He Stole My Bill, So I Divorced Him and Outranked His Father novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: The Packing Shed

Emilio's POV

She shut the packing shed door with her back and pulled me down by my tie.

One bulb hung over the sorting table, swinging a little from the draft she had made.

The air smelled of ripe peaches and cut wood.

"Ms. Wehmeyer," I said against her mouth.

"Stop calling me that."

"You told me to."

"Not in here," Greta said.

She kissed me.

She kissed me with her whole attention, her hands flat on my chest and her teeth catching my lower lip.

I had been watching her walk since the third row.

I had stood by the Governor's door that Thursday and watched her take a man apart in two sentences.

I had thought, very clearly, that I was in trouble.

I did not say so. I was a chief of staff, and I had a face for not saying things.

She pulled my tie off over my head and threw it on a crate of Loring peaches.

"Jacket," she said.

I took off my jacket.

"Shirt."

I unbuttoned it with hands that were not as steady as I wanted, and she watched every button give.

When it was open she laid her palm on my bare chest, over my heart, and left it there.

"You're nervous," she said.

"I'm not," I said.

"Your heart is going."

"That's not nerves."

"What is it, then?" she asked.

"It's you telling me what to do," I said, and her eyes went dark.

She took my belt in both hands.

"Sit," Greta said, and pointed at the sorting table.

It was an old table, a long plank of cedar worn smooth by thirty years of fruit.

I sat on the edge of it, and then she pushed my chest, and I lay back across it.

The wood was cool under my shoulders.

A loose peach rolled against my ribs, and she took it and set it aside with great care.

"Don't move your hands," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

I had said it at my desk, once, and in my own kitchen, a dozen times.

Each time it had come out half a joke.

It did not come out as a joke now.

She undid my belt and my fly and drew me out.

I closed my eyes, because I could not stand to watch her face and be touched at the same time.

Her hand was warm, and a little rough from peach crates.

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