Page 78 of His Good Girl

Finally, he said, “Lunch was restorative, I trust.”

“Don’t.”

“I said nothing.”

“Ben.”

His gaze softened by the smallest possible degree. “Are you alright?”

That surprised me enough that I stopped bristling.

“Yes.”

“Do you know where the nearest bathroom is?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You may take five minutes to look haunted in private. Then you will return to cybersecurity training and learn why USB drives are the devil’s tools.”

I blinked at him.

“What?” he said.

“That was almost nice.”

“An unfortunate lapse. Tell no one.”

I smiled without meaning to.

He pointed down the hall with his tablet. “Five minutes. Not six. If you cry, reapply whatever face product prevents people from asking questions. If you do not cry, still splash cold water on yourself. You look like a Victorian who has seen an ankle.”

“Ben!”

“Go.”

So I went. In the bathroom, I locked myself in a stall, sat down fully clothed, and pressed both hands over my face. My body was still humming.

This was not a crush anymore.

This was not a private fantasy kept safely in bed or whispered to Jules over fries.

This was mutual.

We hadn’t acted on anything yet, but it was real enough that pretending otherwise would be insulting to both of us.

I took exactly four minutes and thirty seconds because Benjamin terrified me even when he was being kind. I splashed cold water under my eyes, pressed a paper towel to my cheeks, and looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked flushed.

I looked rattled.

I looked, unfortunately, like a woman who had enjoyed being given a verbal spanking by the one man who shouldn’t have. Then the image of me bent over his desk about to get a real one flashed before my eyes and my face went pale white.

“Serious employee,” I whispered to my reflection.

My reflection looked skeptical.

When I returned to the conference room, the HR video was still paused on a slide titledRecognizing Workplace Boundaries.