Page 29 of Leverage & Obedience

When he sets it on the desk, he wraps his arms around me. “Lily?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t have to say it. He said it anyway.

The picture in my head has grown into a whole life.

And tonight, for the first time, I let myself want it.

Chapter 8

I haven’t taken the anklet off since he put it on me. Not even to shower.

It’s 8:47 on Wednesday. My coffee’s untouched, the Aldridge file is open on my screen. I’m not looking at it.

I’m picturing a future that isn’t mine. Saturday evening in his kitchen, burning pasta while he stands behind me with his hands on my hips. A second pillow on his side of the bed. Knowing where the coffee filters are so I can make it before we leave for work.

Normally, there’s a voice in my head that shuts thoughts like this down before they get anywhere. She’s taking the morning off today.

I reach down and run my finger along the anklet. I’ve never let a Dom put anything on me that I didn’t take off the second the scene was over. Bren lifted my foot to attach the anklet, and I didn’t pull away.

There are only a few more weeks left of my temp position, but I haven’t looked at the end date in days.

At 9:04, Bren walks past my desk on his way back from the breakroom.

“Morning,” he says in the professional tone he uses with everyone else. But his eyes catch mine and hold, and one corner of his mouth lifts. It’s the smile that’s just for me that he keeps locked down around other people.

I look right back at him. My hand could go for the mouse, or anything that’d make me look busy. It doesn’t. I just hold his eyes, not caring if anyone sees us staring at each other. His eyebrows go up, and the lift of his mouth becomes a full-blown smile. Yeah, my morning has already peaked, and it isn’t even 10.

I’ve spent weeks keeping this locked down. One look and we might as well have said it over the intercom.

I’m happy. I haven’t had a reason to use that word about myself in years, and right now it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere.

At 10:15, Rachel brings me a muffin. She does this a few times a week, and it’s almost become a ritual. It’s blueberry today, which she knows is my favorite.

She drops into the chair by my cubicle with her yogurt and the smile that means it’s a slow morning.

“I’m going to tell you something. Everyone likes you. Like, actually likes you. Dana mentioned it yesterday. Kevin—who doesn’t mention anything about anyone, ever—said you know how to handle Frank better than any analyst on his team.” She scrapes the bottom of her yogurt cup. “You just fit in here, and it feels like you’ve been here for years.”

Rachel means it as a compliment, and for most people, it would be one. For me, it’s a warning. I’m a three-month temp; fitting in was never the assignment. If it already feels like years, then I’ve let this place become somewhere I’ll be sorry to walk away from. And I’m still going to walk away. That’s the part she doesn’t know. The better I fit, the more that’s going to cost me.

My throat tightens. “That’s really sweet, Rach.”

“I’m being honest with you.” She sets the empty cup on my desk and doesn’t get up. The snack’s over, and she’s still sitting here, looking at me. “You know he doesn’t keep assistants.”

Something cold opens up under my ribs while my stomach drops. I keep very still.

“It’s a pattern,” she says. “He’s cycled through temps for years. They stay three months, four if they’re really good. Then HR finds someone new, and the loop starts over.”

My hand is on my coffee cup, and I can’t feel my fingers.

“I’m telling you because you’re the best one he’s had. You should talk to Bren and HR and see if you can stay. I don’t want you to leave.”

“Thanks, Rachel.” I dredge up a smile. “That means a lot.”

She gives me a hopeful smile, and when she leaves, I stare at the last two bites of my muffin while my stomach twists.