𝐌𝐬. 𝐇𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧 | 𝖱𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽-𝖱

8 | Welcome To My Sex Room

ᴸᴬᵁᴿᴱᴺ
–

"Hey," is the first thing I hear once I turn to enter into the assistant's office–which is currently handed over to me. "I heard you got the job. It was going to happen anyway, but it was quick," her chuckle went thin, as she proceed to stuff her personal items into her bag.

I look on, kind of morose, "You weren't kidding when you said you were going to leave immediately when I get the job," I added a soft smile, pushing more into the office. "What is making you leave anyway?" I sat down on the chair's arm, and her movements froze just a bit, but it went back to normal as she heavily sighs.

"It's personal, really," she looks at me, then glances at the opened door. "...just promise me you'll be alright."
Deep; swirling, pretty umber eyes that was once lit up with pure excitement whenever she was near me, was now coated with something I couldn't figure out. Not going to lie–it's definitely speaking to me, her look. It needs me to know something, and I despise myself for my useless brain not churning and figuring it out.

"Not to be rude, Mya–but...can you at least tell me what I'm suppose to be keeping my promise to?" I want to keep my promise to her, but I just don't know what she wants. I can actually hear her saliva traveling down her throat, as she extracts her chocolate eyes from me; allowing my lungs to cooperate again.

"I know what happened," she'd said, and I swear my heart pluck at one of my veins, as she pushes away her bag to take a seat in the chair she use to call hers, "In Paris," she pauses, piercing me in the eyes, "I was one of the assistants she took up there." I want to barf, like, right now!

"Sleeping with my boss didn't matter to me, in fact, it made what we had much more...–better and exciting," she bitterly chuckles with the slightest shake of her head; her brown eyes are now compelled by the desk in front of her. Like...like it was a movie on display. But then she scoff with a crooked smile and lightly rolled her eyes, "What we had," she mocked along with a delicate giggle, popping to her feet, "We didn't have anything, and she proved that to me." It look likes she wants to cry, the way her eyes shimmers from the ceiling light when she looked at me.

"I'm leaving because I am in love, and I don't want to be in love anymore," her bottom lip quiver, "I have tried, really, but I couldn't do it while working under her. And I'm still in love with her, and I fucking hate myself!..." she sniffles, then my eyes stings, "I'm not saying to not...do what you're doing, because I did it. And who am I to be a hypocrite and preach and say it is not right? I just don't want you to get hurt. You can have sex without feelings involve. It's possible. Let it be."

Swiftly wiping under her damped nose, she sniffles real good, then let her shoulders slump, "And I can't help but think that this is a little funny," the look on her face tells the actual truth, "The assistant's before me quoted that...and I still didn't get the demo," she scoffs again, as if she has it all figured out, "I suppose you can't have your cake...and eat it, too." The tanned woman dismisses herself in silence, only her heels descending from the office to the corridor.

What the fuck just happen? I curse confusingly in my head, gazing off into space. This is not how I thought this would be, I thought it would turn out to be like that movie; Pretty Woman. Love, love, and possibly more love–but it's all rubbish, at the moment, at least I still have some hope. But for fucking what? It's clear my boss doesn't fall in love. It's clear I'm falling each and everyday and it's like I can't even reach the control button of my emotions.