𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑

ᏒᎥᏋᏝ

With a sense of both excitement and urgency driving me forward, I dash across the airport tarmac, the lub-dub of my heart sounds hard and fast as I approach the waiting jet.

Mr.Harlow grouches as soon I climb aboard."I almost left without you."

"Sorry, sir . . ." I apologize even though I knew I am well over thirty minutes earlier than the time told me to reach the airport.

I calm my nerves and take a seat not to close to my grumpy boss. I won't let him ruin my first time flying in a private jet.

Just seconds after the flight attendant closes door, I feel as the engines roar to life and we lift into the air.

The first hour and a half of the flight runs by smoothly and I think it has to do with the fact that Harlow is fast asleep.

As he lay sleeping with his head back against the headrest, I watch the soft glow of the rising sun filter through the window and bath his features that have soften from bearish to a peaceful sincere expression. Dark lashes brush against his cheeks, casting a delicate shadows over his sharp jawline, while his tousled steel-toned hair falls in gentle waves across his forehead.

With each steady breath, his chest rise and fall rhythmically, playing up the sculpted lines of his muscular chest under his t-shirt. A faint smile grace his lips, hinting to him having maybe a good dream.

Shaw Harlow is dictionary definition of beekeeping age. I didn't care if he's actually thirty-nine, it's close enough to forty to get the title.

"You might just drool if you stare any longer." The flight attendant voices at my ear.

I quickly move my eyes off my boss."I wasn't staring." I lie to her.

"Hmm," she laughs."Here's breakfast," she sets down a continental breakfast before me.

Harlow wakes up and his bright blue eyes immediately fall on me, catching me stuffing my face with a muffin.

He gets a cup of coffee from the flight attendant and changes to the seat in front of me so he could have his share of the breakfast.

"Don't stop eating on my account," he smiles.

I give him a soft nod. I wasn't going to stop eating just because he's in front of me. It's weird how often I've been finding myself eating with him.

Harlow is a weird boss. He claims that I don't have a set lunchtime, won't let me eat from the canteen at work but always takes me outside of the office between two and three daily (five if we're having a long work day ) to have lunch with him at some fancy restaurant. Yet, I don't complain since I don't mind having lunch made by Michelin star chefs and I find myself enjoying his company from time to time.

He always angry but I think he's a big teddy bear under his harsh exterior. Sometimes, I think he might like me. Then again, he could just be tolerating me until he finds a good enough reason to fire me.

"Get your laptop," Mr.Harlow mouths.

"Okay." I say, fishing in my bag for the laptop.

"I want you to find out everything you can about Vann Hotel & Resorts." He gives me instruction that put an end to my plans of leisure for the rest of the flight.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

I heave the bag of golf clubs onto the back of the golf cart. I force myself to breathe normally so Harlow wouldn't see my struggle.

I still can't believe he just made trip to Aspen via private jet so he could play a round of golf.

Harlow gets out of the cart and groans at me."What's taking you so long?"

"Ahh," I gasp.

He's angry.

He's going to shout at me.

He's going to curse me.

He's going to scold me for stopping to fix my baseball cap and making him late for his game of golf.

I wait for him to yell in my face but he doesn't yell, he chuckles.

His deep, resonant chuckle is sensual and causes a flutter of butterflies to crowd my stomach.

"Is the cap right about you ?" he grins in question.

"Huh?" I intone.

"Your baseball cap says silly goose on the loose." He mouths."How silly are you?"

"Are you taunting me?" I scoff.

"I am not," he mutters,". . . but you're wearing a cap that says silly goose on the loose, in front of your boss so you might be pretty silly."

I gulp."I'll take it off if it upsets you." I reach to pull the cap off my head but he stretches and stops my hand with his board warm hand.

"Leave it," he says."It's cute." He pulls my hand off the cap.

His hold on my hand lingers for quite a while and I find myself blushing.

"Er ... sir, we're running late." I falter.

"Yes, um, of course." He hesitates but eventually he drops my hand

I feel the touch of his hand stalling on mine even though he isn't touching me for the entire time we're driving up the golf course.

He parks the cart near two men who are already playing.

"Shaw," the older, thickset of the man pauses his swing to greet Mr. Harlow.

"Giles," Harlow greets the man with a short but forceful man hug.

Giles pats Harlow's back, leads him up to other man.

"Shaw this is Andrew Vann." Giles introduces Harlow to the tall, dark skinned man with a neatly shaped goatee.

Harlow and Andrew greet each other with a firm handshake.

It's clear to me now, that this game of golf is actually an informal business pitch.

My presence finally peaks the interest of the men and Harlow introduces me as his assistant.

Andrew and Giles nod at me, then move on with their game.

I don't understand golf but I think Mr. Harlow is winning or I could very well be biased and he's losing.

Should I cheer for him?

What am I thinking? I'd only end up embarrassing him and worst myself.

Noticing Harlow as he slightly loosen his collar, I stride across the stretch of lawn to hand him a bottle of water.

"Are you winning or losing?" I ask Harlow in a hushed voice.

"I always win," he smirks."You'll find that out soon enough."

Why can't he simply forget about the challenge between us ?

I like New York.

I like my job.

I like my colleagues.

I even like him for some reason.

So, why is he still scheming to fire me ?

He switches the bottle in my hand for his golf club."Just ensure that I am the only man you're rooting for," he says in a serious tone.

I don't what to say to his order so I just mumble,"Okay."

The three men finish their golf game and Harlow Atlantic Labs toiletries brand is going be in every spa, hotel, restort and cruise ship owned by the Andrew Vann provided that Harlow partners with minority-owned business.

"Tell me . . ." Giles whispers at my ear. "Have Shaw thrown any staplers at you?"

I had heard the rumors about Harlow tossing staplers at employees that he wasn't happy with but I thought it was just baseless office gossip.

"No," I whisper."He's not so crazy to try that with me."

Not unless it's his mission to force me into pledging insanity at my murder trail.

"You're blunt. I won't tell him you said that." Giles laughs."And I say anything to Mallory about your relationship."

"Mallory?" I ask.

"Your boss's fiancée for almost seven years now." He shares.

"Oh," I mutter."There's nothing to say to her because my boss and I have a strictly professional relationship."

"Ah . . . my mistake . . .," he muses but his tone says he believes otherwise.

Giles leaves me to packing up the golf club. And I decide to forget about his words.

He knows nothing.

I don't like Harlow.

Harlow doesn't like me.

We're just boss and employee.

Mallory has nothing to fret about as it relates to me and her fiance. Harlow is straight as straight men can get.

I glance at the side view mirror of the golf cart, glimpsing the reflection of Harlow as he stretches his toned arm above his head. And I suddenly lose trust in myself.

I LIFT a golf club to attempt a swing but fail miserably, I don't even manage to hit the ball.

"Your form is all wrong," Harlow tsks, studying me.

"Oh, excuse me. I'll put it back." I set the club back into its golf bag.

"Don't get shy," he smiles."I'll teach you."

Harlow closes in on me.

"Sir, I am sure you've better things to do than wasting your time on me," I stress.

"Shh," he mouths."I'll decide what and what not to waste my time on myself."

He picks back up the club from out of the bag.

"First you need a good grip," he raises my left hand over his right. He traces his gloved fingers over my open palm, before closes my hand over the grip of the club.

"Okay," I whisper.

He brings his hand down to my waist and he squares my body a feet or so away from the ball.

He pulls me roughly against him. And I feel the his heat radiating through my shirt.

"Bent your knees a bit," he says."And your arms straight."

I try to focus on the instructions but it's hard with him standing so close, his chest pressing against my back, his strong arms guiding mine as he shows me how to turn - shift - turn.

"Like this," he says softly, his breath tickles the sensitive spots of my neck.

"Smooth and steady." He continues.

I close my eyes, surrendering myself to the sensation of his touch as the rhythm of our bodies sync perfectly and he helps me swing.

"You're a fast learner," he says."I like that very much." I could almost hear a smile in his voice.

I don't know what he's hinting at but I don't think I have the courage to find out.

He teaches me a few different swings until I am able to hit the ball a decent yards across the course.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

My feet hurts so badly. Harlow doesn't seem to realize how hard it is to keep up with his fast strides.

He didn't have a reason on why I had to accompany him on his abrupt visit to the company's manufacturing plant in Staten Island - he just said I had to come.

The chemical tang of raw ingredients mingling with a harsh metallic scent burn my nose.

"Hrrmph," I cough as we get closer to the production lines.

Right as I veer the corridor behind Harlow, his chest comes in contact with my forehead.

"You're coughing," he frets."I'll take you back to the car."

I gulp and step back, stumbling away from his chest. He catches the small of my back, he holds my gaze and tugs me closer to him.

"Oh," I gasp.

Harlow lets out a soft mutter."What if I wasn't here to catch you?"

I blush at his question but I think not to let his charm get to me."I could've just catch myself." I whisper.

"Really?"He smirks as he unhooks his arm from around my back.

"Really," I retort.

I keep myself close to her for another minute before I move away.

"I shouldn't have let you come in here without a mask." Harlow says." Let's go."

He leads me outside of the factory, where a few workers raise their suspicious brows at us.

As I brisk my pace to the parking lot, my sneakers begin to feel strangely off-balance. I frown, slowing my walk and glancing down at my feet.

"Sh*t!" I dismay, noticing the bottom of my left sneaker has started to lift up, peeling away from the rest of the shoe.

With a frustrated sigh, I step up onto the sidewalk and get a better look at them.

I think of a way to escape Harlow to go and buy a new pair of sneakers in a nearby mall or something but I am not so lucky.

I stiffen, embarrassed. Try to turn my face away from him.

"Sir?"

He says nothing.

He stoops down to look at my feet but I move back so he couldn't see my humiliation.

"Are you okay?" He asks me.

"Yes," I nod.

He stands. He isn't on the sidewalk so I am able to tower a bit over him.

"I'll take you shopping." He smiles.

Is he kidding me ?

"Sir," I breath."You and I aren't in the same tax bracket, I'll shop for shoes myself."

"I insist," he voices.

"Please, don't." I tell him.

I consume my mind with thoughts of avoiding him and fail to remind myself that I about my shoe.

With a sudden trip over my feet, my right foot catch on the lifting bottom of the sneaker, causing me to lose my balance. I feel myself falling over and my heart leaping into my as I brace to kiss the pavement.

But before I could hit the unforgiving concrete, Harlow wraps his arms around me, catching me.

"Tell me," he smugs."Why didn't you catch yourself?"

I don't give an answer. I couldn't bare anymore humiliation for the day.

The corners of Harlow's mouth quirk up."I don't mind catching you . . ." he smiles,"I would prefer you walk more careful."

Why is he showing so much concern for me?

One second I am standing, the next I am in the air. Harlow's chest cling to my side as he lifts me bridal style in his arms.

"What are you doing?" I panic.

He starts walking."I am carring you to the car." He informs me.

"What will people think?" I ask him.

He scoffs a laugh."I don't care about what people think."

I know he doesn't but I don't know if I do.

"You have that luxury," I whisper." I don't."

"Hmm," he considers."Was that your way of telling me you want out of my arms?"

I think should let myself indulge in the warmth of his body.

"You're already halfway to the car, so I might as well stay so you didn't all that waste the energy for nothing."

He laughs heartily."Nice excuse."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Harlow holds the door open for me, and I walk into the store before him.

I can almost smell how expensive this place is compared to the thrift stores I frequent.

A sales associate sees Harlow and he comes running towards him.

"Mr.Harlow," the wide-eyed worker ushers him into the store."I'll get the private lounge ready for you."

With Harlow distracted, I slip away to find a pair of sneakers to replace the one on my feet.

I find two options that are under a hundred and fifty dollars, and I start in the direction of a sales associate to find my size in them.

I wave to the lady to get her attention but then I feel familiar hands around my wrist.

"You're in the wrong section." Harlow mouths.

He tugs me in the direction of a concealed entrance to a room with plush carpeting that absorb the sound of our footsteps as we step inside. A tall lady with her long hair pulled in a low bun hands me a flute of champagne.

"I thought we came to shop for me, not you." I huff under my breath.

"We're shopping for you," Harlow replies as he gently forces me to sit down on the sofa smack in the middle of the room.

I don't even get the time to taste the champagne as the sales associate starts asking me random questions about my shoe size to preferred style of shoe.

"Nine and a half," I flutter. "I am okay with a white sneaker."

At least twenty different pairs of shoes lay next to my feet. From thousand dollar suede loafers to calfskin Hermès chypre sandals and Saint Laurent low-top white sneakers.

"Sir, I can't let you buy me any of these shoes." I hiss at him.

He could have just offered to buy me another fifty-dollar sneaker to replace my broken one.

This is too much.

He can't expect me to accept any of these. I have already chosen two perfectly wearable shoes that I could afford by myself and they are the ones I am leaving with after paying for them with my own money.

"Fine . . . I'll just buy you all of them." He turns to the salesperson. "Pack them up." He tells her.

"No," I mumble. " I am not a charity. I am your employee so there's no need for you to treat me like anything else."

"You're right, you're not a charity." He gruffs."I am not the type of man to spend my afternoon overthinking gifts for charity. I have people who do that for me."

I tilt my head back, my gaze curious as I study his face. I couldn't tell if his words were meant to upset or flatter me.

"And these people really won't like you drinking their champagne and not buying anything," Harlow adds.

"Very funny," I say. "Well alright . . . Thank you very much for the shoes."

Hearing my agreement the sales lady smiles and takes Harlow's credit card. She taps the card over her machine and a long receipt prints. She hands both the card and receipt back to Harlow. And I try peaking at the total but I only see that it's a bit over ten thousand dollars before he crushes the receipt and throws it in the nearby trash can.

"You should choose the one you're going to wear before we leave," Harlow whispers.

"Of course . . . I almost forgot," I say softly.

I shove the regretful sneakers I bought online from China off my feet in an attempt to swap them for slip-on sneakers that are ten times the cost.

As I grapple with the stubborn leather shoes, Harlow steps in, his touch igniting subtle sparks against my skin. With gentle insistence, he lifts my legs onto his lap, his fingers tickling my skin through my cotton socks as he slides the shoes over my feet.

"You,um,'ve nice feet." Harlow says.

"Thank you?" I laugh in response to his compliment.

I move my feet off him and place them to the ground.

The sales lady comes and hands all the bags of shoes to me.

My palms burn as try holding each shopping bag in my hands at once.

Harlow tries to help me carry some of them but I subtly avoid his help with the bags.

It was starting to feel like I was out shopping with my man, not my boss and I couldn't let myself feel that way.

"Sir, thank you for this." I tell him when we reach outside.

"You're welcome," he smiles.

He has the most beautiful smile I've ever seen on a man. It's too bad he didn't do it often.

"You've a great smile . . ." I mutter.

"I do?" He smirks.

His smirk is sexy. And his deep voice has an aura of power that weaken my knees.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

After many weeks in New York and living in my building. I finally get the time to set up my apartment with all the furniture I got from the flea market.

I almost have a few things I got from the son of the old lady who died in the apartment neighboring mine.

I really hope her ghost won't be visit my room to read any the books that came with her bookshelf.

My phone rings and for first time since morning, it isn't my boss.

Harlow gave me the day off but he keeps finding ways to interrupt my day with the simplest of tasks.

Who calls someone to ask them the location of sticky notes?

It's like he couldn't see Rina, because he never bother her with these tasks.

"Moshi Moshi (Hello)." My grandma voices over the call.

"Sobo? Hisashiburidesu. (Grandma? It's been a while." I say excitingly.

I was starting to think that I would never hear from the one person in my family that sees me for more than just the middle child.

"How's your mom?"Grans asks."That daughter of my mine never answers my calls."

"Shiranai (I don't know)," I say. "She doesn't answer my calls either."

No one back home answers my call. I don't know why I even keep trying to have a relationship with them.

"Forget her," Grans sighs."Tell about your love life in the big apple? Has anyone caught your eye?"

"Y-Ye-s . . . I mean, NO." I get tongue tied.

I close my eyes and images of my boss pop in my head.

Why must I think about him ?