7 - Shawn

Strange, I think as I watch Felicity disappear behind the elevator doors. I feel like the woman I've just spoken to is completely different from the one I've been working closely with for the past two years.

It's not just because Felicity looked different. I've only ever seen her in stiff dresses or colored silk blouses and tight-fitting skirts, but tonight she was wearing pants and a white top that seemed to hang from her shoulders. The topmost button was left undone, too, and though her cleavage remained concealed, I could see her black bra through the thin fabric. I had to keep myself from staring at it, in fact. Then there's her hair.

Apart from that first time I met her, I've always seen her with her cappuccino mane all combed back and tied up, which is attractive enough, but nothing compared to when she has her hair down. There's just something sensual about a woman whose shiny locks are flowing freely past her shoulders, like they're inviting me to run my fingers through them. I nearly did. I wanted to make even more of a mess of them.

That's the thing. Tonight, Felicity was a mess. Well, not really a mess, but she didn't look as organized or composed as she usually is. It made me realize how hard she's been working. I know she works hard, but to go through the trouble of making it look easy? I don't give her enough credit.

I admire her even more now, but at the same time, I want to see more of this side of her. This unguarded, innocent, disoriented Felicity. I want to mess her up even more and then hold her and tell her everything will be alright. I want to be the one to pick up her scattered pieces and put them all back in place. I want to pamper her and protect her.

I want her. I always have, but this is different. I want her so badly my chest feels like a ton of steel.

But nothing has changed.

Felicity is still my assistant and I'm still her boss. The line between us may have been blurred earlier, but it's there and I still can't cross it, though God knows I just had to summon every ounce of self-control I had in me not to.

Fuck.

I slam my palms on top of her desk in frustration. The pen holder and the pad of sticky notes bounce. The pile of papers fans out.

As I fix it, I notice the leather-bound notebook hidden beneath and my curiosity gets piqued.

What's this? Her own planner? A phone book? Or maybe it's her personal collection of affirmations and inspirational quotes that help her get through each day. My grandmother used to have one.

Whatever it is, it can't be that private if Felicity left it on desk. I'm just going to take a peek. Just a peek.

I open the book to a random page and find it filled with handwritten lines. I read.

Entry 4.5: I can't go to sleep. I'm grateful that I'm alive, that I have a job and a roof over my head, but I can't help but feel it's not enough. I feel so alone.

I stop. Whoa. That's private.

I close the notebook and scrutinize the cover. Is this Felicity's diary?

I know it is, I know those lines were in her handwriting. I also know it's not right to read someone else's diary. I should just put this down without reading another line. I should put it back where I found it. But I don't.

I can't.

Those words I just read were like a doorway to a whole new world — the world of Felicity's thoughts. If tonight I saw Felicity out of her usual element, without all her walls up, this diary is Felicity laid bare. The real Felicity.

Just from those few lines, I caught a glimpse of her.

I never knew she felt lonely. I know she didn't have any friends when she first started her job because she had just moved in from New York, but it's been two years. I imagined her having fun with friends on weekends, catching a late night movie, going to a 24-hour spa or a bar. I didn't think she was spending her weekends alone or that she felt so alone that she had trouble sleeping.

I want to know more.

I sit in her chair and read the journal starting with the first entry.

Entry 4.7: Today was my first day at work. The job is as tough as I thought it would be, but I'm not going to crack. I'm going to do my best. My hot boss is counting on me, after all. He has these intense black eyes and this perfect dark brown hair, like really dark. And don't get me started about how his body looks, especially in a suit. You know I have a thing for men in suits, but I swear none of them can rock a suit like Shawn Colby can.

I grin. So, she thinks I'm hot, does she? I have caught her staring at me on a few occasions.

Now, I know why.

I keep reading. Some of the entries are just ramblings. Some are just a line long, like how she's tired from work or she's craving for ice cream. And surprisingly, some are about me.

Entry 5.1: I don't think Shawn knows it, but he's nailing his new job. He works harder than anyone in this building. And his head is full of brilliant ideas. He knows what he wants, and he makes it happen. I'm proud to call him my boss.

Entry 5.2: Shawn is so serious. I wish he would smile more. Then again, I also like his serious expression. I think he looks hotter when he's frowning or when he's deep in thought.

Entry 5.4: Shawn and I have started this habit of chitchatting for a few minutes after work. I look forward to it, but I wish we could have real conversations. I wish he'd open up to me more.

Funny. I've been feeling the same way.

Shawn is away on a business trip. He's in Berlin. I wish he'd taken me with him.

My eyebrows arch. Felicity wanted to come? I never knew. I always figured that when I'm away on a business trip, Felicity has less work so she can relax and go home early. I thought that by leaving her behind, I was letting her take a break. It never occurred to me that she'd be happier coming along. She definitely never mentioned it.

There are other things she's never mentioned.

Entry 6.1: I miss Mom and Dad. I wouldn't mind going back to being a child again if it meant I could have them back.

Entry 6.2: I hate tacos. They're impossible to eat.

Entry 6.5: I wish I had more money in my bank account so I could start planning for that trip across Europe. I wonder if it's too soon to ask for a raise.

Entry 6.7: Today, I realized what I want to be more than anything — a mother.

That last one takes me by surprise even more than the rest.

I had pegged her as a career woman, someone who would eventually go for another position in the corporate world and climb the ladder, maybe even become a top-ranking executive who would sit beside me at important meetings, not stand behind me taking notes. I can imagine her sitting behind a desk, being the one giving orders.

I can't imagine her pushing a baby stroller through the park.

But I don't have anything against the idea of her being a mother. If anything, what I'm struggling to accept is the fact that someday, she might get married, get pregnant and leave.

I guess I was hoping she'd stay single and stay by my side like Roseanne did for my father.

I keep reading, wondering what other secrets Felicity had buried between the pages. I have a feeling there's more, but I never expected what I discover next.

Entry 7.0: I want to have sex. I want to know what it feels like to have a man inside me.

Entry 7.1: When I have sex, I want it to be a little rough. I want to experience it fully. I want to lose my mind.

Entry 7.3: I wonder how it feels to have sex while blindfolded or in front of a mirror.

A lump forms in my throat.

For someone so shy, Felicity sure has some wild sexual fantasies. It's turning me on.

And there's more.

Entry 7.4: He'll pin my hands above my head and demand my surrender with his mouth, claiming my lips and worshiping my breasts. With his fingers, he will make me melt, pressing the secret button that transforms my excitement into ecstasy.

That's the last line of her most recent entry, which is a good thing because I don't think I could read any more. In spite of the air conditioning in the room, I'm sweating. And I'm hard.

If I hadn't wanted Felicity so badly already, I would now. I have an urge to go to her apartment and teach her what sex is all about. All weekend.

But my conscience won't shut up. It's like an alarm blaring through my head, telling me over and over that I'm Felicity's boss and I should act like it, reminding me of all the things that could go wrong if I let my dick make my decisions for me.

No. The answer is still no.

I close the journal and put it back where I found it, hiding it well so no one else will. I almost wish I hadn't read it. I'd be in less pain now. Then again, if I hadn't read Felicity's journal, I would still be clueless about her.

I'm glad I know more about her now. I swear I'm going to treat her better.

But first, I have to distract myself with work to make my 'not so little problem' go away.

Then I'm going to have those midnight drinks with my brothers and get drunk.