“Sounds good. I’m Berklee. Let me know if you need anything.”
With that, I leave them to it. We got in a shipment late yesterday of paper towels, soap, towels for the bar, straws, plastic cups, and a whole host of other items. I didn’t get time to put it away yesterday, so this is as good a time as any. I’ll be close in case the delivery guys need anything, and I’ll knock this off my to-do list—win-win.
I run upstairs and grab the labeler and utility knife from my desk, then make my way to the supply closet and just start slicing open boxes. I’m quickly lost in my own little world, my phone sitting on the bottom shelf playing my eclectic taste of all genres of music.
Down to the last box, I reach the dish towels for the bar. I slice open the box and grab the first pack, standing on tiptoes to slide it on the top shelf. It’s a reach but doable.
Grabbing the next pack, I repeat the process, but this time it’s different. I feel him as soon as he steps behind me, his hands on my hips, his body close to mine. Too close for a boss to be next to an employee, but you’ll never hear a complaint from me. I’ve lived for these small touches this week.
“What are you doing, Berklee?” he asks next to my ear.
I close my eyes and relish the feel of his body aligned with mine. “Unpacking,” I finally say.
He steps even closer, eliminating the space between our bodies. “You need to be careful.” Slowly he runs his hand up my arm that is still in the air and takes the pack of towels, setting it on the top shelf. Then he wraps me in his arms and buries his face in my neck. “Fuck, Berklee. I keep fighting this and I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”
“Don’t.” It’s barely a whisper, but judging from his intake of breath, I know he heard me.
“You work for me.”
“We’re adults,” I counter. We are, and I’ve thought about this a lot this week. The way his simple touches make me feel. I know I’ll regret it if I never know what it feels like to be with him. I can always call Carrie and beg for my job at Coffee House.
I feel his lips against my neck. “So fucking sweet,” he murmurs.
I tilt my head to the side, giving him free rein. This is further than he’s ever taken things, and my inside voice is begging him not to stop. I don’t want to fight this chemistry we have.
“Crew! Where are you, man?” Zane yells.
He squeezes me tight and then let’s go, stepping back. I immediately miss his warmth. “Leave the top shelf for me,” he says before walking out to find Zane.
Leaning forward, I rest my head on a shelf. I can’t believe I just offered myself up to him like that.
After my breathing is under control, I finish unpacking the towels and placing them on the top shelf, even though he told me not to. I then break down all the boxes and grab the labeler. I’m a fan of organization, and it’ll be easier to pinpoint what supplies need to be ordered in the future if their location is clearly labeled.
Once finished, I carry the boxes out back to the dumpster. I hear the guys talking about booth placement and I’m able to slip past them and up to my office.
Opening my laptop, I read through the new employee manual one more time before I print it to present to Crew.
“Berklee!” I hear him shout about a half hour later, followed by his heavy footsteps up the stairs. He stops when he reaches my office. Standing in the doorway, he raises his hands over his head and grabs the frame. “I thought I told you I would get the towels.”
“I was perfectly capable, so I finished the job I started,” I say, locking my gaze with his. It’s a challenge because the way he’s standing, his shirt has risen and I can see the V. You know the one. Yeah, keeping my eyes on his is difficult, but I hold steady.
“Do you have to challenge me?” he asks, exasperated.
I shrug. “I didn’t see it as challenging you. I finished the job I started. The job I was capable of doing.”
He steps into my office and shuts the door. The twist of the lock echoes throughout the room. “You do challenge me,” he counters as his long legs carry him to where I’m still sitting at my desk.
I sit statue still and keep my mouth shut.
“Every fucking day, it’s a challenge to be around you, to see you. To be close to you and not be able to touch you.” He reaches out and cups my cheek with his calloused hands. “I fight with myself on a daily basis to stay away from you, yet every day I stumble. I find myself walking too close to you, holding your hand longer than necessary when handing you paperwork.” He drops to his knees so we are eye level. “It’s fucking wrong, Berklee. The way I want you, it’s wrong. I’m your boss.” He clamps his jaw shut.
I point to my laptop, not taking my eyes off him. “There’s no rule against it,” I say. He studies me but doesn’t say anything, so I keep going. “In the handbook, there isn’t a policy.” His dark eyes smolder with heat as his thumb traces back and forth across my cheek. “What if we didn’t tell anyone?” I suggest. I’m desperate for him. This is like nothing I’ve ever felt, and I want him.
“Berklee.” My name is a strained whisper from his lips as he leans in closer.
“You can trust me. I won’t gossip about us or what we do behind closed doors.” The more I talk, the more an idea forms. It’s perfect. We can have a benefits-only relationship other than boss and employee. Something has to give with all of this sexual tension between us. I want to concentrate on my new job, and him, the club. We have the same goals in mind, so we’ll work together, making it convenient and discreet. I tell him this and he says nothing, just studies me.
Deciding to go all-in with my plan, I place my hands on his face and pull him toward me. He comes without complaint and I lock my gaze on his. “You can trust me. I can’t fight this anymore either. It’s the best for both of us. We don’t have the stress of a relationship, and there’s the convenience of being at the same place most of the time. I know you feel it,” I whisper.
His eyes soften just a fraction and I know I’m wearing him down. “I’m a big girl, Crew. We do this until one of us wants out or meets someone. We don’t sleep with anyone else while we’re together.” Placing my hand on his cheek, his beard is rough against the palm of my hand. Leaning into him, I kiss the corner of his mouth. “Say yes,” I whisper. I have no idea where this seductress is coming from, but I burn for him. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything like I do Crew Ledger.
I open my mouth to keep trying to convince him when he leans in and whispers “Fuck it” before smashing his mouth against mine.