Chapter Four
Poppy
I know three things now.
Number one: I am going to love it here. Nathaniel seems like he’s actually prepared to teach me more about art curation and gallery management than I’d hoped. He doesn’t expect me just to be a gopher, and I’m so grateful for that.
Number two: he’s going to be a demanding boss. I can tell from hearing him talk that he expects a lot from his staff, and he seems like a bit of a perfectionist. I’m not worried about this too much. It’ll keep me at the top of my game. But since my goal is to impress him so much that he writes a letter of recommendation when the time comes for me to get a job, I’ll need to keep this in mind.
And number three: I have never wanted to ride a man so badly in my entire life. Just sitting here talking to him is like some kind of magical aphrodisiac, like getting shot with Cupid’s arrow, and like a touch of insanity all rolled into one. His voice has continued to be deep, rich, and smooth, but when he’s talking about something he’s really interested in, like the Dutch masters, which seems to be his own little private area of interest, his voice takes on this energy that’s practically contagious.
He looks at me with those hazel eyes of his, and it feels like he can see straight through me. I know I’m staring at him, but I can’t seem to stop. His eyes go from almost green to almost gold with his moods and as the light in the room changes. Someone should paint him, catching the different moods of his eyes. They should probably sculpt him, too, because the more I look at him, the surer I am that that would be an absolutely stunning work of art.
I need to stop these wild thoughts.
This man is at least fifteen years older than me. He’s rich as sin. He’s my dad's boss, for crying out loud, and for the next two months, he’s my boss, too. My future depends, at least a little bit, on earning his respect.
I glance at his hands, which are currently shuffling through my paperwork. No wedding ring. Good.
Oh, my God. Enough, Poppy!
I can’t get all lust stupid over this man. I can’t be distracted. Even if he weren’t my dad’s boss, which would add another level of weirdness to anything happening between us, I need Nathaniel Stone to respect me enough, to trust me enough, to let me learn as much about his business as possible. He won’t respect or trust me if it’s clear that I want to jump him. I’m not here to open my legs, even though I know a few women who made that particular method work to their advantage. I’m still a virgin too for goodness’ sake. I’m here to learn from him and hopefully earn his professional respect. I can’t mess this up.
I take a breath and answer a couple more questions. I’m just grateful at this point that he’s hit the refresh button on today. Not exactly a great first impression; telling him off and telling him he’s rude. Even if he did deserve it.
“All right. I think we’re good here,” he says, standing, and it’s clear that I’m being dismissed. “I’ll see you at ten tomorrow morning, then.”
I stand as well and reach out to shake his hand. “Yes. I’m looking forward to it. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” There. That sounded almost professional.
He nods and releases my hand, and I pick up my bag and turn to leave.
“Oh, and, Poppy…” he says. I like the way he says my name. A lot.
Damn it, there you go again.
I turn back to him. “Yes?” The large office feels somehow smaller now that he’s standing in it, and I force my eyes to stay on his face. That perfect, chiseled face that could rival even the most vivid description of Dorian Gray.
“If you wear anything shorter than that skirt during your time with me, we are going to have one hell of a problem.”
My jaw drops. What does that mean? I recover as quickly as I can and manage a weak, “Okay,” before hurrying out of the office. I can’t even begin to figure out what he meant by that, and he had this unreadable look on his face…
Was I being chastised for my clothing? I glance down at myself as I walk down the stairs. No. This suit skirt is totally work appropriate.
Maybe he’s a prude? I think as I nod to the other guy who had been in the gallery. Now that I’m really looking at him, I recognize his face. He’s been here in the past when I’ve visited. I guess he’s Roberto, Nathaniel’s curator.
As I step outside into the cool autumn air, my mind still races with that damn comment. Nah. He didn’t seem like a prude, either.
It could be the other end of the spectrum. Maybe he was being sleazy.
I walk toward the nearest subway station, mulling that over, and immediately discard it. He’s egotistical and arrogant, for sure, but I didn’t get the sleazy vibe from him. I know what that feels like, and this wasn’t that.
Another thought hits me, and it has me grinning. Maybe tall, dark, and grumpy was indicating that he finds my legs distracting. Maybe seeing my legs every day at work would leave him almost as hot and bothered as I was, just from being around him.
I laugh to myself. I like that idea. And either way, every business suit I own has the same length skirt, so he’ll just have to get over it.
The idea of him lusting over me, even a little bit, increases my good mood even more. I know that, once that original awkwardness had passed, I did a good job in my initial meeting with him. I know that he was impressed by the fact that I’d volunteered for so long, and he actually seemed interested in what I’d said when I was talking about some of the projects I’d undertaken. Smart, cultured, and sexy as hell? Sign me up.
Boss. He is my boss. And my dad’s boss. I grimace at that. Working with my dad is going to be… a little weird. We’re not exactly close, and I know him helping me get this internship is at least partially out of guilt. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been daddy’s little girl and this will be the most time I’ve spent with him in years. It’s not that Dad’s a bad person—and a part of me will always love him regardless—it’s just… thinking about that situation has me reflecting a bit more on my own reactions and behavior, and how easy it is for powerful men to take advantage of women who work for them…
I should know better right now. I shouldn’t be contemplating any sexual thoughts of my boss because, despite my dad’s history, my mom raised me to respect myself, and others.
So, I won’t think about any of it anymore—especially not what it would be like to ride Nathaniel, grinding into him, cowgirl-style.
Because he’s my boss.
I need to keep reminding myself of that, especially if he’s going to keep making comments like that. For all I know, he either flirts with every woman he comes across, or he really did just disapprove of my skirt length. He never has to know that I’m already picturing him naked and that it’s entirely possible that he’ll be starring in my sexual fantasies for the next few weeks, at least. No one has to ever know about that but me.
Oh, shoot. Listen to yourself, Poppy. You can’t even banish him from your mind for one second.
It’s a hopeless cause, yet it’s one I apparently don’t seem to mind. I guess I’ll just have to grin and bear the hot, handsome bossman.