Lockdown with My Billionaire Boss : Second Chance Office Romance

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Lockdown with My Billionaire Boss : Second Chance Office Romance Page 4

by Sloane Peterson


  “Hi!” I said brightly, if perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, as his square-jawed visage appeared on the screen. Was it just me, or was he as well-coiffed as I’d tried to make myself in preparation for our call?

  “Afternoon,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling as he unsubtly inspected me. “Thanks so much for taking the time to chat with me.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” I said, beaming, laying it on just a little bit too thick.

  Our conversation remained professional for a full, oh, I don’t know, five minutes or so, before running off the rails and away from work altogether.

  In no time, we were talking about anything and everything else under the sun. For instance, masks (“I seriously hate wearing them, but I hate it even more when I see people out without one.” “Seriously, how long do people want this thing to go on?”) We talked about the good, the bad, and the ugly of the government’s response to the pandemic, and I teased him about being too rich to get a stimulus check.

  “How did you spend yours?” he asked, grinning.

  “I thought I’d see what it would be like to live the high life for a day. I set the whole $1200 on fire and used it to light a cigar.”

  We both laughed.

  We went on to discuss everything from the delayed 2021 Oscars (he insisted that Sonic the Hedgehog would sweep every category due to its lack of competition) and what we’d been reading to kill time while we sheltered in place.

  “I finally got around to The Plague by Albert Camus,” Malcolm offered. “I mean, obviously it’s pretty topical right now.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen some people recommending that,” I said with a nod. “I dunno though, I feel like I want to try and escape all this right now, not dive further into it.”

  “Fair enough,” said Malcolm. “So, what do you recommend?”

  “Well, personally I just finished the Fifty Shades trilogy for like the fourth time, and it’s seriously amazing.”

  I kept my face as straight as I could as I said this, enjoying Malcolm’s expression as he tried and failed to take my suggestion seriously.

  “Yeah, I’ve… I’ve heard, um… Things about that series, for sure.”

  Finally I burst out laughing, and soon heard him chuckling along with me.

  “I honestly had no idea how I should take that,” he said with a grin.

  “Yeah, I’ve never read any of them,” I said. “The excerpts I’ve found online are more than enough for me.”

  “I actually modeled my own success after Christian Grey, if you want to know the truth,” he joked.

  “Yeah, which one?” I asked. “Charlie Hunnam or Jamie Dornan?”

  Malcolm raised an eyebrow, grinning at me. “Wow, for someone who’s never read the books, you sure know an awful lot about this franchise.”

  “Alright, you’ve got me. I’ve seen the movies, alright?”

  “Ha! I knew it,” he said victoriously. “And do you recommend them?”

  “Not at all,” I said, giggling. I couldn’t say it, but I had to admit the basic concept of being seduced by a hunky billionaire was deeply appealing to me, whatever else might be said of the quality of the films themselves. “As far as book recommendations, I actually just finished Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff. And I’m seriously not joking about this one. I’ve had it sitting on my shelf for ages, I think someone gave it to me as a gift. I can’t even remember who or what for. But God, it’s so good! At least I think so.”

  “I think I’ve seen that one,” he said with a nod. “Does it have like a blue cover?”

  “Yeah, with like, a painting of waves on it.”

  “Got it. I will definitely be sure to track down a copy whenever I have the chance.”

  “I would let you borrow mine,” I said. “I mean, if we were able to come within six feet of each other, that is…”

  Once again he arched an eyebrow, and a smile came over his face that seemed a whole lot more flirtatious to me than professional.

  “If only,” he said, and I felt a quiver of goosebumps running down my spine beneath my dress.

  _____

  The two of us talked for hours. And when we finally ended our call, we almost immediately started texting one another afterward.

  And we texted the next day. And the next day. And the day after that.

  There was some irony about it, I mused, that it had taken the two of us being split apart by the pandemic to finally start getting close to one another. It was actually pretty amazing how easily we slipped into conversation, talking about anything and everything, and sometimes nothing at all.

  I really didn’t feel like an employee chatting with her boss- although he definitely kept things professional, always coming right up to the line with his flirtations, but never crossing over into territory that could be considered genuinely inappropriate. Even though I sincerely started wishing that he would at times…

  Neither did I feel like I was a lowly peasant making a fool out of herself by flirting with a billionaire, although to be sure I was precisely that. The truth was, Malcolm was as sweet and as down to earth as he was commanding and in charge when he needed to be, and I found him so much easier to talk to than anyone I’d ever been with before.

  I still did my best to try and temper my expectations throughout all of this, fully aware of how crushing it would be to let this fantasy get the better of me, only to find that the entire thing had been completely one-sided, and that all I’d been doing the entire time was making a fool out of myself.

  But whatever defensive measures I might have been putting up to try and protect myself, Malcolm was able to knock them back down again with the greatest of ease. I was falling dangerously for this man, and I knew it, and I had no serious desire to try and stop myself.

  And then one day came the text that would change everything, completely out of the blue- courtesy, strangely enough, of the National Institute for Public Health and the Environment (RIVM) in the Netherlands.

  The first thing he sent me that sunny Sunday afternoon was a link to a news website. Before I could open it, Malcolm sent another, very bizarre, message:

  “secksbuddy- I think I just found my new favorite word ever!” Followed by a trio of laugh emojis.

  I didn’t have a clue what to make of this, but felt a strange mixture of nerves and excitement as I clicked on the link he sent me.

  Things very quickly began to make sense.

  It was an article about how the Dutch had been dealing with the coronavirus, and how its citizens were beginning to get frisky and annoyed about being unable to hook up with people during lockdown. The RIVM, the aforementioned government agency, was recommending that single people should make arrangements with a single “secksbuddy” (helpfully translated “sex buddy” in the article) with whom they could meet up throughout the course of the pandemic, in order to limit their potential exposure to the virus.

  My heart rate quickened as I read.

  Why was he sending me this?

  Admittedly, the word “secksbuddy” was the kind of thing we both found hilarious for whatever reason, and we’d gotten in the habit of sharing links to any goofy pandemic stories we could find with each other over the course of our burgeoning- friendship? Relationship? Whatever the hell it was…

  Somehow, though, this felt different to me. Maybe it was just me seeing what I wanted to see, but it felt like a test, like he was trying to innocuously send me an article like this to see how I felt about the idea. And then if it turned out I didn’t like the idea, he could walk it back easily enough, and pretend as though he’d never actually meant anything by sending it to me.

  Did that make sense? Or was I going completely boy-crazy at this point?

  All I could really say for sure is that it was crucial I try to be as tactful as he was in my response, and not risk exposing my true feelings for him.

  “LOL that is completely amazing! So glad they translated it for us in the article,” I wrote, and sent along with a trio of laughter e
mojis. My heart was thumping in my chest, and to this day I have no idea what came over me next. I just started typing, scarcely even registering the words even as they came out.

  And then I did the unthinkable- I sent the message straight to him, without even reading it back to myself first.

  Instantly I froze.

  “Oh no… Oh no, oh no, oh no!” I panicked. “What did I just do?!”

  I stared in horror at my message, glowing back at me from the screen:

  “Hey maybe we should try something like that.”

  “Why did I write that?!” I shrieked. “Why the hell did I send it?!”

  I nearly dropped my phone onto the floor trying to figure out if there was a way I could delete what I’d written after sending it. I knew, of course, that there wasn’t, having helped design the Goldfinch messaging system from the ground up.

  Note to self: add ability to delete stupid thirsty messages you send without meaning to future updates of Goldfinch messaging app.

  Those moments of utter terror I sat waiting for a reply were some of the longest and most agonizing I’d ever experienced before in my life. I was already composing my excuse, my explanation for saying what I’d said, when finally Malcolm’s reply came, either to sentence me to death, or else announce that my life had been spared.

  “Why, Miss Rhoades, I am shocked and astonished! I think we might have to have a conversation with H.R. about this…” He followed this up with one of those smirky grins, suggestive-looking smileys, and I breathed a sigh of relief at this. Whether or not he thought the idea was ridiculous, he was at least a good sport about it, and appeared to take it with a playful spirit.

  I quickly tried to salvage the situation, texting as fast as my fingers would go.

  “Ugh, I hit send before I meant to x_x That isn’t what I meant… I just meant, like, hanging out or something. Like, since we’re both kind of stuck on our own for the foreseeable future. Wasn’t trying to be weird about it.”

  I actually hated myself even more this time for suggesting that my interest in him was only platonic, but it still felt less thirsty than outright confessing that I wanted to sleep with him…

  Finally he diffused the situation with his next text, and I breathed a desperate sigh of relief.

  “Haha, just FYI, you don’t have to worry about being weird with me. Weird people are my favorite ;) Seriously though, that sounds like a lot of fun. I could use a change in my routine, and it seems like you could to. I really enjoy chatting with you Annalise :)”

  A true gentleman, if ever there was one.

  I beamed at my phone, having been subjected to a complete emotional rollercoaster over the span of a few short minutes. I was really going to have to try and figure out how this man had such an effect on me, because he made my thoughts race unlike anyone I’d ever met before.

  “I like talking to you too :)” I wrote back happily.

  “Haha that’s good to know :)” he wrote back. “Well, how about you stop by my place tonight if you’re free? We can have dinner, or a couple of drinks, or do whatever you want. Watch a movie maybe? IDK”

  I smiled at the screen for a minute, feeling victorious, not to mention seriously excited for the evening that now lay ahead. And that was when inspiration struck me.

  “OMG! You know what we should do? We should totally watch that Lord of the Lions show everyone’s been going on about throughout those whole freaking pandemic!”

  “Bahahaha you mean the one with the gay redneck dude with the mullet, who runs the illegal zoo or whatever?”

  “YES!!!” I wrote in all caps. “It looks so dumb but like I’ve been dying to watch it with someone else since it came out!”

  “Honestly? That sounds completely fantastic,” he wrote back, and I grinned.

  “I thought it would,” I proudly wrote.

  “Want to swing by my place around 7:30 or 8? I’ll send you the address.”

  “Heck yes! We are TOTALLY doing this,” I wrote.

  And already my mind was racing to what I would wear, to what I was almost certain would be much more than just a simple TV date with a friend…

  _____

  I’m not especially religious or anything, but one story that’s always stuck with me from my Sunday school days is the Tower of Babel, when humans tried to build a giant castle up to heaven, and God said “Nope, nuh-uh, you ain’t doin’ that,” and cursed us all to speak in different languages.

  I was vaguely reminded of this story as I took the elevator up through Malcolm’s building, riding through floor after floor to his penthouse at the top of a skyscraper.

  I shifted my weight nervously back and forth from foot to foot, and fiddled with my hair as my stomach plunged along with my ascent. I’d driven myself crazy trying to decide what to wear. I had the perfect little black dress that I would have loved to slip into (and to have him slip me out of,) but I was concerned that this might come across as more trashy than classy. Instead I settled on a cute pink off shoulder blouse, flirty but not overly revealing, coupled with a pair of cutoff jeans that I hoped would drive him crazy.

  There was, of course, the danger that I might be underdressing instead of overdressing, but given the pretense that he and I were simply quarantine buddies (and not secksbuddies, at least not yet,) I figured that I was better off dressing on the more modest side.

  After what must have been an eternity of this upward climbing the elevator chimed a high-pitch DING, and the doors to my destiny slowly dragged open.

  I took a deep breath, gathered up my nerve, and stepped out into the hallway.

  I nervously rapped my knuckle on the door to his apartment, and almost immediately Malcolm materialized in front of me, as devilishly handsome as I remembered him from before the pandemic.

  “Annalise, good evening,” he said with one of his blinding white grins, his dark eyes focused intently upon.

  “Hi, thanks for inviting me,” I said, and stepped inside. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Malcolm laughed, and the sound of it was like music to my ears. “A day or two, yes it has. You look great though. I love your outfit.”

  I was grateful for the dimly lit ambience of his penthouse, else he almost certainly would have caught me blushing.

  “Well, you wanted to know what I spent my stimulus check on,” I joked, gesturing to the outfit.

  Again he laughed. “That does seem like a smarter investment than using it to light a cigarette.”

  His very presence was intoxicating to me. I tried not to stare for too long at him, my nostrils flaring as I took in his softly lit visage. His handsome, chiseled face, his broad chest pushing through his white button-up shirt, with the first couple of buttons visibly undone…

  I tried to refocus my attention, and cast my eyes around the sprawling panorama of his home. The place was fabulously decorated, full of chic, luxurious furniture. The color palette was perfectly muted, cast in a soft ivory glow from the room’s ambient lighting. The entire living room was full of wall to ceiling windows, each one of them looking out onto some exquisite vista of skyscrapers, as if some giant framed painting of a cityscape hung from each wall. Through a pair of glass sliding double doors I could see an outdoor swimming pool and jacuzzi, and naturally my imagination ran wild with possibilities.

  “Your place is totally gorgeous,” I said in awe, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’d somehow found myself in such an environment, and reflecting on just how out of place I was here.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said, and when I turned back at him his eyes were on me, leering as intently as I’d been at him only a moment before.

  I smiled shyly, and cast my eyes nervously down to my toes.

  “Well, should we get this show on the road?” he finally asked me, breaking up the awkward silence.

  “Those lions aren’t going to lord over themselves,” I said with a smirk, and he escorted me over to his sofa.

  “Why don’t I get us something t
o drink?” he asked before taking his seat beside me. “You’re a fan of bourbon I recall, correct?”

  My mouth kind of fell open at this, surprised that he still remembered what I’d had to drink at the bar so many months ago. Instead I simply nodded, and watched as he disappeared behind his living room bar to grab a pair of glasses from the cabinet.

  The next several minutes/hours/eons were completely dreamlike. This was, literally, the sort of impossible situation I would have a dream about, sitting beside my billionaire boss in his multimillion dollar penthouse, sipping bourbon while we watched a gay southern hillbilly wrestling with lions on his wall-sized plasma screen TV.

  I don’t know how engrossed we both were in the show, or whether we were both just unsure of what we should be saying to one another, but it was a long time, at least several episodes into the series, before we engaged in any sort of meaningful dialogue again.

  “This is completely amazing,” Malcolm said, mouth agape, his wide eyes fixed on the screen. “How the hell did our own streaming platform not snatch this up right away?”

  “Honestly,” I said, “I don’t think anyone could have had a clue that this show was going to keep half the country sane during the first half of a pandemic.”

  “First half? That seems a little optimistic,” he said, and I laughed.

  “Fair enough. But here’s what I want to know- do you think that lady actually killed her husband and fed him to the lions?”

  “I don’t even know at this point,” he said, and laughed. “This whole thing has thrown me for a loop from the start. I’m starting to get what all the fuss is about.”

  “Right?” I said, still not looking at him. “I’m glad I finally get to watch this with someone…”

  He didn’t say anything, for a long, long minute. After a while, though, I could feel that his eyes were on me. I’d been aware of his body heat next me this entire time, though I’d tried to compartmentalize it as best I could, and focus on just watching the show. Now though, I felt my body tingling beneath his gaze. My muscles tensed. Sweat began to trickle down the back of my neck.

 

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