Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(79)
Subject: As you requested
Being inexperienced in the art of sexting, here is a photo of my left foot. I think it’s quite flattering. Good lighting, etc. I tried to take a few more “risqué” shots, but the front-facing camera on an iPhone is designed to kill a person’s soul. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until you get back to see the goods in the flesh. So to speak.
From: Michael Maddox
To: Joellen Bixby
Date: December 19
Subject: Arrgh
Front-facing cameras are not the only thing that are soul killing. Disobedient copy editors are up there, too. Although your foot is lovely—those arches, you must be very proud—I was hoping for a glimpse of something a bit more intimate. Kneecap? Inner wrist? Hip bone? Even an earlobe would be satisfactory at this point. I had no idea how accustomed I’d grown to seeing you at the office. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve been gazing longingly at your eye-roll photo at night while I’m lying in bed.
Have you ever thought about getting contact lenses? Your eyes are so beautiful, but they’re a bit hidden behind your glasses. I’ve always wondered what you’d look like without them.
And a few other articles of clothing.
M.
From: Joellen Bixby
To: Michael Maddox
Date: December 19
Subject: Something to tide you over Attached is a pic of my earlobe. You’ll be in a kerfuffle trying to discern if it’s the left or right, I’m sure. Ah, the mystery. I am a master of seduction, am I not?
In other news, Portia apparently has a twin who does not breathe fire and snack on little children. I don’t know if she’s on new meds, but she’s been acting human recently. Come to think of it, since you left.
Contacts make my eyes hurt, though I was thinking of wearing them for the holiday party. I’ve even bought myself a new dress. It’s tight and red and makes my boobs look bigger and my waist look smaller. I’ve asked it to marry me, but it’s playing coy and not answering. Such is love.
From: Michael Maddox To: Joellen Bixby
Date: December 20
Subject: Have I told you you’re irresistible?
From: Joellen Bixby
To: Michael Maddox
Date: December 20
Subject: You’ve used the word charming. Irresistible has yet to be introduced.
From: Michael Maddox
To: Joellen Bixby
Date: December 21
Subject: Consider it introduced.
And add captivating, delightful, adorable, funny, and bewitching to the mix. Honestly, there aren’t enough superlatives. You’re wonderful. And those arches! Those earlobes!
I can’t wait to see you again.
M.
From: Joellen Bixby
To: Michael Maddox
Date: December 21
Subject: Speaking of seeing me again . . .
Here’s an awkward but important question: we’re not really allowed to date, right? I mean according to company policy. I wanted to look it up in the online handbook but thought it might raise a red flag somewhere. Who knows how closely Ruth in HR monitors things. She could have a bot crawling the web for hits on “Can I shag the CEO without getting fired?”
So . . . can I?
From: Michael Maddox
To: Joellen Bixby
Date: December 21
Subject: Re: Speaking of seeing me again . . .
You’ll think I’m strange, but your last email gave me an erection. The thought of you sitting at your desk pondering what kind of dirty things we could do together without getting caught . . . dear God, here it is again. I wonder if I can type with one hand? (Sorry, inside thought.) To answer your question seriously—yes, there is a company policy against romantic or sexual relationships between supervisors and subordinates. Unfortunately, as I’m the CEO, it could be argued that everyone is my subordinate. It’s a family company, but I still have to answer to the board.
Long answer short, it’s a big risk. I’ll be completely honest: we’re both looking at losing our jobs if we’re discovered. I will completely understand if you’re not willing to accept that risk.
I, however, definitely am.
Think about it. I’m back in a few days. I’ll see you at the party. You can let me know then. Either way, I’ve already informed HR that you’ve been selected for the acquisitions editor position. It won’t be formally announced until we’re back from after the holiday break between Christmas and New Year, so please keep it under your hat for now.
No matter what you decide about us, I’ll always wish you the best and be your friend.
Hopefully yours,
M.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Holy cow,” I whisper, staring at the computer screen in disbelief. “I got the position!”
I leap out of bed where I’ve been sitting with my laptop, run through my apartment, and throw open the front door. I pound a fist on Cam’s apartment door like I’m the landlord and he’s three months late with the rent.
“Cam! Are you home? Open up!”
A muffled, “Comin’!” and then he opens the door, barefoot, wearing what appears to be a woman’s robe. It’s pink terrycloth, about ten sizes too small, edged in white lace at the wrists and collar.
“Um . . .”
“What?” He looks down at himself. “Oh, this? It was in Kellen’s closet. Looked comfy.” He shrugs. “It is comfy. “