This vignette takes place after Annie's rescue from Rooster, but before the 4th of July party. I don't own the characters. You know the drill.
Oliver paced the room as Miss Farrell waited to take down his dictation, but the billionaire's mind would not settle. He shuttered, remembering his fear as he helplessly watched Annie dangling from the bridge. The ink on the adoption papers was not even dry and yet he thought he had lost his little girl forever. Being a father was an intimidating undertaking. He didn't know the first thing about children. Annie needed a mother. His thoughts wandered to the lovely woman sitting before him. Had he imagined her tenderness towards him since the arrival of that spunky little orphan? Was her embrace that terrifying night simply a reaction to her worry over Annie? She was the best secretary he had ever employed. He trusted her so implicitly with everything, from managing his household, to buying his clothing, to providing wise council for business decisions. He could not pin point when his appreciation for her work ethic and business savvy had transformed into something more. She was undeniably one of the most beautiful women he had ever encountered, and he had known his fair share of charming women. After all of the progress they had made, he did not want to return to their cold, formal relationship. He wanted more. He recalled her words from the previous day: I could just kiss you! Could it be possible that she returned his feelings? No, a lady like that wouldn't want a cantankerous old man like himself. She deserved someone young and handsome. Still, he couldn't help but wonder.
"Miss Farrell, have you ever considered having children?"
The question took her by surprise. "Why, yes. It has always been my dream to be a mother," she thought of sweet Annie.
"Then why haven you not done so?" he pressed.
"Well, sir, I guess I never found the right man with whom to start a family..." her voice trailed off.
"Certainly there must have been worthy gentlemen lining up to court you."
"There were a few suitors...a broken engagement...but I'm afraid things never worked out..."
"An engagement?" he hoped he was concealing the jealousy that he felt bubbling beneath the surface.
"Yes, James was a good man, but I'm afraid he got the wrong idea..."
"The wrong idea about what?"
"About you and I, actually. About the nature of our relationship."
"The nature of OUR relationship?"
"I told him that I was simply your private secretary and nothing more, but he insisted that I was harboring feelings for you," she felt her pulse quicken.
"For me? Is this true?" he demanded with a scowl.
Mr. Warbucks always cut right to the heart of a matter. Grace took a moment, sipped her coffee while carefully considering her words. Revealing her feelings to him was a gamble. If he did not reciprocate them, their working relationship would be tarnished. Still, she knew that she could not carry on concealing her true feelings for him much longer.
"I was not dishonest with him," she proceeded cautiously. "At the time, I believed that what I felt for you was merely professional admiration," she searched his eyes for any sign of encouragement, "but I have come to realize that he was right. My feelings for you are indeed something more."
"Something more..." he was shocked by her admission, letting the words roll around in his head. He had never dared to dream that this amazing creature could possibly return his affection.
Grace sat before her dumbstruck employer, anxiously awaiting his response. Each second that ticked by felt like an eternity. She regretted her words.
"I'm sorry, sir, I should not have said anything. I beg your pardon." With that, she stood up and rushed for the door as she felt tears prickle at the back of her eyelids. She blinked hard, trying to hold them back. In all of her years working for Mr. Warbucks, she had managed to never cry in front of him. She didn't want him to see her like that.
As she grabbed for the door handle, he called to her, "Wait. Grace. Please."
She turned slowly; it struck her that he had used her first name for the second time ever. He approached her, but she was too embarrassed to meet his gaze. She focused on a spot on the rug. He stood before her and lifted her chin with his hand. She looked up into his eyes, afraid of what she might find there. This was the closest she had ever been to her employer. She could smell the musky scent of his expensive cologne, and she was certain he could hear the pounding of her heart.
He was bewildered. He never knew what to do with a crying woman. "Grace, adopting Annie has forced me to confront feelings that I had buried deep long ago. I have loved you since the moment you stepped into my life, I have just been too blind to see it until now. I have been a fool."
"Sir-"
"Call me Oliver," he interrupted her and took her delicate face in his hands, wiping the tears from her shining blue eyes.
"Oliver," she smiled, enjoying the feeling of his name on her tongue. He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her softly, gauging her reaction. As she returned his kiss, he became bolder, exploring her mouth with his tongue. He was wholly intoxicated by her: the softness of her lips, the scent of her hair. He kissed her with a passionate intensity, allowing his feelings of the last ten years to pour forth. He felt the vibration of a little moan escape from the back of her throat. It had been many years since he had enjoyed the intimacy of a woman and he felt his desire grow. Overcome with passion, he began to unbutton her blouse. He felt her body stiffen in his arms.
"Stop. Oliver. Stop, "she protested, forcefully pushing him away."Oliver, please! Have some self-control! I am most certainly not that kind of woman!"
"Grace, I am so sorry. It was not my intention to disrespect you. I got carried away and forgot my manners," Oliver cursed himself. He felt like a heel. "Please forgive me Grace."
Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment as she smoothed her blouse, "I will forgive you this once, but you will not allow it happen again. I will have you know that I do not give my affections so casually."
"Grace," he knew he had to approach the subject delicately, "have you not been with a man?"
"No. I am maintaining my virtue for my husband," she blushed, unsure of how he would react to this revelation. She knew that at thirty one years old, she was an anomaly, even among Christian women. She had listened with rapt attention to the whispers among her friends about their trysts long ago and she had been tempted to give into her desires with her former fiancé, but she had held strong in her convictions.
"You are an incredible woman and I respect your decision. I vow to uphold your honor," Oliver promised with sincerity.
"Thank you, Oliver. It means a great deal to me," she smiled with relief and he placed a chaste kiss upon her cheek.