When there are too many things culminating into one large raging storm of anxiety in my life, I have developed a way of shoving it all deep into a place—a vault of sorts—where I can slam the door shut and lock it. Will all of those things co spilling out one day when there is no longer enough space to hold them? My dreams of Dex are an obvious indication that, yes, that is very possibly the case. Things are now spilling out from a deep, humiliating place into my waking life.
I must be mistaken that he’s the sa man from my dreams. It’s ridiculous.
I was descending into a state of panic in Lawson’s office yesterday when Dex arrived, and it must have just been that strange congruence of emotional factors and lack of sleep that created the idea. Lawson had just suggested I could get arrested for the favor I agreed to do for him. It was clearly a mont of panic-induced psychosis.
And the comfort that ca from that dream last night was simply born from this foolish idea that Rory planted in my head... that Dex may actually be soone I was ant to be with. That and the fantasy romance I’ve been reading with mysterious n and mate bonds... all of this is just the perfect recipe for jumping to conclusions when the only real things that are happening are lack of sleep and sex... and an overflowing vault of repressed emotions.
When Dex slips into his office from the door adjoining Lawson’s, my eyes catch him in their periphery vision. Without being too obvious, I watch him set things on the desk. He finds a place for the ssenger bag he carries instead of a briefcase and then sits down. And that’s when I convince myself that my dream man is absolutely not him.
There are clearly differences. Take for example the fact that Dex is... wearing much different clothes. Today it is a simple white v-neck shirt under a khaki green jacket with the sleeves pulled up to reveal his forearms. He has a kind of hippie, free-spirit vibe with several bracelets flanking his watch and a long beaded necklace falling over what is obviously a very sculpted, muscular chest. If only that shirt were not in the way...
No one would look at Dex and think he was the next CEO. He’s hot, yes. But CEO? I guess that’s a testant to his reputation as a kind of rebel of Möbius dia. Perhaps that’s part of why Lawson disapproves of him. Dex obviously doesn’t try to prove his worth by typical corporate standards of what an executive should look like. He’s been out and seen the world, and his experiences have shaped him into soone who doesn’t appear like every other suit you would expect to see in an office building.
Dex’s values are clearly different. And that makes him seem more... authentic sohow. Isn’t that the culture that Mr. Möbius has tried to create here, though, with the relaxed atmosphere, the insistence on everyone’s ideas being important, and the forward-thinking, authentic clients that he represents?
Wait, I’ve gotten off track. Back to scrutinizing Dex in comparison to my dream guy. I don’t rember dream guy having a hippie or CEO vibe, honestly. He only has a distinctly sexy, I-want-to-get-in-your-pants vibe. And he rarely wears clothes. He is dark and handso and amazing in bed. How can I possibly think that Dex is him? There’s just no way... no way of knowing. Other than sleeping with him. And then I would definitely be able to tell for sure.
A sputter of laughter tries to escape at the thought, but I catch it, slapping a hand over my mouth just in ti. Great, Auraya. That’s the perfect solution. Let’s just sleep with him and find out for sure if he’s the man from your dreams. Obviously that will put an end to all of these questions about your sanity.
No. That’s not happening.
Dex is not him. It’s only my desperate, confused, anxiety-induced hysteria that is hoping it is him. Dex is just similar, that’s all. How many n are out there with his sa build and general facial features and hair and deeply sexy voice? Probably thousands! And if any one of them were to walk in here, I could very easily convince myself that they were the one haunting my dreams as well.
It would be very dangerous for to continue to stay confused, especially when Lawson seems to think that his brother is a threat to the company. If Dex is a threat or even just irresponsible, I can’t let myself get close to him. I could end up losing any chance at a career before it even gets started.
So I’m going to be as detached and professional as I can be. I’m going to once again shove all of these overwhelming, unexplainable things down into that vault in my unconscious brain and deal with the real, concrete facts that are surrounding . I’m going to be the best assistant, and then when all of this is sorted out between the two brothers, I can go back to proving myself capable of much more.
After tucking Lawson’s number into my bag and trying to ignore the fact that he has requested I report to him everyday, I put on my ga face, smooth my skirt and get up to go find out exactly what this new boss of mine will be requiring of his assistant.
Dex has only just propped open his laptop and starting scrutinizing sothing on the screen when I knock on his door and co in like I’m entirely confident once again that’s the appropriate way for to enter.
"Good morning," I smile, folding my hands in front of myself. "Would you like coffee or anything?"
He leans back in his chair and gazes at for a mont... a mont that instantly has questioning the resolve that has led in here with such self-assuredness. Because those deep eyes of his... the ones that seem to have so kind of compulsion that makes my heart race... they are absolutely familiar. And he is looking at like he knows it.
That’s right. My anxiety and lack of sleep can’t account for why Dex seems to recognize , too. But it’s probably just one of those weird, bizarre coincidences that happen literally everyday. Maybe I was looking at him like he was familiar, and that made seem familiar to him.
Or maybe it is a small kind of group hysteria like Rory suggested. Dex is probably under a lot of stress just like I am. His father is ill. His brother is plotting against him behind his back. He had to abandon traveling and photographing the world to co sit in an office chair and... and stare at like he has known for ages prior to this.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a mont to try snapping myself out of it.
"Are you all right?" He asks.
God, that voice... I know that voice.
"Yep," I smile brightly. "Just... a tension headache. I already took sothing." I point behind myself toward my own desk.
"Those can be awful." He leans forward in his chair. "I have found that counter pressure really helps."
"Counter pressure?"
"It’s like massage, but sotis it’s just pressing firmly on one area of your shoulders or neck. Do you want to show you?" He gestures toward and starts to get up.
"No!" I say too quickly, and he freezes. "No. That’s not necessary. It’s actually already feeling better. Um, should I get you coffee?"
He stares at for a long mont before sinking all the way back down into his chair again. "I’m sorry... was that inappropriate?"
My eyes widen, confronted with such a tender sounding question like he is concerned for my feelings. "No. No, not at all, Mr. Dex."
"It’s just a very effective form of pain relief," he says. "Another thing that can help is a tennis ball. Get one, lay on a hard surface, and roll around so that it massages your shoulder."
"Okay," I say, chuckling softly and trying to ignore how positively sweet he is. That won’t help my resolve at all. Why can’t he just be a condescending, insensitive, mansplaining ass? "I will try that. Thank you."
Dex nods, pushing himself back under the desk. "Is there tea this morning?" He asks, glancing at .
"Tea. Of course. We have Darjeeling, Assam,..."
He smiles, those dimples revealing themselves behind his beard. "I an is there gossip? I imagine there are things going around about today."
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