Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 18

The next day at work, I tried to act normal.

Smiled at Debra. Organized files. Answered emails with professional detachment. But Bianca's words replayed on a loop.

My hands trembled when I typed, and I jumped at every notification, half-expecting to see my name trending somewhere, my daughters' faces staring back at me from some gossip site.

"Hey."

I nearly knocked over my coffee. Archie stood beside my desk, concern etched across his face.

"You look terrible," he said bluntly. "And I mean that in the most caring way possible. What happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." I turned back to my computer, willing him to leave. "Just… didn't get much sleep tonight."

"Daphne." He crouched beside my chair, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You're shaking. Your skin is gray. You've typed the same sentence three times and deleted it each time."

"It’s really nothing."

"Well, I don't believe you." He glanced around the office, then back at me. "The girls are with the nanny, right? And your afternoon is clear—I checked your calendar. You're coming with me. No arguments."

"Archie, we’re in the middle of the weekdays."

"I promise we'll be back in plenty of time. But right now, you need to not be here." He stood, offering his hand. Then smiled ingratiatingly, "In my apartment, perhaps?”

My eyes widened. I looked around, making sure no one was eavesdropping—that snake Bianca, for example. “You gotta be kidding me…”

Archie leaned his forearms on my desk, our faces impermissibly close for ordinary colleagues or even friends. He looked at me with intent eyes, never looking away for a second, as if savoring every tiny detail on my face.

“Nope. So… Is it a yes?”

I was too tired to resist. Too worn down by sleepless hours and circling fears. I took his hand and let him lead me to the elevator.

* * *

Archie’s apartment surprised me. I'd expected something flashy—modern art, expensive furniture, the kind of bachelor pad that screamed wealth.

Instead, it was spacious but warm. Comfortable couches, bookshelves stuffed with actual books, photographs on the walls that looked like family vacations rather than professional staging.

"It feels... lived in."

"That's because I actually live here. A shocking concept for a successful businessman, I know." He poured two glasses of wine and settled beside me on the couch, close but not crowding. "Now. Tell me what's going on."

"Archie..."

"You don't have to tell me everything. Just... something. Whatever you're comfortable with." He pressed the wine glass into my hands. "I'm not going anywhere."

I took a long sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest. He waited, patient and steady, not pushing. Eventually, I cracked.

Confessions flowed from me like an uncontrollable river. It was always like that with Archie—he had this amazing way of making you want to spill the beans without even asking directly.

Of course, I omitted some details, not wanting to tell him all the dirty laundry, but it was enough.

"Daphne. Who’s putting these thoughts in your head?"

“There are just... forces working against me. People who think I don't belong in this world. And maybe they're right."

"They're not right." His voice was firm. "You belong wherever you decide to be. Anyone who says otherwise is threatened by you."

"You make it sound simple."

"It is simple. Other people make it complicated."

He set down his wine glass and turned to face me fully.

"You don't have to carry everything alone, Daphne, not anymore. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

The air between us thickened, crackling with a raw, electric tension that made my skin prickle. His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with need, and I could feel the weight of his gaze tracing every curve of my body like he wanted to commit me to memory.

Archie reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek with a tenderness that nearly made me whimper. His touch lingered, feather-light, as if he were afraid I’d vanish if he pressed too hard.

"Let me be that person," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down my spine. "Let me be the perfect man for you, and the perfect father for the girls."

“Archie…”

His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my head just how he wanted it, and I melted into a kiss with him like I was made to fit against his body.

My wine glass slipped from my fingers, spilling onto the carpet, but neither of us gave a damn. His hands were already exploring, sliding beneath the hem of my blouse, fingers skimming the sensitive skin of my waist.

I whimpered into his mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. His chest heaving, his voice rough with restraint.

"I’ll treat you just right…," he said, his hands pausing their exploration. "Every inch of you will be loved by me, taken care of by me. From head to toes."

I arched into Archie, pressing my hips against his, feeling the hard line of him straining against his pants. A low groan escaped his lips, and his hands moved with purpose now.

He tugged at the hem of my blouse until it was gone, tossed aside like it was nothing. His shirt followed, revealing the taut muscles of his chest, the faint trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his pants.

Archie kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over every inch of me. Tracing the curves of my breasts, the dip of my waist, the swell of my hips. His touch was worshipful, like I was something sacred, and it was enough to make me dizzy.

"Archie," I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as he nipped at my bottom lip.

"What do you want me to do?" he murmured against my skin, his lips trailing down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Everything," I whispered, barely coherent. "I need everything."

He groaned, sliding off the couch and kneeling before me. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading them open, and I felt exposed, vulnerable, but oh so ready.

Archie’s eyes met mine, dark and burning with desire, before he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he growled, his breath hot against my skin. "I’ve wanted this, wanted you the day we met."

And then his mouth was on me, tongue teasing and licking, driving me wild with every stroke. I arched off the couch, my hands tangling in his hair as he devoured me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

"Archie!" I cried out, my hips bucking against his mouth. "God, please…"

He pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes locked on mine. "Not yet," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "I want to make you feel good first."

And he did.

His tongue worked me relentlessly, alternating between long, slow strokes and tight circles around the bundle of nerves that made me see stars. Two fingers slid inside me, curling just right, and I shattered with a cry that I couldn't have silenced if I tried.

But he didn't stop.

Even as I trembled through the aftershocks, his mouth stayed on me, gentler now, coaxing me back up. He returned to my lips and kissed me gently.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against my lips, his voice rough. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

I arched into him, a whimper escaping my throat.

"Archie..."

"I've got you."

He drove me over the edge again, slower this time, his fingers pumping steadily while his tongue flicked and teased. I came apart beneath him with his name on my lips like a prayer.

When he finally crawled back up my body, I was boneless, breathless, barely coherent. He kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on his lips, and the intimacy of it sent a fresh wave of heat through my exhausted limbs.

"I need you," I whispered against his mouth. "Please."

Archie groaned, reaching for his belt. I watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he freed himself—hard, straining, more than ready.

He positioned himself at my entrance, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged.

"I want to taste every inch of you," he breathed, pulling the fabric down my legs. "I want to make you forget everything except my name."