Wanting My Assistant

Chapter 15

   We've been driving for a good hour now. The cars driving by with the radio playing as I watch scenery go by. I don't think I've ever enjoyed a long trip until now. It's so peaceful in here with Dawson. Just listening to the radio and talking. About the project, about the days ahead, plans. Everything. He's been mentioning different places down in Las Vegas. By now, I've kicked off my heels and have my legs curled up underneath me, my hair down as I lean my elbow on the consul between us. Dawson's ditched his black suit jacket and I have too, throwing them in the back seat. The radio has been playing a mix of different songs, a few I know well, some Dawson does too.

"The last few days are going to be us just hanging out in the club after it's been opened to make sure everything's running smoothly," Dawson says, his beautiful blood red eyes glancing over at me as he drives through traffic. I nod, leaning my chin on my folded hand, "How long do you think it'll take for everything to be put in? Like the poles and bar, and so on." I question, my eyes drifting to the hand that's gripping the steering wheel. The veins in his hands bulge as he slowly curls them around the leather steering wheel, the Lamborghini sign in the middle. I have never seen Dawson with a single ring on one of his thick, long fingers. "By the time they're done?" He asks and I give him a nod, he looks over at me before turning back to watching the road, "It should give us two days to be free in Las Vegas." He states, straightening up in his seat and letting out a groan as he stretches.

   A sigh leaves me as I turn my head, staring out the windshield, observing all the cars driving by and around us.

Silence falls over the car. And I can't help but bite at my lip. I always bite my lip when I'm nervous. Cars steer in and out of the two lanes, some people honking as they zoom by others. Otherwise, it's been a normal trip. We've been on the road nonstop. No breaks yet. But we still have another hour to go and unless Dawson needs something, I think we'll be okay for the rest of the drive.

   The scent of cologne and spices fill my senses and I just want to tuck myself away in the scent. Dawson. It's so masculine and rugged. I could bury my face into one of his shirts and breathe in the intoxicating scent all day. It's like the feeling you get when you pull fresh baked cookies out of the oven, the smell so warm, so good, your eyes want to roll back.

   Being close to Dawson is nice too.

   Mind. Shut the fuck up.

   He's been driving the whole time, and not that I mind, because I did offer to drive and give him a break, but he refused. And the sight from the passengers seat. It's not all that bad not driving.

   He probably doesn't trust me to drive his million dollar car. Not that I blame him. I honestly haven't driven in a good three years.

   Dawson clears his throat and I look over at him. He looks so professional still, even while driving. His deep brown hair still done up in its normal style with the tiniest amount of hair gel. His ironed white cotton button up wrinkled slightly with his seated position. His black pants are spotless, bunching up slightly at his thighs as he drives. He looks so put together even though we aren't in the office.

   I have a feeling that it's how this trip is going to go.

  If I ever see Dawson in a pair of sweatpants I think the world will end.

   "How did your date go last night?" He asks. Breaking the silence that had filled the space around us. My brain flares with remembrance and I'm tempted to tell the truth. But I lie instead. "It was great."

   I mean, it wasn't horrible. But our date didn't go great either. Ryan wasn't really there it seemed. He was off. In a way I've never seen. We had dinner at the restaurant where we had our first date. He wore a nice tuxedo, his hair done nicely. The last time we had a date he was all over me, kissing me, touching me, loving on me. Yesterday he stayed to himself. Maybe it was because he matured a little and didn't want to get all touchy feely in front of other people. But that wasn't the case. We got to my apartment and I invited him to stay over, for the night, maybe to take the next day off of work, but he told me he had work at home that was due by tomorrow so he couldn't. He must've been so stressed out during dinner at the thought of unfinished work.