Accidentally Amy(33)

Blake: I'm Facetiming you tonight at 6:01 and I expect a detailed visual tour of the bed.
Izzy: I'm Facetimeing YOU tonight at 6:01 and I expected a detailed visual tour of your ass.
She quickly fired-off a follow-up text.
Izzy: NOT LITERALLY. "Your ass" as in a "your mom" joke. You get it, right? If you moon me via Facetime I shall report you to the FCC.
Blake: I don't think you need that coffee. Also. Maybe while I’m gone, you should look up what the FCC does, since you clearly have no idea.
Izzy: You're not the boss of me.
Blake: I am quite literally the boss of you.
Izzy: #stillgonnadrinkthiscoffee
Blake: Have a good day, Iz.
Nicknamification, in her opinion, was the absolute sexiest. Call Isabella Shay by her last name, or "Iz," for the love of God, and she melted like pat of butter on a pile of mashed potatoes. She let out a dreamy sigh in response to his Iz before responding with: You, too, Boss.
"I still don't understand why it's ten o'clock there, and the plastic is still on," Blake said. "What are you waiting for - are you a night owl?"
Izzy was definitely not a night owl, and she was getting very sleepy on his big, comfy couch with his cats snuggled in a pile against her, but she just hadn't been able to bring herself to unwrap his new bed yet. It just seemed...obtrusive. He should be the one to pull off that protective plastic - not her. "No, but I'm far too comfy on this sofa to get up. And these guys might revolt if I do."
"Traitorous little shits. You can’t keep buying their love with chicken, you know.”
“Why not?” She listened to their purring and said, “They go crazy for it.”
“We’re paying you too much if you can afford to feed chicken breasts to the cats every day.”
“Technically, you’re paying you too much, since I fed them your chicken breasts.”
He made a face at her - they'd been FaceTiming for exactly one hour and forty-two minutes - and leaned his head back on the headboard. "It has to be hot as hell in there if you're still running the fireplace and the boys are on you."
"Nah - I've got the patio slider open," she said, wishing their call wouldn't have to end soon. Because in addition to the fact that he was pretty much her favorite person in the world to talk to and play with, she was kind of enjoying the view.
Yes, he was handsome; the man could inspire pornographic letters-to-the-editor with the way he looked at work. It was late, and the only other person in the office was the ultra-hot billionaire CEO. But Izzy found herself marginally-obsessed with the fact that when put-together VP Blake wasn't working, he was kind of a mess. His hair was always tousled, like he'd forgotten it existed once he removed his tie, and the man seemed to live in faded t-shirts and hoodies.
It was such a contradiction, like beefy Superman being a nerdy reporter, that she felt kind of lucky that she got to see the tousled side of him.
She suspected not many people did.
Or maybe she just hoped that not many people did.
He narrowed his eyes and said, "You're seriously opening the windows and running the heat at the same time?"
"I just love the sound of the city, and hate being cold," she said, shrugging and looking over at the windows. There was something about the lights and the downtown sounds that made her never want to go home.
Well, that and the fact that his apartment was straight-up ridiculous.
For starters, he had an obscenely huge bathtub, as well as a shower that was the size of her entire bathroom. As if that wasn't fantastic enough, there were built-in Bluetooth stereo speakers wired throughout the place, so she could turn on her favorite playlist and have it stream across every single square foot of that dreamboat apartment.
Monstrously-large TV, world's cutest cats (next to The Darkling), a massive kitchen; why would she ever want to leave? Perhaps instead of vacating when Blake returned, she might just barricade herself inside of sexy Number 1213. Surely she could get in an extra 12-14 hours of luxuriating before the SWAT team finally kicked down that beautiful door and pulled her ass out.
"It's genius, if you think about it," she said, snuggling under the blanket as the autumn breeze blew through the apartment. "Sorry not sorry."
"That's an on-brand statement for you," Blake teased, and Izzy thought he looked tired. She should probably let him go so he could sleep. Whatever he was working on in Boston was confidential - he wasn't able to share anything with her - but important, so he needed to be rested.
"Listen, I'm going to go flood your bathroom by overfilling that decadent tub, so I really have to go. Are you planning on text-bombing me all day tomorrow, too, or was today just a one-time annoying event?"
Please say yes. They'd spent the entire day in a meaningless text thread of sarcasm and meme-besting, and it had been amazing.
He sat up in the bed and leaned closer to the phone, so he was all face, and said, "First of all, I did not text bomb you all day. It’s called micromanaging – I have two cats to worry about.”
“Um--”
“Second, since I can see that my deck door is still open behind you, obviously the micromanagement is a necessity.”
“Debatable,” she murmured.
“And finally,” Blake said in all his AVP glory, “Yes. Based upon what I’ve witnessed today, I have little reason to believe that you can handle this without my constant supervision. So you will be hearing from me every 3-5 minutes tomorrow.”
She tried to play it cool, but failed miserably. She was beaming into the phone when she said, "God, no, that would be the worst."