“As you can see, the same for me as well.”
I took the paper and glanced at the text with surprise. Sure enough, his results were negative and the date at the top was from yesterday. “You went and got tested?”
“My doctor comes to me, but yes.” He finally set his full attention on me, and the gravity of it threatened to crush the world. “It’s important we both feel safe in the event things were to escalate between us again.”
I reached a hand behind me to grab on to the bookshelf and stabilize myself. What the fuck had he just implied? I wasn’t sure what kind of look I was giving him, but maybe it was confusion, because Macalister’s gaze swept slowly down my body, and as it slid back up, it was scorching hot, leaving no doubt what he’d meant.
In the aftermath of it, I was flushed and aching.
“Would you like to keep that?” He was amused.
Keep what?
His gaze went to the sheet of paper in my hand, his test results I’d accidentally crinkled in surprise. I dropped it to the desk and smoothed my hand over my hip, like I was wiping away the radioactivity of what his test results meant.
My voice was breathless. “No, thanks.”
“All right.” He motioned toward the table. “That came for you.”
Yet another white box. I bit my lip, excited to see what else he’d bought and also anxious about it. “Macalister, you can’t keep doing this.”
Oh, fuck that sexy jaw. When I tried to tell him what to do, it set, the muscle tightening and flexing. “Why is that?”
“Because people will start to ask questions, like my parents. They’ll wonder why my boss keeps giving me expensive gifts, and isn’t this, like, exactly the kind of rumor you’re trying to avoid?”
He rose from his chair, used the remote to mute the television behind me, and gave me a hard, evaluating look. My mouth went dry and my knees weak. Whatever he was considering, it was big, and . . . yeah. I was already into it.
“I won’t mince my words.” He leaned over the desk and set his hands on it, like a businessman entering serious negotiations. “I enjoy having a say over what you wear each day. This was the vehicle to do that with. If you don’t like it, I can suggest another.”
My heart galloped along, nearly coming out of my chest. “Okay.”
“You give me control.”
The word was like a flash grenade, a silent, beautiful explosion that was blinding. All I could do was stand still and experience it.
It took me forever to find the word. “How?”
“Once you’re dressed, you’ll send me a picture every morning for my approval.”
I swallowed a gulp of air. This command wasn’t sexual, and yet I reacted to it as if it were. A muscle deep between my legs clenched. There was something about the way he said the word approval. It was an arrow piercing my center, lodged inside me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to pull it back out.
He’d been the businessman, but his expression shifted into one of power and seduction. “Does that interest you?”
I knew agreeing to this was a gateway drug. I’d want more, even when it was wrong and bad for me, but it’d be too late. He was a pusher, and I’d become addicted, a junkie for Macalister’s dominance and control.
I knew all of it, and I still didn’t care. He’d asked if this interested me, and my body screamed its resounding consent.
I whispered it because there was so much meaning crowding to get out, I could barely squeeze the word along with it. “Yes.”
His shoulders lifted as he drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with air and expanding his already broad chest. Was this how he looked after closing a billion-dollar merger? Like he’d finished conquering the world?
Macalister pushed off the desk and made his steady, methodical approach, and he seemed ten fucking feet tall as he closed in. He came to stand just inches away from me, far too close to be considered professional. His intoxicating cologne was faintly noticeable, and his warm breath wafted down across the skin my neckline bared.
His gaze moved over me in a slow sweep, like he was taking in every detail and committing all of it to memory. The thorough way he examined me felt no different than if he’d used his hands to do it, and goosebumps pebbled on my arms.
My breath hung when he reached out and plucked something from the fabric covering my shoulder. It was a piece of lint too small to see in his fingers, or just an excuse to touch me, but I wasn’t going to complain. As he moved away, his fingertips grazed down my arm.
He spoke softly, but it was deceptive. Power swelled behind his words. “The weekends too, Sophia. Every day, I want to see what you’ve chosen to wear for me.”
I exhaled and shuddered.
“You’re shaking,” he said, pretending to be surprised, but it was an act. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. “Are you nervous about this arrangement?”
“No,” I admitted in a rush. “I’m excited.”
He smiled darkly, his eyes thrilled. “Good. I am too.” Our gazes held for so long, I worried I’d burst from the tension, but he turned abruptly and motioned toward the box. “You’ll start tomorrow by wearing this.”
The dress was silver-gray, with bishop sleeves that went to my elbows, and deep V that plunged down so low, I wouldn’t be able to wear a regular bra with it. I glanced at him then back to the dress, unsure. Did he realize how much cleavage I’d be showing at the office?
I thought about his schedule. He had three hours blocked off tomorrow to discuss the rollout of a programming update, so yeah. He totally knew.
Normally, I despised waking up early, but handing control over to Macalister suddenly made it easy. Each morning since I’d agreed to his offer, I was eager to select the perfect look, snap a picture, and text it to him.
I imagined him standing in his enormous closet, his crisp dress shirt not buttoned yet and a swatch of his bare chest visible, his sleeve cuffs unpinned as he paused to glance at his phone. He’d scrutinize the image then thumb out the word that set my blood on fire.
Approved.
It was a word I longed to hear in any of its forms. Accepted. Chosen. Yes.
In reality, he was probably already dressed and on his way to the office by the time my text came through, but it was more fun to imagine the scenario my way. And after a week of texting, I got my first note.
Macalister: Your hair will be worn up.
So, I twisted it back into a bun, put on longer earrings, and sent an update.
Macalister: Approved.
It was unreal the effect that word had on me.
We fell in sync with each other. I delivered his morning coffee and went over his schedule with him, making adjustments as needed, and then I’d take what few minutes I had with him to go over salacious details. Who needed to go to rehab, who was caught with questionable porn on their phone, which guy was rumored to be sleeping with his stepdaughter.
The last one didn’t sit all that well with him, but it probably hit too close to what he’d tried to do with Marist.
The day before we were set to leave for Aspen, my desk was a mess, and Macalister gave me some serious side-eye about it before heading into his office after lunch. I sighed once he’d closed the door. I had too much on my plate right now to be tidy, but his irritation ate at me.