had to put a stop to this.
     
    Bruce was there, sitting at the table, waiting for me when I got there. He looked good in the black Prada. I’ve always favored it because it made him look dark and rich, and terribly powerful. His eyes welcomed me. The waiter pulled out the chair across from him; I sat. All this was accomplished in silence.

    The sommelier broke the silence in a rapid, pointed French as he cradled a bottle of wine as if he was a proud daddy. Bruce smiled up at the intense little man and responded in kind. The man poured, Bruce sipped and actually grinned. The sommelier’s smile got bigger and he poured generous amounts of the rich red liquid into both of our glasses before he left us alone.
    “The dress—” he tilted his head towards me “—very becoming.”
    “Thank you,” I said, taking a sip from my glass.
    “Are you hungry?”
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    “I’ve already ordered for both of us. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “No, that’s fine. Whatever. Bruce, what is this about?”
    “I wanted quiet time with you, time unencumbered by work.”
    “Dottie’s was nice.”
    “Yes,” he said. “I enjoy your company.”
    We were quiet as we spread our napkins on our laps and the waiter sat bowls of consommé in front of us.
    “Now, you say you enjoy my company,” he chided me.
    “I do,” I said, tasting the soup. “But I don’t think it’s wise to see each other without the buffer of work.”
    “What harm could there be? This is neutral territory. Public.”
    “For now.”
    “Are you anticipating dessert?”
    “There isn’t going to be any dessert tonight. Is that why you ordered me here.” I pushed the plate away, my appetite dwindling. I hate being manipulated.
    “I didn’t invite you here to seduce you.”
    “Then why?”
    “I thought we could talk.”
    “About what?”
    “Us.”
    “There’s nothing more to say.”
    The waiter took the soup away. The heated plates that took its place held filet mignon, asparagus and light flaky potatoes au gratin. This man knew me. He kept the fare simple, well seasoned, and the filet mignon was juicy and so tender it didn’t need chewing. We ate for a while, before he spoke again, but it was as though the conversation had never halted.
    “I have more to say,” he said after taking a sip of wine.
    “Ah,” I responded. I wanted to add, “what a surprise,” but I filled my mouth with asparagus instead.
    “What do you want, Glory? What can I do for you? Just tell me and I’ll get it for you.”
    “I don’t want anything.” I lay my fork across my plate. “I was content before.”
    “Only content, Glory? I want to make you happy.”
    “This, whatever we’ve been doing, doesn’t make me happy. It makes me uncomfortable.”
    “How can we make it comfortable for you?” He sounded so reasonable, like he does when he speaks to favored clients.
    “We can’t.”
    “What aspect of it makes you uncomfortable?”
    “All of it,” I blurted, feeling like a six-year-old.

    “I don’t believe that’s the complete truth, Glory. Some parts of it were pleasing to you. I could feel you.”
    “I don’t like the discomfort of going back to the office afterward, the pretense, the fear of discovery.”
    “We’ve been completely discreet. No one need ever know.”
    “That can’t continue forever.”
    “For as long as you want it to.”
    “How can you be so unmoved. You sit at your desk or in the boardroom and you don’t even see me.”
    “I see you.” His words trembled and their heat sent a jolt to my core.
    “I’m not as adept at hiding as you are,” I said after letting the bolt pass through.
    “What do you want, Glory?”
    “I don’t want anything. I want it to be