Chapter 12

Sophie

My cheeks flame with embarrassment. He can say he stopped because he realized he wasn't wearing a condom, but it seems suspiciously coincidental he came to that realization when I told him how long it had been since I'd had sex.

Well … to be fair, sex with someone else. I have sex all the time. On my own. With the help of my books, a secret stash of toys, and my amazing shower head.

I hop from the desk and gather my jeans, pulling them roughly up my legs. My bra's next, followed by my silk blouse. With each article of clothing I put on, I strengthen my armor to shield my humiliation. I can't believe I offered myself to him on a platter, and he's rejected me.

He seemed so into it; so into me.

"Soph—"

I hold up my hand. "Please don't say anything. I'm embarrassed. Mortified actually. I just want to dress, go home, and wash this all away."

I can't look at him as I shove my feet into my Chucks without socks. As I push past him to escape the office, he grips my arm. "I'm sorry. You have nothing to be embarrassed or mortified about. This was entirely my fault. I went too far. This never should have happened between us." He roughly pushes his hand through his messy hair. "I'm twelve fucking years older than you, and I'm your boss. You deserve better than a fuck in the back office, Sophie, and you shouldn't settle for anything less after nine years of abstinence." He forces my chin up with his fingers until he has my eyes. I try to slide my gaze away, but he follows me and fills my vision. "You deserve more than being fucked by an old guy like me." He tenses his jaw. "You should be with a guy closer to your age."

"Yeah, well, pretty sure I'm old enough to decide where, by who, and how I want to be fucked. Good night. See you tomorrow, boss," I snap and push past him on shaky legs, humiliation and anger flooding my system. Things were going so well. If only I'd kept my mouth shut. I'd be screaming out a perfect orgasm right about now.

There's no way I can come back tomorrow.

* * *

My alarm blares, and I wake with a groan. My eyelids feel glued shut from my tears last night. Covering my face with my hands, I relive my mortification. There's absolutely no way in hell I can go to work today.

I can't face him.

Not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

Even that may be a stretch.

What was I thinking?

Oh, right. I wasn't. Just as I didn't think nine years ago with Paul when I happily gave him my virginity in the backseat of his car after prom—and we all know how that worked out for me. Not that I'd ever change history. If I did, I wouldn't have James, and he's the best thing I've ever done.

I throw the covers back and move through my morning routine so I can get James ready for school. The great thing about starting work at nine forty-five is that I can take James to school every day, and he only has to catch the bus home. Dad wheels himself to the bus stop down the road to collect him, and they enjoy the afternoon snack I prepare for them before I leave for work. Dad cooks dinner on the nights I work, and I cook on the nights I don't, which means I can give him an extra break tonight because I'm not going into work today.

James is zipping up his jeans when I walk into his bedroom. His eyes light with happiness when they land on me. "Mom!" He dives for me.

I chuckle as he flings his arms around me. He's already up to my shoulders, and I don't think I have too much longer to enjoy his boyish ways before he'll be too cool to greet me with this much enthusiasm, so I hug him close, drawing his scent into my lungs. "Did you miss me?"

He pulls away and nods wildly. "Grandad and I missed you heaps, but we had a boys' night, which was pretty cool."

"A boys' night, huh?" I ruffle his hair.

"Yeah. We had root beer and pretzels and watched a game of soccer. Grandad yelled at the TV when the referee made a bad call. He was so funny." A pang hits my chest that James doesn't have his father around; someone who could take him to games or play with him in the backyard. "I really liked watching soccer. My friend, Josh, plays. Do you think I could play?" he asks with a hopeful grin.

"Uh, that might be tough with me working until dinnertime. Can you ask Josh more about it, and we'll see if it works with my schedule? I can also ask Hope where Evan plays soccer. His practice may work with my schedule if Josh's doesn't."

"Yes!" He throws his fist into the air. "Thanks, Mom."

If I can make it work, I will. I'd love for him to play sports, but I don't want to ask Dad to take him. I try to do most of the parenting, and Dad's great about not stepping in unless I ask for help, which I try not to do more than I already have. He lets us live with him, for goodness' sake—he already helps us plenty. I brush my son's hair out of his eyes, then tell him to meet me in the kitchen for breakfast.

James tells me about his day yesterday while I make breakfast, lunch, and afternoon snacks. Dad's still sleeping, which is common when he works on his manuscript until late, so I try to keep our noise to a minimum.

I drop James at school and tell him I'll pick him up so he doesn't have to catch the bus. You would think I told him I'd bought tickets to Disneyland with how excited he was. I figure I can take him out after school, since I'm home today. Stopping at the store, I grab what I need for fish quesadillas and head home.

"Is that you, Sophie?" Dad calls from the back of the house as I step inside, a note of worry in his tone.

"Yeah, it's me," I call.

His toast is frozen halfway to his mouth, and the furrows across his forehead are deep when I step into the kitchen. "Why are you home?"

I shrug. "I don't feel one hundred percent."

He pushes away from the table. "You're not coming down with something, or did you drink too much last night when you were out with your friends?" The disapproval in his voice is thick as he asks. He's very anti-alcohol since the truck driver that caused the derailment was intoxicated.

"No, Dad. I didn't drink last night." I turn my back to him to put the fish in the fridge and hide my lie. Technically, it's not a lie. I didn't drink last night. "I think something I ate has disagreed with me. I'm gonna take it easy today."

"Do you need to report the restaurant for food poisoning? That's most unsatisfactory, Soph."

I chuckle. "I don't think so, Dad. I don't think I have food poisoning … just an upset stomach. I'll be fine with a little rest. But I'll cook dinner tonight, okay?"

He nods. "Okay. Did you let your boss know you're unwell?"

I guess I should send Linc a message. "Not yet. I'll do that now." I finish putting the groceries away, kiss Dad on the cheek, and retreat to my bedroom.

Dragging out my phone, I chew on my bottom lip when the time stares back at me. I should be arriving at work right now. I wonder if Lincoln has a cup of coffee waiting for me at the reception desk. I know they'll manage just fine without me, but it will be inconvenient when they need to stop to answer the phone and greet clients.

I pull up Lincoln's number and type a message.

Me

I'm sorry, I won't be at work today

I need to take a personal day

I delete the message. Damn. Is he going to be pissed? Or is he expecting me not to show up today? Or maybe he'll fire me. My stomach sinks at the thought of our carelessness costing me my job.

Maybe I'll send a message to Ken instead. Cowardly, I know.

Me

Hey Ken

Can you please let Lincoln know I won't be in today?

I don't feel well and I don't want to get you guys sick

I jump when my phone buzzes straight away.

Ken

Sorry to hear you're sick, doll

Why don't you message Linc yourself?

Me

I don't want to bother him

I watch the screen with a galloping heart, but nothing comes through. I don't know whether to be thankful or worried. I know I'm going to have to pull up my big girl panties tomorrow, but today, I want to block out the world and hide from my embarrassment.

* * *

Dad's writing in his office, James is in bed, and I'm sketching on the couch when a soft knock sounds at the front door. I glance at the time. Ten. It's late for someone to be at the door. Maybe if I ignore it, they'll go away.

I focus back on my sketch. Even though I didn't go to work today, I've spent the day adding to my portfolio. Lincoln wants to photograph some of my sketches and post them on the studio's Instagram page to gauge interest. He thinks I'll be ready to tattoo my first person next month at the rate I'm progressing on the fake skin. I feel giddy thinking about the day I tattoo my first real person.

A louder knock jolts me. Damn. I drop my sketchpad and climb to my feet, then pad to the front door. Looking through the side glass panel, I almost fall on my ass when I see Lincoln standing on my porch, his back to the door.

Shit!

What should I do? Do I ignore him and pretend nobody's home, or do I face the music?

He knocks again, and I glance over my shoulder.

I don't want Dad coming to investigate and I guess it's better to get this over and done with now, instead of at work tomorrow in front of Ken. Pushing my shoulders back, I suck in a deep breath, finding my fortitude. I swing the door open and quickly step outside, quietly closing it behind me. I definitely don't want Dad to overhear this conversation.

Lincoln spins around, his eyes scanning me from head to toe like he can see what's going on inside my body, and I realize I look very different from how I dress for work without my teased hair, makeup, and dark clothes. Instead, charcoal leggings hug my hips, and a soft pink sweater falls off one shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" I ask quietly, folding my arms across my body.

He pushes his hand violently through his hair, and his shoulders drop as he releases a harsh breath. "Soph." My name shatters across his lips almost painfully. "I-I was worried about you. About what happened. I don't want you to leave. I know how important this job is to you. It's something you were born to do, and I don't want to jeopardize that because I couldn't keep my hands or dick to myself."

Air leaves my lungs in a whoosh, and the stiffness in my muscles dissipates at his pained expression and the sorrow in his voice. "Lincoln," I murmur.

"No. Let me finish. I'm incredibly sorry, Sophie. I have no excuse. No explanation for my behavior." He holds out his hands, palms up. "I've never done anything like that before, and I don't expect you to believe me, but it's God's honest truth. I've been pissed at myself all day, and I don't blame you for staying away, but I hope you'll come back. You're too talented to give up your dream, and I don't want to be the asshole who gets in your way." He steps closer like he can't bear the distance between us and tilts my chin up. "Sophie," he says my name with a deep rumble that vibrates through my body and makes a direct hit at my core. "I need to apologize for putting my hands on you. It was inappropriate, and I don't want you to think I do that sort of thing with my employees. It's never happened before, and I assure you it won't happen again. You're safe working with me." Well, that's a little disappointing. "I'm not some handsy asshole who takes advantage of women." I wouldn't mind being taken advantage of by him. Sigh.

I nod the best I can with his knuckle supporting my chin. "I know that." And I do. I've never once felt a creepy vibe from him. He scans my face and nods sharply. I expected him to be angry; I never anticipated this, and I'm unsure how to deal with it. I blink quickly and swallow to hold back the sting of tears threatening to escape. "I was always coming back tomorrow. I just needed today to get over my embarrassment," I whisper into the night.

He moves closer still, like he's as drawn to me as I am to him, and his familiar cologne wafts around me, easing my anxiety over the situation. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. It's me who should be embarrassed. I'm old enough to know better, and I shouldn't have taken advantage of you in a vulnerable moment. It was so far beyond wrong."

He doesn't deserve to carry all the burden. I rest my hand over his tattooed forearm, growing more settled now that part of me is touching part of him. "It wasn't entirely your fault. I was wrong, too." I drop my eyes from his. "I'm insanely attracted to you, and I wanted what happened between us to happen." I lick my parched lips. "I've wanted it for a while."

He groans and almost looks defeated as he throws his head back to look up at the night sky. "You can't say shit like that. I'm trying to do the right thing here, Shortcake."

I shuffle closer until we're almost touching. I don't know where my bravado is coming from, but I grip it with two hands and hold it tight. "The right thing was when you had your head between my legs, and I was crying out your name."

"Fuck! Don't do this to me." He takes a step back and another and another until he's standing on the grass. "Please come back to work tomorrow. I promise to keep my hands to myself and behave in a strictly professional way."

Disappointment is a nasty bitch, but I nod. "I'll be there."

"Good." He jams his hands into his front pockets.

"Goodnight, Lincoln."

"Goodnight, Soph."