Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
"I see. What about - ?"
"A plant?" I finish the sentence for him. "I have some succulents in my bathroom and a spider plant on my balcony."
"I was going to say boyfriend," Ethan says.
"Oh." I let my fork linger between my lips. "Nope. I don't have one."
I did consider lying for a moment there, but what's the point?
"Ever had one?" Ethan asks.
I look at him. Why is he so curious about my personal life all of a sudden?
"No, don't answer that," he says. "Just answer me this. Is it my fault you don't have a boyfriend right now?"
I nearly choke on the piece of duck inside my mouth. Quickly, I reach for my glass of wine and take a gulp. The food goes down my throat but I can still feel a lump in it. I can feel the fire in my cheeks. Does Ethan know, after all, that I have a huge crush on him?
"I mean, am I giving you too much work?"
I blink. Oh, that's what he meant. I blush even harder out of embarrassment.
Oh, Stella, what were you thinking?
"Am I?" Ethan asks again.
I shake my head firmly. "No. It's not your fault. My job is what it is. And I chose it. And I love it."
He gives me a puzzled look. "You do?"
I nod. "I mean, sure, it's a lot to handle sometimes, but the pay is good, especially with the raise you just gave me, which I'm grateful for, by the way."
"You're welcome."
"And there are perks like this right now, this flight on this amazing plane and this... beautiful meal." I gesture towards my empty plate.
"And the meal's not over yet," Ethan tells me. "There's still dessert."
I smile. "My favorite."
"What are you hoping it is?" he asks.
"Anything sweet," I answer. "I need that sugar to give me heaps of energy so I can finish a lot more work before we get to Switzerland."
Chapter Four
Ethan
I guess those heaps of energy ran out.
I turn off the light above Stella's seat and press the button to push it back a bit further so she'll be more comfortable. She stirs but remains asleep. I drape the fleece blanket over her, wrapping it around her shoulders. She gives off a sound of contentment like the purring of a cat. It makes me smile, but at the same time I feel a sliver of anxiety as I stare at her sleeping face.
Stella, what am I going to do with you?
I've never met a woman who could make me feel so many emotions all at once. Earlier, while she was working, I couldn't help but admire her for working so hard. Her fingers were punching the keyboard like crazy, her eyes boring holes into her screen. It made me feel almost ashamed because it felt like she was working harder than I was. But it also inspired me to keep working hard myself. At the same time, I wanted to wrench her laptop away from her and tell her to stop working so we could continue with the conversation we had over dinner.
That was something. It was relaxing - Stella was tense at the beginning but she quickly let her guard down when the food arrived. It was fun - I loved the different expressions she made as she was blown away by the food. It was the first real conversation we ever had, a step up from the after-work chats we normally have that are mostly recaps of the day or comments on the weather, the news or how we both need to get some rest. It was a revelation.
I've already learned a few things about Stella from reading her journal, but learning them straight from her has a stronger impact. It's like the difference between reading the manual on how to use a machine and having someone demonstrate it for you. I got to see the real Stella. In the flesh. And she was a hundred times more fascinating, more stirring.
If I wanted to hug her after reading her journal, the urge was a hundred times stronger during dinner. When I saw her amber eyes glossed over with tears she was trying to fight back after seeing those pot stickers, I wanted to go to her side and pull her into my arms. I wanted to stroke her hair as I let her cry against my chest and then wipe the tear stains from her cheeks when she was done.
Even now, I want to wrap my arms around her. I want to make sure nothing disrupts her sleep. I want to keep the nightmares at bay. I want her to know she's not alone, to feel she's not alone.
She said she no longer has anyone. I want to be there for her. It may not be right for us to be lovers, I might not be allowed to be her boyfriend, but I can be her friend. I can be her boss and still be her friend. I can look after her, keep her from working too hard, support her when she feels she's starting to unravel, listen to her ideas and dreams so that she won't feel the need to write them down, treat her to good food, travel with her.