Better with You

Author's note: Written during the pandemic as an exercise to build a relationship based on banter and intimacy. Credit to my editor Ash for her input. I've been tinkering on it every now and then but I think it's time to move on. It's a complete story, more focused on romance and intimacy than sex, but there's some fun in it, too. Quite the slow burn though, but I hope their story makes up for it. Roughly 27 000 words. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Emily Parker groaned, her forehead firmly planted against the cool surface of her mahogany desk. As CEO of Parker Medical Center, she was supposed to be a force of nature--commanding boardrooms, tackling crises, and inspiring confidence at every turn. Instead, she felt spent, unable to summon the energy to leave her office, let alone attend another meeting. Her executive assistant, Evelyn, seemed less than impressed.

"Not getting enough sleep, Ms. Parker?" Eve's calm, measured voice cut through the silence like a precision instrument.

Emily groaned again without lifting her head. "Eve, is that you?"

"Yes."

"Well, what was your first clue?"

Eve stepped closer, the soft click of her heels echoing in the quiet office. "My first? You skipped your three o'clock. My second clue is staring me right in the face. I had to make up another excuse on your behalf, you know."

Emily shifted slightly but didn't lift her head. "Which one did you pick?"

Eve sighed, her tone tinged with mild exasperation. "I went with your mom being in the hospital. Again. You cannot just disappear without telling me."

Emily finally sat up, her eyes dull with exhaustion. "She's still alive?"

"Your mom? Barely, yes."

"I think she's enjoying this."

"She's unconscious."

"Oh, you don't know her like I do," Emily muttered, her lips curling into a wry smile. "She'll keep us in suspense just for the fun of it."

Eve's expression didn't change. "Still, I'm on your side, Ms. Parker. But when you vanish, I'm the one scrambling to make things up. And I can't even use your dog anymore."

Emily frowned, confused. "I have a dog?"

"No. He's dead."

"I had a dog, and he's dead?" Emily's voice rose slightly, tinged with incredulity.

"He was a pretend-dog. And he is pretend-dead. He had to go to the pretend-vet so many times to cover for you he might as well be pretend-heaven now."

Emily blinked, her lips twitching with amusement. "Oh. What kind of model was he?"

Eve sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Breed, Ms. Parker. The word is breed. I made him a golden retriever. His name was Roy."

"Was he a good boy?"

"The good-est of boys," Eve replied, rolling her eyes but unable to keep a faint smile from tugging at her lips.

"Good," Emily murmured, leaning back in her chair. "I miss that dog."

Eve didn't let the exchange distract her from the larger issue. "What about your sleep, Ms. Parker?"

Emily tilted her head, considering the question. "When did budget season start?"

"Two weeks ago."

"There you go."

Eve shook her head and walked toward the plush sofa near the window, its placement more decorative than practical. "Come here, please. Lie down."

Emily groaned as she stood, her tall frame unfolding reluctantly. At 5'11", she usually carried herself with effortless confidence, but now she slouched like a teenager. Eve, meanwhile, was her usual composed self, her honey-blonde ponytail immaculate, her tailored suit wrinkle-free.

"On your back, head on the armrest," Eve instructed, gesturing with her slender hands.

Emily kicked off her shoes unceremoniously and collapsed onto the sofa. Eve retrieved a chair, pulled it close, and sat down beside her.

"Close your eyes," she said softly, her fingers slipping into Emily's hair and beginning to massage her scalp.

Emily groaned with audible relief. "Oh dear god, I could marry you."

Eve smirked, her voice dry. "I didn't know you were this easy."

"If they had magic hands like yours, I'd marry just about anyone," Emily murmured, her tone quieter now. After a moment of silence, her voice dropped even lower. "This is new."

Eve hesitated but kept her hands moving. "What is?"

"This," Emily admitted, her vulnerability creeping in. "You, touching me. Your 'no-touch policy,' remember?"

Eve frowned slightly. "You've named it?"

"Of course I have," Emily said, though her voice was devoid of its usual teasing lilt.

Eve's hands paused briefly before resuming their gentle rhythm. "I suppose it's true. It's not something I'm comfortable with. My psychiatrist says it's about control."

Emily opened her eyes, her gaze searching. "So I shouldn't get used to this?"

Eve smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'd rather you didn't."

The exchange ended there, both women retreating into their thoughts. Emily closed her eyes again, and eventually, her breathing slowed.

Eve watched her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Emily looked peaceful for once, her usual sharp edges softened. Carefully, Eve retrieved a blanket and tucked it around the CEO before turning off the lights.

Later that evening, Emily stirred to the sound of a pen scratching against paper. She sat up groggily and saw Eve sitting at her desk, illuminated by the soft glow of the desk lamp.

"Will I ever get to see what you're drawing?" Emily asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Eve didn't look up. "Good evening, Ms. Parker. And no, most likely not. This is personal."

Emily stretched, her joints protesting. "If you're sketching during business hours, surely I should have a say."

Eve finally glanced up, her blue eyes cool but not unkind. "We are well past business hours."

Emily frowned. "What time is it?"

Eve closed her sketchbook and stood, retrieving her notebook. "It's eight o'clock, ma'am."

"Eight?" Emily exclaimed. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I tried," Eve replied evenly. "At five, at five-thirty, and again at six. You told me--" she glanced at her notes--"to 'go away, you useless--' and then something incoherent."

Emily winced. "Eve, I'm sorry. You know I don't think you're useless."

Eve tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Come on. Let's get you home. I'll drive."

Eve's hands gripped the wheel tightly as she drove home. Later, in the quiet of her apartment, she let her mask slip. In front of her mirror, she took in her reflection--hair undone, glasses removed, the crisp lines of her shirt softened. Her thoughts turned back to Emily's crude joke and the loneliness it had unearthed within her.

The tears came before she could stop them, tracing silent paths down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, seeking the solace of the darkness, grateful to escape the reflection of her own pain.

Chapter 2

Eve arrived at the hospital at precisely 7:00 a.m. the next day, as she always did. The crisp morning air hadn't done much to shake the lingering heaviness she felt from the previous night, but as she stepped through the revolving doors into the gleaming lobby of Parker Medical Center, she was once again the composed and efficient assistant her position demanded. Her tailored suit was flawless, her ponytail sleek, and her glasses polished to perfection.

She made her way to Emily's office, her heels clicking softly on the marble floors. When she arrived, she found the door ajar--a clear sign that Emily was already inside, likely nursing her first cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Ms. Parker," Eve said as she entered.

Emily looked up from her desk, her cinnamon-brown hair slightly tousled, as usual, and her Tuscan brown eyes betraying a trace of exhaustion despite her rested appearance. She had swapped her usual sharp business attire for a more relaxed blouse and slacks combo, but somehow still managed to look authoritative.

"Good morning, Eve. I see you're as punctual as ever."

"I try," Eve replied with a faint smile. She set Emily's schedule for the day on the desk, neatly aligned with the other papers. "Your first meeting is at eight sharp. It's with the board to finalize the staffing budget for the new wing."

Emily groaned theatrically, leaning back in her chair. "The budget. My nemesis."

Eve's lips twitched. "Yes, well, some of us are trying to keep your empire running while you nap on sofas."

Emily smirked. "Touché. Speaking of which--thank you for staying late last night."

Eve inclined her head. "It's my job."

"It's more than that," Emily said, her tone softening slightly. "I know I'm not the easiest person to work with."

"No, you're not," Eve agreed without hesitation, her gaze steady.

Emily chuckled, though her eyes were thoughtful. "I'll take that as honesty, not an insult."

"It was both," Eve replied, her deadpan delivery earning a genuine laugh from her boss.

By mid-afternoon, Emily was already flagging. The board meeting had been grueling, filled with heated debates about allocations and timelines. Emily had held her own, of course--she always did--but the strain was starting to show. Eve noticed, as she always did.

After the meeting, she appeared at Emily's side with a glass of water and a small plate of sliced fruit.

"Eat this," Eve said, setting the plate on the desk.

"Are you my assistant or my mother?" Emily grumbled, though she took a piece of apple anyway.

"Neither," Eve replied. "I'm your keeper."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "That's not comforting."

"It wasn't meant to be," Eve said, turning on her heel and heading back to her desk, leaving Emily to chuckle softly to herself.

Later that evening, Emily found herself still at the hospital, though her workday was technically over. She had a tendency to linger, as if leaving meant admitting defeat against the endless tide of tasks. Eve however was on her way out for the day.

"Eve," Emily called as her assistant moved toward the door.

"Yes, Ms. Parker?"

"Do you ever feel like you're running on a treadmill that's set just a little too fast?"

Eve paused, her hand on the doorframe. "Every day," she said, her voice softer than usual.

Emily nodded, her expression unusually vulnerable. "Me too."

For a moment, the two women regarded each other in silence, the hum of the office's overhead lights the only sound. Then, as if sensing that the conversation had ventured into territory neither of them was ready to explore, Eve straightened.

"Get some rest, Ms. Parker," she said, her professional demeanor sliding back into place like armor.

"You too, Eve," Emily replied, though she suspected that neither of them would follow their own advice.

As the door clicked shut behind her assistant, Emily leaned back in her chair, staring out at the city skyline. The office felt emptier without Eve in it, a realization that both surprised and unsettled her.

Eve arrived home to the quiet stillness of her apartment. She placed her bag on the kitchen counter and poured herself a glass of wine, staring out the window at the snow-covered streets below.

Her mind drifted back to the hospital, to Emily's rare moment of vulnerability. It was strange, how someone so commanding could occasionally seem so lost. Eve had always admired Emily's strength, but it was these fleeting glimpses of her humanity that lingered in Eve's thoughts long after the workday was over.

As she sipped her wine, Eve found herself opening her sketchbook. She flipped to a blank page, her pencil hovering for a moment before she began to draw. Her hand moved instinctively, the lines forming an image of Emily--not as the formidable CEO, but as the woman she had glimpsed tonight: tired, contemplative, and achingly human.

Eve stared at the sketch when it was finished, her heart heavy with something she couldn't quite name.

She closed the sketchbook and set it aside, resolving to bury whatever it was she was feeling beneath layers of professionalism. But as she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, she couldn't help but wonder if she was doing the right thing--or if she was simply too afraid to do anything else.

Chapter 3

In a rare moment of spontaneity, Eve found herself out with a few friends for an after-work drink at one of the more upscale pubs in the southern part of town. The establishment was dimly lit, with warm amber tones that reflected off polished brass fixtures and dark wood furniture. Being a Tuesday, the crowd was sparse, something Eve appreciated deeply. Too many people meant too much noise, too much attention--two things she worked hard to avoid.

As she stepped inside, Eve's sharp eyes instinctively scanned the room. The air smelled faintly of leather and aged whiskey, and a soft hum of chatter filled the space. Toward the far corner, her gaze snagged on a familiar figure. Even with her back turned, Eve recognized Emily instantly. Her long brown hair, the graceful tilt of her shoulders--there was no mistaking her boss.

Seated across from Emily was a man Eve had never seen before. He had the kind of classic good looks that made people do a double take. His sandy hair was styled into a neat quiff, and his easy smile radiated charm. The two of them appeared deep in conversation, leaning slightly toward one another in a way that suggested familiarity. There was nodding, the occasional burst of laughter, and smiles that seemed to linger just a little too long.

Eve's chest tightened. Was Emily on a date? She knew almost nothing about her boss's personal life--Emily guarded it fiercely--but this didn't seem out of the realm of possibility. She frowned, her mind briefly flickering with questions she didn't dare voice aloud.

Unbeknownst to Eve, the man was Dave, Emily's older brother by two years. A frequent traveler for work, Dave often dropped in unannounced to visit his sister, treating her to drinks or dinner whenever he passed through the city of Highpoint.

Dave, ever observant, caught the flicker of interest in Eve's eyes. Leaning slightly toward Emily, he gestured subtly with his chin. "The blonde near the entrance," he murmured, his voice low enough to avoid drawing attention. "She's been eyeing me for a good minute. Friend of yours?"

Emily turned her head, her brow furrowing in mild confusion. When she spotted Eve, her expression shifted to one of surprise. "Eve?" she said softly, more to herself than to Dave.

"You know her?" Dave asked, his curiosity piqued.

"She's my executive assistant. Took over after Beth. I'm just surprised to see her here." Emily's eyes swept across the room briefly, her mind racing. No, this wasn't a work outing--she'd know if it was. And Eve's birthday? No, that wasn't until March.

Dave chuckled. "She seems friendly. Good looks."

"She has a thing about people touching her," Emily said absently, her gaze still fixed on Eve. "But yeah, she has dressed up today, hasn't she?" She tilted her head slightly, noting the subtle elegance of Eve's outfit. I wonder if she's just out with friends... or on a date? Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought. "Never mind. Where were we?"

The evening unfolded as expected--glasses clinking, bursts of laughter punctuating the low hum of conversation, and the occasional rise and fall of cheerful chatter. The warmth of the pub enveloped everyone, making the bitter cold outside seem a distant memory.

But then, a sudden commotion shattered the tranquil atmosphere.

"I said no! Hey, get off me! Let me go!"

The sharp cry was unmistakably Eve's. Emily's head snapped toward the sound, her body tensing as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Across the room, Eve was on the floor, scrambling backward as a young man loomed over her, his face twisted with anger.

Eve's hand shot out, slapping him hard enough to make his head snap to the side. The sound echoed through the now-silent pub. His nails had scratched her wrist, leaving faint red marks, but the slap only seemed to enrage him further.

The man pulled his arm back, ready to strike. Eve's eyes widened, and for a split second, she wasn't in the pub anymore. She was back in that alley, all those years ago, staring into the face of violence and fear.

But before the man's fist could connect, a towering figure in a wine-red dress stepped between them.

"Hey!" Emily barked, her voice a sharp, commanding force that made the man hesitate. She grabbed his wrist with startling precision, yanking him back and away from Eve. Her tall frame loomed over him, her eyes hard and unyielding.

"What the fuck's your problem?" the man snapped, his tone hostile but faltering under Emily's glare.

"She said 'no,'" Emily replied icily, her voice as sharp as broken glass. "It's not that difficult of a concept, is it? The next time a girl says no, you listen and have some goddamn respect."

The man sneered, his lips curling in disdain. "Come on, she wanted it. Just look at her." His leer shifted to Eve, who was still sitting on the floor, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

Emily's jaw tightened. "I think you've had enough. You should leave."

"You don't get to tell me when I've had enough," he spat, taking a step forward and pointing a finger at Emily.

Emily didn't flinch. Her eyes were locked onto his, her posture unyielding. "Why don't you pick a fight with someone your own size?"

"You seem more than capable. Why not you?" the man challenged, his tone taunting.

Behind Emily, two regulars stood up from their seats, ready to intervene. The tension in the pub was palpable, every set of eyes trained on the scene unfolding in the corner.

Suddenly, Dave appeared behind the aggressive man, his confident smile disarming and his relaxed posture an immediate contrast to the tension in the air. His body language radiated calm, non-threatening energy.

"Son, come on," Dave said, his voice steady but persuasive. He gestured toward the pub's patrons, who were now all staring intently. "Look at what's happening. This isn't the way to end your night, is it?"

The young man's glare flicked toward Dave before returning to Emily. His lips curled into a sneer, but after a moment's hesitation, he let out a guttural grunt and stalked toward the exit.

Emily's shoulders remained taut, her gaze following him until the door swung shut. Only then did she turn back to Eve, kneeling beside her on the pub's hardwood floor. She immediately noticed the scratch marks on Eve's wrist, a faint trace of blood against pale skin.

"Are you alright, Miss?" Emily asked softly, her tone unusually gentle. She reached out slightly but stopped short of touching Eve. "Arm, please."

Eve hesitated but slowly extended her arm. Emily's brown eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, the younger woman saw a torrent of emotions in her gaze: anger, frustration, but most of all, concern.

Emily exhaled and thought,

I will have to touch you.

Her hesitation was subtle, but Eve caught it. Her wide eyes softened, and she gave a barely perceptible nod. Emily's fingers remained steady, but her mind raced, hoping not to make Eve uncomfortable.

"Victor," Emily called out, her voice commanding but calm. "Your first aid kit, please."

The bartender, having watched the scene unfold, reacted immediately. He grabbed the kit from behind the bar and tossed it across the room to Emily, who caught it with practiced ease. She tore it open with efficient hands, quickly assembling disinfectant and bandages.

Emily glanced at Eve again, her expression softening.

I'm sorry,

she mouthed, hoping the blonde would understand. Eve's arm began to tremble as Emily reached for her, but Emily pretended not to notice, moving with the same calm precision she used when dealing with crises at the hospital.

"What an evening, huh, ladies?" Emily said lightly, her words directed at Eve's friends who hovered nearby. Three women, all roughly Eve's age, watched the interaction with wide eyes.

They must know about her no-touch policy,

Emily thought, wondering how they felt seeing her break it now.