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Looking back, that week felt like an elaborate kind of self-inflicted torture I had come up with all on my own.
It was the fun kind of torture that quickly changed into something else for me.
At some point during the drive home, right before I flopped onto my couch with Trix licking my ears...I resolved to play the long game. No sudden moves. No sneaky encounters with Mr. Fairchild in the supply closet.
No "oops, I bent over his desk" moments in tight pants. I wanted to give him a false sense of security. Make him think I was just joking around when I challenged his sweet ass. Let him believe I'd backed off.
Let him relax.
Then, I'd strike when he least expected it.
So, I became the perfect assistant.
