Confessions of a Twenty-Something City Girl

The Agreement

"She'll have the spicy tuna with a seaweed salad, and I'll take the filet mignon, medium well," Noah orders assertively, passing the menus to the server with a smile.

"My pleasure, Mr. Westbrook. The kitchen will get started right away," the server responds kindly before leaving.

"Thank you, Noah," I say, smiling across the table at him.

"Of course. So today has been quite a day for you, hasn't it?" he asks.

"You could say that," I begin. "Noah, I really love this job and I don't want anything to jeopardize it. You're sure we can continue whatever this is without any repercussions?" I inquire.

"Yes, but as I mentioned, there are a few non-negotiable rules we must follow. Discretion is crucial. As long as we're both on the same page, I don't see why we can't make this work," Noah responds matter-of-factly.

"Okay, but for the sake of playing devil's advocate, should things not work out, I don't want this to affect my job. I'm just starting out, and I can't afford to lose this opportun-"

"It's already covered in the agreement," he states.

"The what?" I ask, surprised.

"The agreement. I spoke with my lawyer today, and given the circumstances, a written agreement is necessary," Noah explains.

"Wait, what circumstances? You mean to tell me that no co-workers in the history of mankind have ever slept together?" I question.

"Of course they have, Kingston. But this situation is much bigger than just us. Plus, I am technically your boss," he replies, a hint of unintentional allure in his smirk. "There's a complicated history with the leadership in this company. To protect ourselves and our positions, we need to sign this agreement." He reaches for my hand. "This weekend was damn special and it'd break me not to see where it could lead."

I absorb Noah's words and respond thoughtfully, "I understand, Noah, and I feel the same way. But should we explore things and they become more serious, what then? Do we hide our relationship forever?" I ask.

"There are ways to navigate these things. Think of the agreement as a starting point, like we're on first base in a baseball game," Noah offers a brief smirk.

"Ha, great. What are the rules in said agreement?" I ask, my eyes intensely lock into his.

Noah breaks our gaze and pulls out a few documents and a pen, passing them to my side of the table.

I begin to read aloud, "#1. Under no circumstances shall Kingston Hart and Noah Westbrook engage in physical acts of intimacy within the premises of Sports Digest headquarters located at 2000 Avenue of the Stars, Los Angeles, CA 90067."

Noah interrupts, "As I mentioned, there are cameras in my office. We can't risk anyone seeing us."

"Got it. So, no Eskimo kisses?" I ask, deadpan.

Noah cracks a smile. "Not at the office, but I can steal one now," he leans over the table, giving me the sweetest Eskimo kiss and I bring my mouth to his, softly pressing his lips to mine.

I pull back, smiling, and loudly clear my throat, "#2. Noah Westbrook and Kingston Hart agree to no documentation of explicit photography or videography together." I look up at Noah, raising my left eyebrow. "Not a problem, Westbrook."

His intense focus softens as I continue, "#3. There will be no physical acts of intimacy allowed within a 5-mile radius of the Sports Digest building at 2000 Avenue of the Stars, Los Angeles, CA 90067." I nod, "#4. Kingston Hart agrees to stay over at Noah Westbrook's residence two nights per week, minimum." My eyes dart up to his, "What is this?" I laugh.