“Hey.” I fill my lungs and let it out. I do it again. “You know what this is. You are in control. It doesn’t feel like it, but you are. You’re in control of your body. Your breath. You can breathe. Don’t panic. It’s okay. You are going to be okay. Just watch me. Slow, deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. It feels like you can’t, but you can. I promise.”
I inhale deeply and let my breath out. In again. Out again. “I know this isn’t about being calm, but there’s nothing to worry about. Just focus on your breath.” I keep rubbing slow circles on his shoulder. When he leans away from the wall, I smooth my hand down his back. His shirt is soft. Damp, but still soft. Good quality. Of course, it is. The guy’s a freaking billionaire. He drives to work every day in a three hundred thousand dollar import. I know. I looked it up.
Philippe draws in an unsteady breath, but then he drags in another. Another deeper one. He lets it out. Rasps in another. His face is less red now, so I grab the box of tissues on the desk, grab a couple, and without even thinking about it because I’ve done this before, I swipe at the moisture on his cheeks and press the tissues into his palm.
I know his water bottle is on the desk—some fancy reusable thing—so I snatch it and thrust it at him. “Water?”
Now that he’s breathing better, he takes it from me, unscrews the cap, and chugs it back like he’s been walking in the desert for the past ten years, and this is the first real water he’s had in ages.
I know this isn’t the time, but I’ve known the guy for years. I book just about everything for him, including dentist appointments and suit fittings. I can’t help it. “Do you need me to book an appointment somewhere? This is happening more often. Twice this week. That’s not—that’s not healthy as far as I know. There are medications for anxiety, and whatever else is going on. I think you should talk to someone.”
Philippe doesn’t look at me. He stares at his super-expensive water bottle that probably promised the planting of new trees and fairy farts or something when he overpaid for it. “I’m fine.” He somehow manages to muster up some dignity to say that while he loosens his blue silk tie at the same time. “There was an issue with the report you sent me, and it was pointed out to me in our board meeting. Line fourteen. Could you fix it and resend it so that I don’t look like a moron?”
“A moron?” I want to laugh. He does a good job of that all on his own, tyrant-ing his very fine ass around the office all week. “If I made a mistake, you could point out that it was my fault.”
“Just fix it. Please,” he grinds, surprising me.
I sigh. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Just stressed.”
As far as I know, people don’t have weekly panic attacks from stress, but then again, what do I know? Maybe they do. I know a few things about anxiety, but not much. I’m not at a level where a run or a talk with Granny or just a hot bath and a good book can’t help calm me down. People would say that’s not anxiety, so yeah. Maybe I know nothing.
“I’m worried.” I didn’t mean to let it out, but the words are there. In the air. Between us.
Philippe’s eyes widened. They’re intense today. So blue they could pierce right through me. My eyes stray to the tie that he just worked open a little. Silk. Soft. Expensive. I imagine that tie around my wrists. My eyes flutter to Philippe’s lips. He has nice lips. He’d probably be a good kisser.
Whoa. What the heck is that? Where did all that come from?
My ovaries must be going on a serious malfunction all of a sudden. Maybe this is what everyone means when they talk about the biological clock. All of a sudden, my body is having crazy thoughts involving my boss—a boss who might be hot as sin but is seriously not nice. I’ve never had one sexual thought about him before. I might have noticed he’s gorgeous, but then, I have eyes. Right now, it’s like a switch has been flipped on all of a sudden, leaving me hot and shivery all over.
I swallow hard. Philippe’s throat bobs too. “I’m fine,” he says evenly, but he looks unguarded. This might be the most human moment I’ve ever shared with him.
“Okay.” I shove myself up to my feet, suddenly crazy eager to be out of there. I think my hormones are going through their own panic attack, and distance is the best thing to get it straightened out. Well, at least I hope so. Because thoughts about my boss and his lips have no bearing in my life unless he wants to kiss my butt, and no, I’m not serious about that either. It just sounds nice.
Not that kind of nice.
Jesus. I’m crazy.
“I’ll have the reports to you in an hour.”
I run out of the office as fast as I ran in. I shut the door behind me for extra privacy, and when I get back to my office, it’s empty. The drawer I told Cherry about is missing a cherry sucker. It was the last one left. Damn it. I slam the drawer shut.
Pulling up the report that I did over the weekend, I look it over. Everything seems fine to me. After an hour of research,
