The Boss & The Assistant - Rewritten Edition of "The Boss"

Chapter 33 - Emerson

When we returned back to work after the holiday, Lafayette and I acted like nothing had happened between us. I had blamed myself and apologized for kissing him. What was there left to talk about? Besides, he seemed to be content with where he was. His mood had improved drastically since the first time I ever stepped into his office. He was more patient, less irritable, and kinder to himself. He smiled more. He laughed more. He was glowing. Still, occasionally, the cloud would cross his face as he looked away to someplace distant and in the past. It was my job to bring him out of the storm and back into the sunlight.

In the meantime of my unrequited and forbidden love, I decided to follow in Lafayette's footsteps and focus on myself. There were so many things I wanted to do in my life. I loved my job. I loved the company. Either way, I wanted more. I wanted to start writing again, because it had been so long since I wrote anything. I wanted to create new drag show routines and do drag story time at the library. I wanted to go back to therapy.

Luckily for me, Lafayette was still supportive of me and wanted to listen. "Like I said," he said one day. "You can always write something up for the blog or magazine and Carla can review it. I can review it, too."

"Well, I guess there is something I've always considered writing," I said.

"Yeah? Tell me about it." He sat on the corner of his desk and crossed his arms. He was just wearing polo tucked into his dress pants. His arms looked stronger. He was so...

"Well, I was thinking it would be fun to do a feature piece on the mysterious face behind the company. The man behind the curtain, if you will."

Lafayette smirked at me, raising an eyebrow, but was silent.

"Don't look at me like that," I said, smiling. "I think it would be a fun article that everyone would want to read. No one knows anything about you."

"That is intentional, you know?" he said.

"I know, I mean I wouldn't write about your deepest darkest secrets or anything like that, but I think people would love to know more about you."

He moved off of his desk, hands in his pockets, to stand in front of me. "What would they want to know about me? Better yet, what do you want to tell them about me?"

I leaned back against the pillow. "Well, I think they should know that you are actually a super sensitive, shy, self-deprecating little man," I said.

"That really reaffirms my masculinity," he said, still smirking.

I rolled my eyes. "Who cares about masculinity? You're a wittle soft boy."

"I'm a man, thank you very much. I'm not soft. I'm mean, cruel, hateful."

I rolled my eyes again. "Yeah, to yourself," I said. "It's all internalized. You're always just so down on yourself, mean to yourself. You have this hard look on your face but it's because of you being hard on yourself."

He furrowed his brow, frowning, but was doing it intentionally. "Like this?"

I sat up. "Yes, like that, but worse," I said.

He put his hands on his hips and leaned down towards me. "You'll have to make me angrier if you want me to look worse," he said.

"I don't want you to look worse." I put my hands on his head. "I want these hard edges and lines and worries all over your face to soften and relax.

He laughed, and then we looked at each other. I wanted to kiss him again. Our eyes flashed between each other's lips. I wasn't sure what to do, so I rubbed my thumbs into his temples. He closed his eyes, sighing. In a moment, we were both on the couch with him leaning his back against me as I massaged his scalp. At least we were still okay being too cuddly.