So much for professionalism

Our dinner arrives quite some time after we place our order.

"Sir," I start to say when something red catches my eye. "Yes, Monique?" He gives me his attention, and I blush at how enticing my name sounds from his mouth.

It's rare to hear him call me by my name, and whenever he does, a whole field of butterflies awakens in my stomach. "You have something on your..." I trail off, pointing to my own lip as an indication, and all he does is stare at me as if he didn't hear me. "Wipe it for me." Is it part of my job description to do this for him, especially in public? Perhaps I heard something wrong.

"Mr. McIntyre?"

"I said to wipe it for me," he says, and I swallow what little food I had left in my mouth as I take the tablecloth. He shakes his head and says, "Your thumb," which nearly makes me choke, but I maintain my composure.

He's a walking masterpiece; his muscles are well defined and begging for more room under his shirt, in just the right amount. It flexes as he folds his arm, and his jaw muscle clenches. His light facial hair accentuates his whole physique in a sexy way that urges one to caress it. His presence commands attention, his magnetic aura evoking a deep sense of admiration in those fortunate enough to observe him.

Truly, he personifies the epitome of physical perfection, a walking testament to the awe-inspiring capabilities of the human body.

"Ms. Moore?" "Oh yes?" I snap out of my thoughts and quickly look around before wiping his lips shyly, but what he does next makes me want to faint. He licks the sauce off my thumb before I can withdraw it and goes back to eating like nothing happened, so I say nothing and eat my food with my heart going over a hundred miles per second.

Damn, that was hot—the most intimate he and I have ever been, apart from the one time he pinned me to his office wall and was a needle-width away from kissing me. Or that one time I stumbled into him, and he caught me by my waist, holding me for some time while I was lost somewhere else. Or the time where-

Okay, you get it.

Now that I think about it, Ryan and I have done quite a number of things that’s quite intimate more times than I can count, and we don't speak about them. They just happen.

There's an undeniable magnetic force emanating from him, creating an irresistible attraction that lures me closer. Even though a nagging sense of anticipation clings to me, whispering that something remarkable is bound to take place, it persistently gnaws at my thoughts.

Yet, no matter how hard I try to resist, I find myself unable to turn a blind eye to this mysterious pull. It entices me, captivating both my conscious and subconscious minds and compelling me to yield to its enchantment. It's quite fascinating how my previous attempts to maintain a strictly professional demeanor have been futile, as this compelling force effortlessly breaks down the barriers of restraint I've carefully erected.

I constantly remind myself that he seems to exist on an entirely different plane, beyond my reach or league. However, despite this knowledge, I am inexplicably drawn towards him, guided by an invisible cosmic energy that defies logic and rationality. It's as if the universe itself conspires with this magnetic allure, intent on uniting us in a destiny that surpasses my wildest imaginations.

Delusion!

"Let me take you home," he offers once we are outside the restaurant, but he's done more than enough for me, so I try to decline, but he's not having it. He never has.

He's always giving me commands to follow and indiscreetly looking out for me, but I think it's best if I leave it in the name of professionalism and not think too much of it.

"Sir. You can drop me right down the road, so it's easier for you." I suggest that once he settles inside the car, knowing that it'd cost him time to go down my street and turn back, "Seatbelt and keep quiet." I nod sharply and fold my lips, leaning back into the comfortable leather as he takes me home, but my phone rings, interrupting the tension-filled silence. Thank goodness.

I look at the caller's name, and my face falls faster than the apple that had hit Isaac's head.

Money vampire.

"Yes Isabelle?" "Did you send it yet?" "Yes, I did." I groan. "I don't see it." She's such a liar. I got the notification that the transfer was successful just before I went inside the restaurant. "Isabelle, I already-" "One button, Monique, just one button, and you're gone, so choose wisely." I sigh in defeat and embarrassment that I'm doing this with my boss in the car.

"Okay, I'll send more tomorrow when I get it." "Today, Monique," "Isabelle," the line goes dead, and I sigh in frustration, grabbing my head with the hand that was resting on the window. "What happened?" He breaks the silence, still focusing on the road, seemingly oblivious to what had happened. At least he didn't hear anything. "My sister needed some help," he nods in response, and I point him onto my street.

The pressure inside the car keeps rising as the car comes to a stop at my apartment building. No one moves a muscle, and when I decide to try and leave, he turns to me and stares into my soul with lust-filled eyes, turning my insides squishy from arousal. The next thing I know, I'm being pulled into a rough and hot kiss that is short-lived when he quickly pulls away. "Shit, I'm so sorry."

This is the first time in six months that I have ever gotten an apology from him, and I bring myself to even want it. At least not this apology.

"I'm sorry, Monique; I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have." He holds his mouth, and my heart cracks just a bit when he says that, but I expected this outcome before it fully happened. Somehow, it sounds worse than what I had actually imagined.

"I understand, Mr. McIntyre. I'm sorry for crossing the line, and I apologize. Thank you for the ride," he nods, and I quickly leave the car, feeling the embarrassment seeping in.

'I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have' the look of regret and guilt on his face. I feel so horrible.

I stumble my way up the stairs with my conscience weighing on me and plop down on my bed, recalling tonight's events. So much for professionalism.