Chapter Nineteen

Alfie

I’m muttering wordlessly as I jam my feet into my pant legs. I don’t even know what I want to say. All I know is that I’ve been useless since I stormed out of that airplane bedroom. I haven’t played a note on any of my instruments, haven’t mixed anything on my equipment, haven’t composed a thing. Nada.

I’ve obsessed over Stephanie and am no closer to figuring out how to deal with my predicament now than I was three days ago.

If hiding in my studio didn’t piss her off enough, I was just inexcusably rude. And now I have to go in and pay the piper.

“I’d like to speak with you before the end of business today,” she’d said. That sounds like the precursor to, “I’m giving my notice, effective immediately.”

“Alfie, you’re such an ass,” I scold myself as I pull on one of my favorite Labyrinth tees. This one is baby blue and has a stylized minotaur surrounded by floating Other instruments that look as though they came straight from An’Wa. They’re adorned with feathers, strings of beads, and the khu’rinn’s triangular box has a scene of a clan gathering carved on its face. I drew this graphic myself.

Before leaving, I splash water on my face, then examine my reflection. I’m a minotaur. There is nothing human about me other than my hands.

I grew up looking at humans all day, every day. Everyone on TV and all my family were human except for Theo. I’m completely comfortable looking at humans.

Stephanie, on the other hand, had never seen anyone like me in her life, except in books. How foreign I must be to her. How can she look at this and see something appealing?

She’s not like my groupies, looking for a thrill and a quick fuck. I don’t know what they saw when they looked at me and frankly, I don’t give a shit. It was a transaction initiated by them. By the dreamy, satisfied looks on their faces when they left my house, they got what they came for.

They’re nothing like Stephanie, who didn’t come here for sex. She came for a job. And that’s what I owe her: a stable job where she doesn’t have to do what she’s done all day today, which is sit at her desk and worry if I’m going to fire her. This is the exact reason why bosses shouldn’t be sexual with their employees.

After this honest little self-pep-talk, I stalk across the yard to the house, then call her to the dining room, where we usually have our important conferences. This meeting, I have a sinking feeling, will not be as congenial as any of our previous ones.

It’s no accident that instead of sitting at my usual place, I seat myself at the head of the table. This conversation is going to get out of hand quickly, and at least I can claim some control over it by sitting in the power position.

She glides down the steps, her hands filled with her laptop, which is covered with a few sheets of paper. And… she’s smiling. What happened to the shocked scowl she was wearing at my studio door?

Instead of taking her usual place toward the foot of the table, she slides into the chair next to me. So much for keeping my distance.

Trying to save face and maintain order in my utterly chaos-filled life, I say, “You called this meeting?” Why did I say it like that, filled with smug disdain? I’m such an ass, although maybe it’s for the best to further push her away.

“Yes. Thanks for coming. I missed you.” She tips her head and flashes me a brilliant smile. After tapping her already-neat pile of papers on the glass tabletop, she says, “I have a proposal. Could you do me a favor?”

How can I deny her anything, especially when I’ve been such a jerk, and she’s being so damn nice?

“Sure.”

“I’ve kind of got this whole thing planned out, and I’d like you not to interrupt.”

Steph is the quintessential Southern girl, with her soothing voice filled with soft, elongated vowels. She usually defers to others, as I’m sure she was taught at her mother’s knee. She often poses her thoughts as a question, never being pushy.

This straightforward request is unusual and makes me sit straighter as I wonder what she’s going to say. Despite her smile, I’m still wondering if she’s about to give her notice.

“Since you hired me, I’ve spent countless hours reading legislation about the Others, trying to find loopholes in the travel bans, among other things. I guess my deep dive into legalities got my mind thinking along those lines.”

My eyes dart to her thin stack of papers as I try to see what they’re about, but I can’t glean a thing from this angle.

“First, let me assure you that nowhere in the United States is it illegal to date an employee. It’s strictly up to the individual company’s policy.”

I clamp my lips together, reminding myself that she asked me not to interrupt, though I already have counterarguments barreling through my mind.

“But you’re absolutely correct. Dating my boss is fraught with possible complications. As I see it, if we get together and then have a spat or break up, my job is in jeopardy. I’m putting myself in a precarious position where I’d have to toe the line in order not to lose my job. The power imbalance is just too great.”

Just as I thought. That stack of papers is her termination notice. But why is it more than a few paragraphs?

“But…” She pauses, takes a full breath, looks deeply into my eyes, then her gaze darts away. Finally, she places her hand on mine so softly it’s a caress. “I like you, Alfie. A lot. And I want to date you.”

“Oh!” I’m refraining from interrupting, holding back the flood of questions I want to ask. Frankly, it’s a good thing she asked me not to talk because my thoughts are swirling so violently, I don’t think I could frame a complete sentence. Sparks are flying along my veins, and I’m not sure they’re from anxiety, fear, or lust. Maybe all three.

“So, here’s what I propose. I don’t want to be beholden to you, don’t want to worry about every word that comes out of my mouth, don’t want to have to defer to you in our private time, don’t want to worry that if I piss you off, I’ll lose the best job I’ve ever had.”

She hands me the top two pages off her stack, keeping two pages in front of her.

“I created this contract that would delineate boundaries before we take another step forward in this relationship.”

Relationship? She wants a relationship? It’s what I’ve been dreaming of, but hearing the word causes a lightning strike of fear to sizzle up my spine. I’m a bachelor. I’ve never had, nor have I ever before wanted, a relationship.

But I do now.

“So basically, this is a bunch of mumbo jumbo where the salient facts are that if either of us part for any reason, I receive compensation in a lump sum.”

She reaches over and points to a blank line.

“To be determined by you. If you become insufferable…” She smiles at me and shrugs. “Not that I expect that. But if you do, and I want out, I won’t lose my apartment while I look for another job. If you tire of me, you won’t have to feel guilty because you won’t be leaving me destitute.”

She thought of this? And look how professionally it’s worded.

“And here in article three,” she reaches to point and all I can think about is grabbing her hand and kissing it again the way I did on the plane, “it says you must give me an honest reference letter with no hint of retribution no matter on what terms we parted. It’s only fair.”

“Absolutely.” Of course I want her to be taken care of. I want things to be more than fair.

“And I considered you too. I plan on becoming even more invaluable to you.” Her eyebrows flash high with sexual innuendo as she smiles. “This says I have to give you two weeks’ notice no matter what terms we part on. It wouldn’t be fair to leave you high and dry.”

“And all these other articles?” I’m a musician, not an attorney. They’re baffling me.

She stands and grabs her laptop and papers. “Read them tonight. Think about it. And if you want to sign it, you’ll have to fill in that blank line with the severance amount. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

There was a moment during that negotiation… negotiation? It was rather one-sided—that I’d imagined our discussion would end with me carrying her up the stairs to my bedroom and finalizing the contract not with a signature but with my seed buried deep inside her. Now I’m watching her pretty ass walk toward my front door.

She turns to look at me and finally, the business-like fa?ade she’d been wearing since she sat down with me at the table fades from her features. “Are we good, Alfie? You’ll think about the contract? Because I want to pursue what’s happening between us. I like you and…”

Her false bravado has escaped her. Now her eyes are shining, and her jaw is working although no words are coming out.

“I like you, and I want to continue what we started on the airplane.”

She hesitates, then continues. “If that isn’t what you want…” she swallows hard, “then we’ll discuss that in the morning.”

With that, she turns and hurries out my door.

I’m practically paralyzed, simply staring at the place she just vacated. I should read the contract, should call Theo and Zoey and ask their opinion, should do my own deep dive on the Internet to research office affairs. But I know that no matter what I read or what my brother says, I’m going to sign the damn thing.

I want the same thing she wants—to continue what we started on that airplane.