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She tilts her head and nods. “You’re right. So let me out. I’ll find Bas and get to work.”
I don’t budge. “I didn’t say anything about keeping things status quo away from the office.”
“So what do you think this looks like”—she gestures between us—“when we’re not boss and assistant?”
Great question. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it beyond the fact I know I want more of you.”
“Hmm. But you want to get married next month to someone you don’t yet know. How will that work?”
Another great question. “I don’t know that, either. We’ll take it one day at a time, I guess.”
“I see.” She pastes on a bright smile. “Well, in the meantime, if you don’t want anyone to know we’re fucking on the side, unlock the door and let me leave.”
I know she’s right and yet… “Two minutes more. What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I have a hair appointment.”
“Wednesday?”
“Dress fitting. I’m a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding.”
“And I’ll be out of town Thursday and Friday.” I sigh. Of all the challenges we face, I can add our busy schedules to the list. “Saturday night?”
“I’m dancing.”
Her words ping around in my head. I freeze. “You mean you’re taking your clothes off for strangers again?”
“If you want to boil down the art of burlesque to its most tawdry element, I guess so.”
I’m being unfair. Possessive. An ass. I exhale, trying to see this from her perspective. But all I can picture are men with hard dicks staring at her and imagining themselves touching her the way I did, particularly that ex she dances with.
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“I’m not going to give up something I love or who I am for any man, especially not one I hooked up with once. Besides, I signed a contract. I perform for the next two Saturdays. We’re negotiating more performances in early December and all of January.”
So basically, she doesn’t care if I don’t like it. And why should she? Unless I put a ring on her finger, I have no right to tell her what to do.
Now there’s an interesting idea…
“You’re welcome to come back to the club and watch if you want. But if you do, no more sex in my dressing room. I took a ration of crap from Kyle after you left.”
“Your ex-lover?” She gives a damn what he thinks?
Nia sighs as if she’s digging deep for patience. “He’s now just my partner and my friend, one who happens to think screwing my boss is a terrible idea. And if we’re going to fight about this, maybe he’s right.”
“We’re not fighting,” I bite out—then catch myself.
Well, Nia isn’t fighting. I am. Damn it, how many other ways can I not act like myself? Why am I so tied up in knots?
“Good. I’m getting to work now. Can you step aside and let me go?”
I need to. If I don’t, Nia can legitimately claim I’m harassing her. And that’s the last thing I want, especially since I need her to talk to me.
“Can I see you on Sunday, then?”
She hesitates, then looks like she’s gearing up to tell me something I don’t want to hear. “Kyle and I have practice. But even if we didn’t, I’m not sure you and I should see each other away from the office until you decide what you want this to be. Are we having casual sex or starting some sort of a relationship? Until you can answer that question, I’m not sure there’s any reason for us to get together.” She gives me a nudge, and I move out of her way because I should. And because her question bowls me over.
What am I doing with her?
