Ethel's Pov
The rest of the day is a blur of emails and spreadsheets and pretending to be a normal person who definitely didn't just have the most awkward conversation of her life with her boss who she definitely didn't sleep with three days ago.
I'm don't regret it, though. He's hot yeah and definetely not naive like those youngins.
What does that mean? Why would he say that? And why am I still thinking about it five hours later when I should be thinking about literally anything else?
By the time five-thirty rolls around, I'm exhausted. Not from work, but from the mental gymnastics required to act normal when everything feels completely abnormal.
I grab my jacket and practically run for the elevator, desperate to get out of this building and away from Louis Romano and his stupid intense eyes and his stupid "I don't regret it" comment that I'm definitely not still thinking about.
The drizzle starts the moment I step outside. Because of course it does. Because this day hasn't been ridiculous enough.
I'm standing at the crosswalk, debating whether to wait it out or just accept that I'm going to get soaked, when a car pulls up beside me.
A very familiar car from days ago. The passenger window rolls down, and there he is.
"Get in." He said. "It will be pouring heavily soon."
My stomach does that annoying fluttery thing again. "I'm fine." I managed to reply. "My ride will be here soon." Big fat lie!
"It's raining."
"It's drizzling."
"Ethel. Get in the car." I should say no. I should absolutely say no. Getting into a car with Louis Romano after the day we just had is possibly the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
But the drizzle is picking up, and my jacket isn't waterproof, and he's looking at me with this expression that makes my resolve crumble.
"Okay, thank you." I slide into the passenger seat, immediately hyperaware of how small the space feels. How close he is. How good he smells, which is not something I should be noticing right now.
"You're welcome," he says, pulling back into traffic. The next was followed by silence. I stare out the window because looking at him feels dangerous.
"Did you hear about Marcus and the coffee machine incident?" he asks suddenly, bringing me out of my daydream.
I glance at him. "What?"
"This morning. He was trying to impress that new intern from accounting—Sarah, I think?—and someone had switched the coffee grounds with protein powder as a prank."
Oh. Oh, I'd heard about that. "No way."
"Yes. He made her an entire cup. She took one sip and nearly threw up in the break room."
I can't help it—I laugh. Actually laugh. "Oh my God, poor Marcus, he must have been so embarrassed."
"But here's the best part, he was so mortified that he tried to play it off like it was intentional. Told her it was some new health trend he'd read about."
"No freaking way." I tucked my hair behind my ear.
"Yes." He swerved to the right. "She hasn't spoken to him since."
I'm full-on laughing now, and it feels good. Like maybe we can do this. Maybe we can be normal around each other.
"That's terrible," I manage between laughs. "But also kind of hilarious you know."
"Right? Just ask the woman to lunch like a normal person." He hissed. "Only boys beat around the bushes, real men go for what they want."
"Since when do you have normal relationship advice?" I arch my brow.
"I don't. That's how I know it's the right move—I'd never do it."
"Oh, so you're admitting you're bad at this stuff?"
"I'm admitting I'm self-aware. There's a difference." He points out.
We're both smiling now, and the tension from earlier has mostly evaporated. This feels more like that night at the bar, when he was just some guy and I was just some girl and everything was simple.
"So what about you?" he asks. "Any office disasters I should know about?"
"Does accidentally calling Patricia 'Patricia' instead of 'Pat' count? Because she definitely gave me a look."
"Patricia hates being called Pat. You're fine."
"Oh. Well, that's good to know."
We're still laughing when his phone lights up on the dashboard screen. A name flashes across it—just a first name, nothing that means anything to me but I watch his entire demeanor change.
The smile disappears and his jaw tightens. His hands grip the steering wheel just a little bit harder.
"You should get that," I say quietly. "Or else she'll keep calling again."
"It's fine." He ended the call. "I'll call her once I get home." Well, she did call three times until the ringtone began to make me itch.
"Louis—"
"I said it's fine." The words come out sharper than I think he intended, and immediately his expression shifts to something like regret. "Sorry. I just—it's not important."
The call goes to voicemail. He doesn't say anything else, and I don't push. Whatever that was, whoever that was, it's clearly not something he wants to talk about.
The rest of the drive is quieter. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but definitely more subdued than the laughter from before.
When we pull up to my building, I immediately reach for the door handle. "Thanks for the ride."
"Ethel, wait—" I pause, hand on the door.
He looks like he wants to say something. Apologize, maybe, or explain. But instead, he just shakes his head. "Never mind."
I should leave, maybe thank him again and get out of this car and put some distance between us.
But instead, I hear myself say, "Do you want to come up for dinner?" The words rolled out before I could stop it.
He blinks. "What?"
Oh God, what am I doing? "I'm making dinner. It's the least I can do for the ride." The words tumble out. "Unless you have other plans or—"
"No. No other plans." He quickly turned off the car. "I planned to order takeout anyways so..."
"Oh okay. I mean, not great, but—you know what I mean." Stop talking, Ethel. I flogged myself mentally.
He's watching me with this expression I can't quite read, and I'm pretty sure my face is bright red at this point.
"Yeah," he finally says. "Yeah, okay." I waited for him to pack his car properly before we headed upstairs.
My apartment feels smaller with him in it.
I unlock the door and we step inside, and suddenly I'm hyperaware of everything—the stack of books on my coffee table, the plants on the windowsill that I keep forgetting to water, the photos tacked to my cork board.
"Make yourself comfortable," I say, toeing off my heels. "There's beer in the fridge if you want one. I'm just going to... change."
I escape to my bedroom before he can respond, closing the door and leaning against it.
What am I doing? What am I doing?
I just invited my boss—the man I slept with three days ago into my apartment to make him dinner.
One of the worst decisions I've made but it's too late to worry about it now.
I change quickly, pulling on sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt because there's no point in pretending to be professional anymore. We're past that.
When I come back out, he's standing by my bookshelf, beer in hand, looking at my collection of romance novels with what might be amusement.
"Stop judging my reading choices," I say.
He looks up, and oh God, his eyes do this thing when he smiles. "I'm not judging. Just... surprised."
"Why?" I came to stand next to him.
"You seem more like a mystery person." He replied before taking a swig from the bottle.
"I can like both." I replied. "Why would you jump to such conclusions?"
He takes a sip of his beer, and I watch his throat move as he swallows, which is definitely not something I should be noticing right now.
I head to the kitchen before my brain can go anywhere else with that observation. "Hope you like pasta, because that's literally all I know how to make without burning something."
"Pasta's perfect."
I start pulling out ingredients, very aware of him leaning against my counter, watching me. It should feel weird. But it's also kind of... nice?
"So," I say, filling a pot with water. "Do you usually give your employees rides home?"
"Only the ones I've slept with."
I nearly drop the pot out of shock. "Louis!"
He grins, actually grins and oh God, that should not be as attractive as it is. "Kidding. And no, I don't give rides to my employees. This is a first."
"Oh. Lucky me, I guess." I managed to smile but I knew damn well my cheeks were flushing red.