The Wrong Attachment

"That's why I lashed out at you. I'm not usually like this. Honestly, you're a good guy in charge…"

…

Half-asleep, memories from years ago surfaced.

Back when our company was just a small operation.

Edmund took us, the veteran employees, out for what was supposed to be networking.

However, it was hardly that since he never let us women drink.

We were there to make up numbers, to prevent other firms from thinking they could push us around for being small.

Then, one day, Edmund snagged a huge contract.

We were ecstatic and went to celebrate.

I was the product evangelist, confidently holding forth at the table. However, the client's director was less than thrilled.

I knew what he wanted: a toast from me, a nod to the unspoken rules of the game.

No big deal.

I told Edmund to relax.

I raised my glass, delivered a few well-chosen words, and finally got a grin from the big shot.

However, he was not satisfied and took things a step further, his hand creeping toward my waist.

In a flash, Edmund pulled me back and offered a placating smile to the man. "She's allergic to alcohol. I'll take her place."

The client's expression darkened.

We did not close the deal that day.

In fact, it left them holding a grudge, and they started aggressively crowding us out of the market.

When things got really bad, Edmund could not even make payroll. We sat there on the curb, silent, each of us drowning in our own guilt.

I knew he was blaming himself because that person had messed with me, yet our company had not come out ahead.

I also knew that part of the reason he looked out for me so much was because of that.

Because of that, I tried to lighten the mood. "You know, life's a series of tough breaks for folks like us.

"I landed here fresh out of school, the kid of the group, and you were the one who gave me a chance, Edmund. Without you, I'd probably have had it way worse."

We poured our hearts out that night, clinging to the hope that someday, the tides would turn in our favor. We did, eventually.

Edmund always made sure we were taken care of, with decent benefits and holidays. So when the layoff rumors started, nobody pointed fingers at him. He had earned his reputation as a stand-up guy.

How could I not fall for someone like that? Nonetheless, I was scared–too scared to admit it might be more than just admiration.

He was kind to everyone, and I could not bear the thought of not being special. With that, I kept my bold fantasies locked in my writing, where I could be the brash heroine, shamelessly smitten with his charm.

However, that was it.

…

The sudden rev of an engine snapped me back to reality. Edmund was driving faster.

"Take it easy on the road," I called out.

"Yeah, open up," he replied. The doorbell echoed through the room.

I scrambled to the door and swung it open. "Here already?"

There he was, standing tall, looking effortlessly cool. Even in casual clothes, he could not hide his... assets.

Edmund's eyes met mine, and he flashed that slight, knowing smile.

The air was thick with tension, charged with an unspoken promise.

I extended my hand to him, an invitation.

To my surprise, he seized it, pulling me forcefully toward him.

His hands, warm and large, settled on my waist.

I looked up into his eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers weaved through my hair, cradling the back of my head.

My heart raced, pounding against my chest.

That was not the direction I had anticipated.

"Do you still feel bad?" he asked.

"I'm... I'm okay."

"You're burning up. Why is it so hot?" he asked.

"The bed's cozy... Want to give it a try?"

Oh no, my thoughts were muddled again.

I fumbled over my words, "I didn't mean that! You just came in from the cold, and you could warm up in my bed..."

Edmund's laughter was a soft rumble, his eyebrow raised in amusement.

"I'm not... I'm not asking you to sleep with me... Uh..."