29.
It seems I've deflated his ego.
It's not that I didn't want him to touch me.
I did.
I do.
I can finally admit that much.
What exactly did he expect? We'd have hate-sex then return to our normal non-interactions?
I imagine him taking me on my desk. Bent over, skirt bunched around my waist. Stockings ripped as he fucks me from behind. Thinking about it makes me press my thighs together tightly.
I stare at him sitting across from me.
Look at me, I mentally will.
He can't read minds, I guess.
I bump his shoe with my heel.
30.
He clears his throat.
I bump his shoe with my heel again.
Another throat clearing, more agitation.
I clear my throat, too. His eyes reluctantly bounce to mine.
I'm sorry, I mouth.
He looks surprised.
Maybe I am, too.
His eyes flit away, then, uninterested in my apology.
He's the first to bolt after the meeting.
I'd chase after him if it weren't so obvious.
Instead, I meander around, chat with Lauren, stop in the breakroom, reapply my lipstick, then find myself standing in the doorway of his office.
I say it out loud. "I'm sorry."
"No apologies are needed."