My Boss's Bali Massage Trap - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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"Mr. Lowell, I... I need some time to think about it!"
My mind went blank. Heart pounding, I snatched the report off his desk and bolted from the office before he could respond.
The second I stepped into the hallway, Olivia—Mr. Lowell's current assistant—cornered me. She must've been eavesdropping. Glancing around to make sure we were alone, she grabbed my arm and hissed,
"Did he just offer you my job?"
A knowing smirk twisted her lips. "Fair warning—the guy's a total creep."
With that, she gave my shoulder a condescending pat and sauntered off, leaving me rooted in place, my stomach in knots.
Back at my desk, I couldn't focus. The clock crawled until five, when I finally escaped to the chaos of home. My mother-in-law clattered pots in the kitchen while my son's wails pierced the air from his crib.
I rushed to soothe him—rocking, feeding, shushing—until his cries faded into sleep.
Ryan walked in around eight, smelling of takeout and exhaustion. Over lukewarm lasagna, I hesitantly brought up Lowell's offer—the late nights, weekend travel, barely seeing our son.
His fork clattered onto the plate. "Vincent Lowell? That slimeball?" His face darkened. "The guy's got a reputation. You'd be walking into a damn predator's den."
My breath caught. I'd never mentioned Vincent before—how did Ryan know?
I bit back the part about double pay. Ryan's jaw was set. "Find another job if you want, but not with him. End of discussion."
The meal ended in silence. After putting our son down, I showered, steam fogging the mirror as I replayed Vincent's fingers tilting my chin—
The bedroom lamp clicked off as I slid under the covers. Ryan's back was already turned.
"Ryan." My voice cracked. "When was the last time you touched me? Do you even want to anymore?"
A weary groan. "Christ, Evie. I'm dead on my feet."
The rejection stung like a slap.
I stared at the ceiling until dawn.
Next afternoon, Sophia nearly choked on her iced coffee when I told her. "Girl, that's not normal. Either he's got someone else, or his testosterone's in the grave."
Ice flooded my veins.
She leaned in, manicured nails tapping her cup. "Look, if Ryan won't step up..." A wicked grin. "Plenty of men would kill for a shot with you."
"Stop." I recoiled. "I'm not some desperate housewife."
But the seed was planted. And it festered.
My mind went blank. Heart pounding, I snatched the report off his desk and bolted from the office before he could respond.
The second I stepped into the hallway, Olivia—Mr. Lowell's current assistant—cornered me. She must've been eavesdropping. Glancing around to make sure we were alone, she grabbed my arm and hissed,
"Did he just offer you my job?"
A knowing smirk twisted her lips. "Fair warning—the guy's a total creep."
With that, she gave my shoulder a condescending pat and sauntered off, leaving me rooted in place, my stomach in knots.
Back at my desk, I couldn't focus. The clock crawled until five, when I finally escaped to the chaos of home. My mother-in-law clattered pots in the kitchen while my son's wails pierced the air from his crib.
I rushed to soothe him—rocking, feeding, shushing—until his cries faded into sleep.
Ryan walked in around eight, smelling of takeout and exhaustion. Over lukewarm lasagna, I hesitantly brought up Lowell's offer—the late nights, weekend travel, barely seeing our son.
His fork clattered onto the plate. "Vincent Lowell? That slimeball?" His face darkened. "The guy's got a reputation. You'd be walking into a damn predator's den."
My breath caught. I'd never mentioned Vincent before—how did Ryan know?
I bit back the part about double pay. Ryan's jaw was set. "Find another job if you want, but not with him. End of discussion."
The meal ended in silence. After putting our son down, I showered, steam fogging the mirror as I replayed Vincent's fingers tilting my chin—
The bedroom lamp clicked off as I slid under the covers. Ryan's back was already turned.
"Ryan." My voice cracked. "When was the last time you touched me? Do you even want to anymore?"
A weary groan. "Christ, Evie. I'm dead on my feet."
The rejection stung like a slap.
I stared at the ceiling until dawn.
Next afternoon, Sophia nearly choked on her iced coffee when I told her. "Girl, that's not normal. Either he's got someone else, or his testosterone's in the grave."
Ice flooded my veins.
She leaned in, manicured nails tapping her cup. "Look, if Ryan won't step up..." A wicked grin. "Plenty of men would kill for a shot with you."
"Stop." I recoiled. "I'm not some desperate housewife."
But the seed was planted. And it festered.
End of My Boss's Bali Massage Trap Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to My Boss's Bali Massage Trap book page.