by Ami Snow
I ordered a coffee, and sat down.
“Of all the marketing firms in all of D.C., you had to walk into mine,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile.
“Mr. Sharpe,” I began, and his expression dimmed.
“Elizabeth, call me Ethan. This is foolish.”
“You’re my boss,” I pointed out. “It would be unprofessional to call you by your first name.”
I could see his jaw clenching. “Elizabeth, be reasonable. We’ve slept together. We know each other intimately. Drop the act.”
“It’s not an act,” I said, but I conceded the name. “Ethan.”
“Thank you.” He sat back in his chair, and took a sip of his coffee. “Have you been avoiding me?”
“Not on purpose,” I admitted. “I’ve been buried at work, there hasn’t really been an opportunity to sit in on meetings. Which,” I pointed out, “I’ve heard you’ve been at more frequently.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why? What’s the point, Ethan?”
“I told you last night,” he said patiently. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You need to stop thinking about me,” I insisted. “You are the CEO of the company I am interning for. What we did was unprofessional, and it can’t happen again.”
“So you admit you want it to happen again.”
“We shouldn’t put ourselves in that situation.”
“Do you want me, Elizabeth?” His eyes were intense, his stare brooding as he watched me across the table.
“That’s neither here nor there, Ethan.”
“You can’t give me a straight answer.”
“It’s not a valid question.”
He sighed. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
I pursed my lips. “Ethan, this internship is important to me. My career is important to me. I can’t risk it because we are attracted to each other. We don’t have the same things at stake here. You might be seen as a little sleazy for sleeping with an intern, but my whole reputation would be ruined. I wouldn’t be able to get a good job in D.C.”
He frowned. “Sexism is alive and well, I suppose.”
“It is,” I insisted. “You sleeping with an intern is seen as ill-advised. My sleeping with the CEO is seen as gold-digging, slutty, conniving. It makes me a target for men in my field and hated by women in my field.”
“So you don’t want to risk your chances of a job. I get it.” He held up his hands. “Elizabeth, aside from this whole messy business, I wanted to see you because I see potential in you. You’re very driven, very hardworking, and I see more positive reports on you this past month than any other intern in the pool. I would like to see you grow.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” I took a hesitant sip of my coffee. It was still too hot to drink.
“I want to mentor you, Elizabeth. I think we should meet once a week or so, grab coffee, and discuss your career path.”
I blinked in disbelief. “You want to mentor me? And why can’t we just meet in your office?”
“It’s common for mentors to meet with the people they are helping outside of work,” he pointed out. “Usually over coffee or drinks. It’s a form of networking—not really something done in the office. More outside of it.”
I couldn’t really argue. I knew he was right. Catherine had a mentor at school, an adjunct Economics professor. They met for drinks after class two or three times a month.
“And if I say yes? What’s the point?”
“You get career advice from a twenty-six-year-old CEO. How many of those are there?”
“You’re CEO because your father retired and left it to you,” I pointed out.
He huffed a sigh. “I suppose you did do your research after all. Still, I’ve been successful.”
I decided to climb down off of my high horse for a moment. What he was offering was valuable. “Alright, Ethan. One meeting here a week…to discuss work. And we keep it that way. Strictly professional.”
He smiled. “Strictly professional.”
***
I had definite doubts about the wisdom of this choice. Just our brief meeting at the coffee-shop had left my knees weak and my thoughts muddled, full of flashes to him pinning me against the door of my room, of the hot shower tile under the palms of my hands as he pounded into me. I wondered if I could keep up my resolve to be professional through the next two months. I knew he wasn’t all wrong—the insight he could give me would be invaluable. I just had to keep my focus on my work.
I dressed as conservatively as I possibly could to our first meeting. I wore dress pants and a black wool turtleneck, my hair pulled up in a high bun. I’d worn makeup, but it was all neutral, right down to the rose lipstick I’d picked. Nothing about my outfit suggested that I was sexy, or at all interested in sex. This time I agreed that I looked like a librarian.
Nevertheless, I could see the quick spark of heat in his eyes when I walked through the door. He was dressed much as he had the last time, but it didn’t matter—he could have worn a burlap sack and still been the sexiest man in any room. As soon as the thought flashed through my head, I realized that was quite possibly what he thought about me.
It was a new idea, one that I wasn’t at all sure about. I’d dressed like a nun on purpose, but it was clear from the way he was looking at me that it didn’t matter how much skin I didn’t show. He was picturing me without all of the covering that I’d so carefully layered on. I’d never had a man look at me like that before, and I had a deep, foreboding feeling that all of my plans were on rocky ground.
My face felt flushed as I took a seat at the table, pen and notebook in hand. There was already a cup of coffee sitting in front of me, and I raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged. “I ordered you the same thing you had last time.”
“Maybe I wanted something different,” I retorted, and instantly regretted it. That was the kind of playful bickering I would engage in with a boyfriend, not my boss. “I mean, thank you,” I quickly retracted, and the look of pleasure on his face rankled with me. Clearly he enjoyed having the upper hand.
He didn’t have anything in front of him, and he folded his hands on the table, ignoring the cup of coffee sitting at his elbow. “So,” he asked, diving directly into the purpose of the meeting, “what are you hoping to accomplish after graduation?”
To my utter surprise, the next hour was spent entirely discussing work. Less surprisingly, he had a number of helpful suggestions, and he told me that he thought I was progressing well after listening to me describe my usual day at the office. I felt a small burst of happiness at his validation, and tried to squash it. I knew it had less to do with professional pride and more to do with the fact that I simply liked this man.
He’d always had a part in the company since graduating college, but after his father had passed away he inherited the position of CEO. A lot of men in his position, with plenty of money and power and no one to answer to, would have turned over the responsibility to the rest of the board and spent his days partying on yachts with models. Ethan hadn’t done that though. He’d jumped in with both feet, and the company had seen an impressive spike in profits after he’d taken over. He’d done impressive work for his age and level of experience. I was lucky to be getting to learn from him. I needed to remember that.
He shook my hand as I got up to leave, and I felt my palm tingle when his fingers wrapped around my hand. My eyes caught his for a second, and I could see them smoldering, could see his desire to pull me up against him. For the flash of a moment, I ached for him to do just that. Then I pulled my hand abruptly away, and the moment was gone.
“Have a good night, Mr. Sharpe,” I said, and I turned to walk back to my house, not waiting for him to comment on my use of his last name.
The next week he scheduled two meetings, one after work on Wednesday, and one on Saturday afternoon. There was a big client being courted by the firm, I knew that—my boss had been on p
ins and needles all week, and uncharacteristically terse with me. By Friday afternoon, I was more than ready to leave the office. My Wednesday meeting with Ethan had been brief, less than an hour, but he’d explained the client and the process behind beginning conversation with a new client, and how they would move forward to secure the account.
I’d given up dressing excessively conservatively. I still made sure to look professional, but the turtleneck—which I hated wearing and had considered giving up many times—went back into the drawer. I wore dark jeans and a soft cranberry sweater to our Saturday meeting, with knee-high riding boots and my ruby earrings, my hair pulled back in a thick ponytail. I was used to the look of appreciation in his eyes whenever he saw me by now, and I merely pulled up my chair, accepted the cup of coffee that was waiting for me, and dove right into the conversation.
I’d noticed that Ethan talked to me more like a colleague than an intern. I’d never had a mentor before, so I didn’t really know how the conversation would go, but it seemed that he asked me for my opinions as often as he told me how things ought to go. He discussed the client with me at some length, explaining how Monday’s meeting would be the clincher, and showed me a copy of the contract.
Before we knew it, it was getting dark outside. Ethan slid the contract into his folder and looked at the window, at the lights turning on along the street. “Well, Elizabeth, I’m hungry. What do you think about grabbing something to eat?”
“I should probably be getting back,” I said.
“Is it your night to make dinner?” His tone was teasing.
I shook my head. “No, the girls will probably be going out tonight. I’ll just have leftovers probably.”
“Elizabeth, come get dinner with me. Strictly professional, I swear.” He held up a hand jokingly, and I sighed. My stomach was growling, and I couldn’t think of a really good reason to say no…aside from the fact that I didn’t want to urge anymore familiarity between us. But I knew he would say it was just a dinner between colleagues. Maybe it was, I tried to convince myself. We could go have dinner, as coworkers.
The CEO of the company and an intern, I thought. Yeah right. Coworkers.
I said yes anyway, though, and he looked positively delighted. It was hard to turn down a man who seemed to enjoy my company so much. I followed him out to the curb where his car was waiting, and the minute the door closed, all I could think about was the last time I had ridden in this car with him.
I kept my hands folded firmly in my lap—no chance of making contact with him this time. He sat stiffly on his side, and I wondered if the same thoughts were running through his head.
He’d pulled me into his lap, his hands firmly on my ass, his tongue pressing between my lips and sliding into my mouth. I’d arched my back, my hips rocking down into him, and I’d felt how hard he was, hard as stone between my thighs. If I’d been wearing a skirt I’d have fucked him right then, three inches away from the driver, and not cared one bit that we could be heard…maybe even seen.
I bit my lip, turning my head to look out the window. This had been a mistake. I should go home. I should ask him to have the car turn around and drop me off at my house. But that would mean losing face—admitting that I couldn’t control my desire for him. That I couldn’t maintain the professionalism I’d been demanding. So I sat silently all the way to the restaurant, pretending as if the tension wasn’t slowly building a thick wall between us in the car.
He had the driver stop at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from my house. I knew the name immediately, my boss had asked me to make a reservation for her and her husband there a few nights before. It was insanely expensive, and I felt grateful yet again for the credit card that my mother had given to me.
***
Chapter 3
Ethan
The tension in the car on the ride to the restaurant was intense. I kept glancing at Elizabeth on the way over, hoping she would look at me. But she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the window, as if the passing streetlights and pedestrians of D.C. were the most interesting things she’d ever seen.
Can she really resent me taking her to dinner that much? If only she’d picked any other company in D.C. to intern with. That was the only problem here. Not our ages, not our backgrounds, not our interests. She was smart and witty and funny and beautiful, and I enjoyed her company. I could tell that she enjoyed mine. We could have been any couple in the city out on a Saturday night, if only she didn’t work for me.
We walked into the restaurant and the hostess, recognizing me, took us to a table near the back of the restaurant immediately. I saw the expression on Elizabeth’s face, and I knew she was impressed. A table at this restaurant without a reservation was an impossibility for anyone else.
“Do you mind if I choose the wine?” I asked, smirking slightly, as soon as we were seated. “Or is that too high-handed of me?”
She shrugged. “By all means, choose away. I’m sure you’ve been to Italy, you must know the best.”
“I have, as a matter of fact.” I didn’t bother looking at the wine list, only waved over the sommelier, who appeared at our table in a flash. “Mr. Sharpe,” he said, inclining his head.
“Will you be having a bottle of your usual?” the sommelier asked, and I shook my head, naming a bottle that had the sommelier raising an eyebrow. “Excellent choice, sir!” he said.
Elizabeth had an expression on her face that I couldn’t quite read, although I suspected it had something to do with the price of the wine I had just ordered. Clearly she didn’t come from money, and it made me respect her position on our relationship a little bit more. She’d had to work for the success she’d had so far. It would explain why she was so concerned about anyone thinking that her future success might ride on an affair with me.
I watched her take a sip of the wine. “Good?” I asked.
She looked at me. “I think you know the answer to that.”
I laughed. “I’ve always had an interest in wine. I’ve got a fantastic cellar in my summer home.”
She glared at me over the rim of her glass. “Now you’re just bragging.”
“Maybe a little.”
The waiter came to our table and I ordered bruschetta, and she ordered a small plate of the calamari to start. “Good choice,” I said, and she gave me a look that clearly said that she didn’t need my approval for her appetizer choices. It made me like her more—her stubborn need for independence was actually quite endearing.
I could tell the wine was going to her head—she was getting quite giggly. She laughed at all of my jokes, even the ones that I knew weren’t all that funny. It would have been easy to forget that this wasn’t a date. If it had been a date, I would have leaned across and kissed her, tasting the sharp bite of the wine on her lips. But I couldn’t do that.
The waiter came to clear our plates. “Charged to the company account, sir?”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Her eyes widened, and I knew she was about to protest. “I can pay for my own dinner,” she insisted.
“This is a business dinner, remember?” I enjoyed being able to push her own argument back onto her. “Our company has an account here for dinners and client meetings.” I smiled. “This was a business dinner, right?”
I could tell she was seething.
We didn’t say a word to each other as the car pulled away from the curb and began the slow drive back to her house. I could feel the tension, still there, shimmering between us. I glanced over at her a few times, but she was staring fixedly out of the window again, ignoring my presence. I sighed in frustration, but if she heard it, she said nothing.
The car pulled up parallel to her house, and she grabbed the handle, not waiting for the driver to come around and let me out. I opened my door as well, hurrying around the car, not sure why I was doing this and knowing it was probably the wrong thing to do, but I couldn’t help myself. “Elizabeth,” I said, and stopped, unsure how to continue.
“We’ve had t
oo much wine,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I should go inside.”
I didn’t move, but neither did she. I could think of nothing more than how much I wanted to kiss her, and I stepped towards her, drawn as if by a magnet. I touched her upper arms, and she leaned towards me. It was all the encouragement I needed, and I bent, pressing my mouth to hers.
The air was freezing and her lips were hot, burning against mine. Her body radiated warmth as I pulled her into me, and she gasped, her body melting against mine. I wanted her, ached for her. My hands gripped her arms, her head tilting back as my tongue slipped into her mouth. She moaned softly, and it was all I could do not to beg her to let me come upstairs.
It took every ounce of resolve I had to pull away, and step back. The wind whipped down the sidewalk suddenly, and I felt the cold in my bones, freezing me as I separated myself from Elizabeth’s warmth.
“Let me come up, Elizabeth,” I said, his voice low and desperate. “I need...I want you.”
She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “Ethan, we can’t do this. We have to be professional, remember? I can’t risk my job.”
“I would never let anything bad happen to you, Elizabeth. Hell, I can give you a job.”
She bit her lip. “That’s exactly the point, Ethan. I need to earn that job. Not have it because I’m sleeping with the boss.” She shook her head and turned away. “Good night, Ethan.”
I waited for her to stop, to turn back, to say that she’d changed her mind. She didn’t. She walked up the stairs, firm in her resolve, and not until the door had shut behind her did I go back to the car and lean back into the seat, aching with frustration.
***
Elizabeth
The next evening, Caroline and Billie had gone out again, despite it being a Sunday night. I couldn’t understand where their energy came from. I would have been dead at work if I stayed out as late as they often did on Sunday nights. About seven in the evening, I bundled up in my coat and scarf to walk down to the liquor store down the street for a bottle of wine. I was sure it wouldn’t compare to what I’d had at the restaurant the night before, but maybe some cheap red wine would help plant my feet firmly back on the floor where they needed to be.