Sweet Like Honey

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8

"So you have a son," I blurt.

He frowned, looking up. "I was hoping we wouldn't talk about that, Jess."

"I can't help it. He's so cute."

He glances up me, and then to the clock. "He's...a handful."

I smile.

"I'm not really father material. But I try my best."

"I'm sure you do."

He smiles. "Jessie, I don't really want about my family dynamic."

His eyes narrow in on me. "I find you so very interesting, Jessie."

"What about me?" I ask, "My open sexuality, or my facial expressions."

He shrugs. "Both. But I also like your brain. It's different isn't it?"

"Let me guess," I smirk, "You like crazy women?"

He smiles. "I need someone to keep my mind occupied."

"Men say they like crazy women. Buy them they hate when you act crazy. I think you like freaky women. But the line between crazy and freaky isn't a straight one."

He smirks. "Maybe you're right."

I just nod. He watches me carefully. Since I saw his son he looks at me a little differently.

I can't tell if it's good or bad. This getting a little too much for my tastes.

"Are you thinking of resigning?" He asked abruptly.

That's exactly what I'm planning too do. This just got way too much.

He stood, leaning over my desk. I raise a brow. He smiles.

"But why would you do that? You get paid plenty. You're good at your job. It looks good on your resume—"

"I think you know," I whisper.

He shakes his head. "Why would I know?" He takes a  strand of my hair between his fingers. I slap them away.

"Don't touch my hair."

He smiles. "My apologies.  May I take your hand instead?"

"I'd much rather you didn't,"

He licks his lips, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. "No one can see us. I could fuck you on this desk and no one would be the wiser."

I sigh. Yep. Time to resign. Got to fucking go.

"Don't make that face," he chuckled. "I wasn't suggesting we try. It was metaphor."

"It's more of an example and a poor one. Why don't you get back to work, boss?"

He smiles. "You know something interesting about me son? He doesn't speak to anyway. He has selective mutism. He doesn't speak to people he doesn't feel extremely comfortable with."

I swallow. Oh shit.

"In fact, I thought he couldn't speak for a long time. I'm his father. He wouldn't speak to me. It took him almost 6 year. He sees you once, and says more to you, then he's said to me within the span of a year."

I blink. "And?"

He looks away. "Why?"

"How would I know?" I shift.

"He's very smart. But his social anxiety prevents him from reaching his potential. What about you does he like?"

I frown. "I thought you didn't want to talk about your son."

"I didn't. You're beautiful, but so are many women. You're not the only African America woman he's seen so that's no it. You helped him, but so other people. What did you do?"

I clear my throat. "I released a pheromone directly to his senses. It's something only I can do...makes children flock to me."

He smiles. "Your sarcasm isn't appreciated."

"I sincerely don't care."

"Would you consider...speaking to him again?"

"To your son?" I ask.

He hands me his phone. "Look. He'll text me but he still doesn't talk much."

I look up at him and he encourages me to look at the phone. I sighed doing so. I scroll through the texts. He keeps asking about me. The boy.

"Where's his mother?"

He opens his mouth.

"I've seen therapists. Doctors. Psychologists. I've spent more money then the civil war costed trying to figured out why he won't speak."

I frown. "How much did the civil war costs?"

"It's an expression. Honestly with the type of losses incurred in war a dollar amount can't really be assigned especially with inflation and the fact the slaves who, in and of them selves were capital—the point is: a lot of money."

Huh. How much do wars cost? I mean how do you add that since life doesn't have an intrinsic monetary value—well. You could just add all the going rates for each organ and say that's the price of a human.

But that's not reall—

"Are you stuck on how much the war costs? Focus please."

I look up at him. "I can't help your son. I'm not a doctor. I'm not trained to help him."

"I don't want you to diagnose him. Or prescribe him anything. Talk to him. Be his friend. His nanny maybe."

"You want me to Nanny your child? I'm no one's nanny."

He narrows his eyes. "Alright."

So easily.

"But I think I can change your mind...honey."

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