The VIP Room(29)

“Everything. Why am I here? Why didn’t you just take me to a hotel? And why would you ask Lola to buy me clothes? I have clothes.” I didn’t have the guts to mention the kiss the night before. Part of me still wondered if that had been a dream.

The coffee maker kicked on, and Sam concentrated on watching the cup fill with steaming liquid, avoiding my question.

“Sam?” I prompted in a quiet voice, beginning to worry. When the cup was full, he added a splash of cream, stirred and handed it to me. Leveling his eyes on my face, his expression serious, he said,

“I’m not sure you’re ready to talk about this.”

“I don’t even know what this is,” I answered, drinking the hot coffee to cover my confusion.

“I know. I’ve handled everything with you the wrong way from the beginning. I can’t fix that now. So we’re starting from scratch. And if I f*ck it up, you’ll just have to bear with me.”

“Sam,” I said helplessly, his answer no answer at all. “What do you mean you handled me the wrong way?”

Leaning back against the counter, he picked up his own coffee and took a long sip, his eyes on my face. I couldn’t tell if he was studying my expression or trying to think of what to say. Maybe both. Finally, he spoke.





Chapter 7





Chloe





“Us,” Sam said, still studying my face. “You and me. That’s what I handled the wrong way. I thought I could have everything. You in the office and other women just to date. They never meant anything when I had you to come back to. But then I realized I didn’t want anyone else. I only want you. And I’m done with wondering what to do about it. You’re mine.”

“What?” I asked, stupidly. I still wasn’t getting it. Or I was afraid to get it, afraid of what it might mean. Or worse, that my hopes and dreams had caused me to completely misunderstand.

“You’re mine, Chloe. You’ve been mine for three years and neither of us realized it. But I’ve finally figured out what to do with you. So you’re staying here. And I bought you new clothes because you needed them. You deserve the best and I wanted you to have the best. So I got it for you. That’s my job. To take care of you.”

Speechless, I shook my head at him. “You’re crazy,” I said. “The only ‘us’ we can have is in the office. There can’t be an ‘us’ outside of that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I work for you,” I said, frustration and confusion making my voice rise. “And I’m not the kind of woman who has an affair with her boss.”

“I’m not talking about an affair,” Sam said, his own voice rising.

“Then I don’t get it. You want to go out with me?” I asked, hesitantly, terrified I’d misread him and he was going to start laughing.

“I think we’re past that stage, don’t you?” Sam said, laughing just a little. “I’ve spent more time with you than most men have with their wives.”

“That was work.”

“Was it only work? At lunch? Or the conversations we’d have in the car? Was that just work for you?”

I might have continued to argue with him, but the faint note of uncertainty in Sam’s voice disarmed me. Instead, I shook my head.

“No, of course not,” I said. “But we can’t get involved. I’d have to quit.”

“Who said anything about you quitting?” Sam asked, alarm spreading across his handsome features. “You can’t quit.”

“Well what would we do when you moved on?” I asked, trying to make him understand what it would be like from my perspective. He went from partner to partner, commitment never a big deal for him. I’d slept with one man in my life and I’d had only a few boyfriends since college, all short term. I wasn’t built for a casual affair.

“Who said I was going to move on?” Sam asked.

At that, I rolled my eyes and took another sip of my coffee. I loved Sam. I had for a long time. But he wasn’t made for long term monogamy any more than I was for sleeping around.

The impossibility of the whole thing somehow made me feel like I was back on solid ground. Putting my mug on the counter, I got my breakfast back out of the warming oven where Sam must have put it while I got dressed and sat on one of the stools tucked beneath the island. “Chloe,” he said, interrupting me, “I’m serious.”

Cutting my french toast into smaller squares, I resisted the urge to meet his eyes. “I know that you think you are, Sam. But this isn’t a good idea. I can’t have a relationship with you outside of work and still be your assistant. Maybe you could handle it, but I can’t. And I won’t sleep with you just because you’ve decided you want to have an affair with me.”

“I’m not talking about an affair,” he yelled, startling me. Taking a breath, he lowered his voice. “I’m not talking about an affair. I’m talking about a relationship. Between us.” I was shaking my head before he could finish.

“No. It wouldn’t work,” I said, taking a bite of French toast to cover my uncertainty. My heart hurt and I felt a little nauseous. For the first time in my life, I had absolutely no interest in breakfast, even one created with the culinary talents of Sam’s housekeeper. I was in love with Sam. I knew that. And I truly, deeply, sincerely did not want him to know that.