Free Breaking All the Rules by Cynthia Sax Page A

supervise their efforts? I hover over the computer, undecided. My apartment isn’t large and the men are working quickly, placing everything in boxes, stuffing packing popcorn around my potted plants, disconnecting my computer equipment. The bus I take to and from work doesn’t run very often. The movers will be gone before I arrive.
    Nate appears on the screen, looking out of place in his suit and tie. I know his schedule. He has meetings booked for the entire afternoon. What is he doing at my place? I sit down and watch him.
    A mover holds up the battered pot in which I cook rice. Nate nods and the man carefully places the pot into a box. I move the view from camera to camera as Nate walks around my studio apartment. He touches my parents’ framed first summer solstice photo, the rainbow-colored crocheted bedspread my mom made for me, my collection of fine leather corsets.
    “Have you added breaking and entering to your long list of crimes?” I text him.
    Nate reaches inside his jacket, removes his phone, glances down at the screen, and then around him. He locates the camera and types into his phone. “I agreed to move the contents of your apartment.”
    He’s keeping his promise, potential jail time be damned. I grin, impressed. “I didn’t think that meant you’d be personally involved. Don’t you have meetings you should be attending?”
    “You didn’t answer your phone.” Nate sits on my tiny bed, the mattress dipping beneath him. “Someone has to supervise the movers. Do you wish to join me?”
    Yes, I wish to join him . . . on my bed. I move the camera lens, scanning my one-room apartment. The movers have stripped it bare, taking everything, including the curtains. “Nah,” I type. “You appear to have everything under control. I trust you.”
    Nate stares down at his phone. Minutes pass. He pockets the phone and stands, his expression solemn. He opens my nightstand, the nightstand that holds my collection of black panties.
    I turn off my screen, unable to watch Nate snoop through my things. He’ll know all of my secrets before the move is completed. I grab a random stack of papers and take the elevator to the finance floor. If he can snoop I can also.
    As I exit the elevator Gladys, Nate’s gatekeeper, frowns, worry lines feathering her round face. “I’ve been expecting you.” She dangles a set of keys from her index finger. “Return the keys to Mr. Lawford when you’re done with them.”
    Nate is giving me permission to snoop, granting me access to his office, his filing cabinets, everything. I swallow my wonder and take the keys from Gladys, my fingers trembling. “I will. Thank you.”
    “He’s a good man, Miss Trent, and he trusts you.” She pushes her glasses upward until they are snug against the bridge of her button nose. “Don’t betray his trust.”
    “I’ll keep his secrets safe, Gladys,” I vow, touched by Nate’s faith in me. He won’t regret this, ever. I pass over the threshold and tramp along the hallway, entering the finance department.
    Today I’ll open more of Nate’s locked doors. I twirl his keys around one of my fingers, the clinking of metal against metal musical. I’ll uncover his secrets, learn more about the man I care for.
    I stride into his private space and glance around the office. Where should I start? Although the filing cabinets tempt me they’re situated far away from Nate’s desk. In my vast experience of snooping people keep their juicy secrets close to them.
    I sit in Nate’s captain’s chair, the black leather smelling of his cologne, light and fresh and unmistakably masculine. My pussy moistens, my mons bare under my torn skirt. I hike up the garment and swivel my hips, grinding my scent into his seat. He’ll smell me for days.
    Humming happily, I unlock Nate’s desk and slide open the top drawer. His fountain pen collection is impressive. All seventeen pens are black yet each one is unique and beautiful. I glide my fingertips over