Things That Change

***A/n: Hey all, if enough people like this one, it'll be my next multi-chapter story. Thanks for reading! xoxo

Why do we do hard things? What makes us look at a challenging task and think, "Yeah, I can do that?" I would love to know, just for personal reflection. Because I, sure as shit, couldn't tell you what convinced me to go back to work after the accident.

Almost four months went by since my car was nearly cut in two by that drunk driver. Don't worry, I wasn't in the car. No, I was one foot away, bending down to pick up my keys. Yeah, after all of the surgeries and life-saving measures, I'm lucky enough to be left with a few dozen pins here and there and a strong limp. Of course, that's not to mention the new fear of cars, traffic, and pretty much anything having to do with the road. Don't get me started on parking lots, phew!

That's how I ended up with four months off of work, which ends right now. From all the gossip I've been hearing from Zoey, our all-too-inexperienced receptionist, a lot had changed.

I pulled my arms through a blouse that I think fits the occasion -- dark blue cashmere, navy stitching, not too loose but not tight whatsoever. It goes best with the cream, cropped slacks that I start pulling up my legs. I'll admit that since the surgeries, I haven't worn pants this fitting. The tightness causes a deep pressure that feels like needles stabbing my nerves. But I like how I look, giving a few turns in the mirror. If someone saw me like this, they'd never guess that was my unconscious face plastered across the five o'clock news.

Since that day, driving again has been out of the question. I can't, I won't. My therapist says it's a normal response, my friends say at least I'm saving on gas. It's a win-win. Thankfully, big cities are known for their public transportation, so subway here I come.

After a quick half hour, my downtown stop flashes across the LED ticker. Someone else pulls the string, and a few of us get off and walk down the path to the business park. We separate into our directions. One deep breath in, one deep breath out. Before I can open the door, someone else beats me to it.

"Oh, thanks," I turned, expecting to see Dave or even Ryan there. Instead, a new face looked back at me.

"Of course, I'm Wilson." His smile is warm and bright. I give a small nod and pass through the door. When I turned around to ask how long he'd been with the firm, he was gone; but I heard his shoes tapping up the stairs. I, of course, had to opt for the elevator unless I wanted my knees to buckle on the second step. I tapped the third-floor button, the door closed, and away I went.

Ding. The door parted, and before I could think to move, people were clapping.

"Welcome back, stranger!" Zoey sang before running up to hug me. Her arms clung around my neck like a baby monkey. Altogether, people praised me for returning, and then they did the same. They returned to work. I made some small talk, but no one was too interested in how my time off was spent. I silently thanked them for not caring. Or at least for not faking it.

"Oh great," I sighed only loud enough for myself. A pile of undone work sat on my desk, gathering dust. Quickly, I pulled out my laptop and logged into the network. Hundreds of unopened emails flashed across the screen.

"Hey Ryan," I looked across to my desk buddy. "I thought you were taking my accounts while I was away?"

"I tried, but Wilson wanted to manage them." He peeked over his laptop at me, "Oh shit, you haven't met him." There was a look on his face, like a smirk. Willson. The man who'd opened the door? Wait, who was Willson? Why did he get to pull Ryan from my accounts?

I didn't even have to ask, I must've just looked confused because Ryan was pointing to the back office that used to house Tom Becks eight hours a day. Before I knew it, I was knocking on the glass door. It was just a knock to be polite because I didn't wait for an answer. I pushed open the door and peeked in.

There he was, the man from this morning. He looked up from whatever work he was doing. "Oh, Ginger, it's so nice to finally meet you!" He stood up to cross the room, his hand extended.

"We met this morning," I stepped into the office, lamely shaking his hand.

"Right," he smiled. Neither of us spoke for too long.

"Listen, Wilson, I wanted to know why you took on my active accounts?" My arms were crossed, probably giving away my annoyance. He sat back on his desk, almost making him eye level with me.

"Ryan is fine. He does his job well," he paused. "But, you do exceptional work, Ginger. I have been so impressed with - " I stopped him.

"Why were you looking into my work?" Now my hands were on my hips, and Wilson just stared at me. "I mean, thank you. But, is there a reason you're familiar with my work in particular?"

"Ginger, you're one of the only women in this advertising firm. Did you think I wasn't going to try and see why?" He chuckled. An honest answer wasn't what I expected, but I don't know what I expected. "Listen, I wanted to meet you before I dug through your work, but I was curious, and then I was excited. And believe me, I didn't change anything. I was just staying in contact with clients."

"Right," I nodded. "Sorry for barging in like this," I turned to leave, my tail tucked in shame.

"Hey," Wilson had a hand on my shoulder. "I've gotten to know everyone in the office pretty well. A little shindig at my house, ya know." He rubbed his jaw, "Why don't we get lunch? Somewhere close so we can talk?"

"Yeah, sure." I gave a polite smile and left. There was nothing I would rather do less than have lunch with my nosey new boss.

"Miss Cline? Yes, hello, this is Ginger McCline over at Nouveau Advertising. Oh, yes ma'am, I'm doing better, thank you. I'm calling to discuss your thoughts on a new campaign. Yes, I can hold. " Elevator music started playing.

I kept the receiver to my ear with my shoulder, a pen between my lips as I typed an email reply. I could see Zoey eyeing me, so I made a gun with my fingers and pretended to shoot myself. She winked before answering a call. Suddenly, Wilson was at my side with his coat on. He made a "come on" motion with his head.

Shit, lunch. I peeked at the clock, twelve o'clock already. I pulled the phone away from my mouth, "So busy," I whispered. His face fell. "How about dinner?" I offered just as a voice came through the phone.

"Yes ma'am, I'm still here." Out of the corner of my eye, Wilson was nodding excitedly. Great, as if lunch wasn't going to be bad enough.

My eyes burned from the computer screen. It seemed like ages since I looked at a screen this long. But, I still needed to find the perfect model for a new shampoo commercial. Every face was melding into the same. This wouldn't accomplish anything. So, maybe it was a good thing when Wilson rolled a chair next to my desk.

"Would you look at the time?" He jokingly looked at his wrist where there was no watch. According to my computer clock, it was just past five. Technically, the day was done. That meant one thing.

"Right, right," I shuffled papers around. "Let me just finish up."

Wilson leaned over to point, "I like her," he landed on a redhead with a somber expression. I just pursed my lips and shut the laptop.

Across from the office park, there was a row of bars and restaurants. We ended up in a dive that smelled more like cigarettes than it did food. But maybe that would make it all the quicker?

"So Ginger," Wilson stirred his drink. "Tell me all about yourself." He sipped, wincing at the strong spirits.

I chuckled, "Um, I guess there's not much. I have my masters in marketing and a B.A. in graphic design, " suddenly Wilson grabbed my wrist.

"No, no, I mean about you," he squeezed my wrist. "Tell me the fun stuff." He still held my wrist, but not as tight. I shifted uncomfortably, gaining access to my arm again.

I droned on for a while, leaving out personal details and even going as far as to make shit up. Wilson was hanging on every word. I think I could have read a dictionary and kept him content.

"So, what about you?" I leaned on my elbow. "What's your story?" He seemed taken aback like no one had asked him that before.

"I guess I'm just a normal guy." He looked at his empty glass thoughtfully, but that was it.

I scoffed, "You're joking, right? I just gave you my life story," I lied. "I think you can do better than that." I got to hear all about the degrees he got, brands he'd helped build, and firms he'd worked under. No wonder he was our boss. This guy had so much experience.

"Do you mind if I ask, how old are you?" It felt wrong, but there was no way Willson was older than me. Yet, he edged me out with experience.

"I'm thirty-one," he shrugged as if it was obvious.

Holy shit, this man was just one year older than me, but I was still stuck making portfolios for orthopedic sock companies. I slumped a bit, feeling defeated. It must have been noticed because, for the second time, Wilson grabbed my wrist. He took my hand in his and stroked my palm with his thumb.

"You are so talented, Ginger." He squeezed my hand. "I'm amazed by your ideas and your consumer insight." He reached forward and pushed a copper curl behind my ear. I froze, completely uncomfortable.

"Maybe we should go," I pulled my hand away to check my phone. "Fuck!" I stood up.

"What's wrong?" Wilson stood with me.

I groaned, "It's the subway. They closed it for maintenance!"

"You take the subway all the time? Or just for work?" He leaned against our booth but stayed standing with me.

"All the time. I don't drive," I pushed my arms through my coat, zipping it up in a rush. "Listen, I've gotta go. Here," I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill from my purse.

Wilson pushed my hand away, "Don't be crazy Ginger, I can drive you home." My first instinct was to howl no. No way could my boss drive me home, especially on the back of buying me dinner. Surly he'd think this was some kind of hookup, which couldn't be farther from the truth.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," I threw the money onto the table. "I can take a cab or something." I started walking without another word, only for Wilson to follow me.

"Ginger please, I'll drop you off a block away if you don't want me to know where you live," he followed me out of the restaurant. "Come on, I swear I mean well." He stared back at me with gentleness, the kind of softness you show a defenseless baby animal you found on the side of the highway.

"Turn left at the light," After pointing ahead I recrossed my arms over my chest, hugging my ribs close so my chest wouldn't burst open. Every streetlight we passed made me hold my breath, I was starting to get dizzy from not breathing. Just as we turned left, Wilson slammed on the brakes so the car coming towards us had time to swerve out of the way. I lurched forward in my seat, the belt straining against my neck. My eyes clamped shut so tightly. My lips parted and I screamed at the top of my lungs, fingers digging into the hard plastic of the door and the stiff leather of the center console. I waited for the impending impact.

"Ginger! What's going on, Ginger?" Wilson shouted as he shook me by my shoulders. He unbuckled my seat belt to turn me toward him. "Hey Ginger, you with me?" I couldn't respond, as if my jaw was wired shut. I heard three beeps.

"Hello, I think I need an ambulance. Yes, for my friend. She is hyperventilating, and she's non-responsive."

My eyes flew open, "No!" I screamed. I fumbled around clumsily until the door released behind me and I tumbled out of the car. Orange light flashed in the pattern of a heartbeat. Bright, dim, bright, dim. It was fire, it had to be. I started to crawl away to safety.

"Ginger, wait!" Wilson landed next to me and crawled along with me. "Hey, hey!" He held my shoulders tight and kept me still. "Stop!" He yelled. Then, he pulled me into his chest. My head was pinned against Wilson and his heartbeat helped steady my breathing.

I couldn't stop repeating, "The accident," and "We have to get away." We sat like that for so long, I started to fall asleep. I felt my body become heavy and limp. I opened my eyes, Wilson was carrying me in his arms and back to the car.

"Shh, it's alright," he whispered against my hair.

I started to panic, "The accident!" I pushed against him.

He held me tighter, "There isn't an accident, Ginger." We turned to face the car. He was right. There wasn't any debris or fire. What I thought was fire turned out to be Wilson's car's hazard lights blinking on and off. I had no injuries and neither did Wilson. We were fine. I was fine.

"Can you please take me home?" I asked, lamely.

The last six blocks to my house could have been through Candyland, and I wouldn't know. My eyes were shut throughout the entire ride.

My hands shook so badly, my key wouldn't go into the hole. Wilson reached over my shoulder and helped. "You don't have to come in, I'll be fine."

Wilson opened the door for me, "It's no trouble." We just looked at each other. "If you don't want me to come in, I won't." Again, we stared back and forth without a word. I walked inside with Wilson following behind.

As I flipped the lights on and threw my keys onto the entry table, I was hyper-aware that my new boss was there inside my house. His footsteps sounded so loud to me, especially since we weren't speaking. We walked together to my small kitchen. I suddenly felt embarrassed by my eclectic decor. The mint green wall-to-wall tile seemed charming when I moved in. Now, the mosaic of a blue macaw -- stuck staring in place, on the farthest wall of my kitchen for all of eternity -- made me self-conscious. I should have just taken a sterile, white home to impress my guests. Granted, I never intended on entertaining this particular guest.

"Do you want a drink?" I only asked to be polite. But Wilson, of course, wanted a drink. He made himself comfortable at my small, round kitchen table. So, I gave him a nice, tall glass of tap water. He drank without any hesitation.

"I like your place," he ran his fingers over the rough edges of the wall art. I leaned against the counter and shook my head.

"You shouldn't be here," I admitted. "You are my boss, this is inappropriate." I held my hands up, defensively.

When I looked back up, Wilson was looking curiously in my direction. "Do you always get that way in cars?" He cocked his head as if he'd just asked for directions to the nearest Pizza Hut.

"Leave," I put a hand to my temple, aggravation setting in. He didn't budge. "Go! Get out," I pointed to the door in case he forgot where it was. Instead of leaving, he was at my side.

"Are you sure you want to be alone right now?" He was doing that voice again. The voice you use with someone who just screamed at an unmoving car. Then, his hand rested on the one I had on the countertop. His thumb rubbed the top of my hand so softly it tickled.

I turned to him, and he faced me. We weren't moving. We weren't talking. And then, we were pressed together in a dramatic kiss.

Both of my arms held him tight, my hands flat against his back. One of his hands slid up and down my hip, and the other ran through my copper curls. Our lips met again and again -- our tongues each fighting for control.

As I pulled up on Wilson's shirt, he grabbed my hips and lifted me onto my counter. My legs parted so he could step closer. Once he stepped forward, he helped me to pull his shirt over his head. I ran my hands across his hard chest and down his soft belly, his body hair tickled my fingers.

Just as my nails scraped his belt, he was unbuttoning my pants. We were thankfully on the same path.

I lifted my butt so he could easily pull my pants down my legs. I wasted little time nearly clawing my blouse off and throwing it. There weren't any thoughts in my head besides how sexy I was feeling, sitting on my kitchen counter so exposed. All that covered me was a push-up bra and a matching, white thong.

Wilson cupped my breasts over my bra. My soft flesh jiggled under his touch. I reached back and easily unclasped my bra and it fell forward. My breasts fell free, hanging just a tad lower than they did with the extra padding.

I massaged my breasts, getting a weak look out of Wilson. I pulled my nipples until they were hard little beads, cherries topping my soft mounds. I presented one pink, firm nipple, and Wilson leaned forward to take my offering. He sucked almost sloppily, treating my nipple like a cock. I moaned the whole time, holding his head to me like a baby at feeding time.

I wanted more, I needed more.

I pulled my nipple from Wilson's mouth, causing a popping sound. He looked confused until I started pulling his belt free. He took the bait and quickly pulled down his pants so he was only in briefs. A protruding bulge was so obvious it made me quiver.

I sat up and again, we were kissing. I spread my legs, letting each leg wrap around his waist. He shimmied free so he could take off his underwear. Now, he was completely naked.

My eyes went wide. Jutting out from a neat bush of pubic hair between his legs, was a thick cock.

I leaned back onto my elbows, bringing my butt down to the edge of the counter. I pulled my feet up, heels on the linoleum. Wilson took his position between my legs, holding his cock in one hand and pulling my thong to the side with his other.

He pushed forward slowly, and we both grunted. My back curved like a U as he slowly and calmly fit his cock inside me. Suddenly I felt the tickle of his hair touching my lips. He was in. I opened my eyes and looked at where we were joined, always one of my favorite sights.

Instead of looking down at me and sharing the moment, Wilson had his eyes closed. I couldn't tell what was wrong, but he was breathing so deeply. But then, he moved. His eyes opened and he pulled back just until his tip rested at my entrance, then he moved in again.

His rhythm was steady and slow. His hand rubbed over my flat stomach, barely grazing my breasts now and again. Then without warning, Wilson placed his thumb against my clit. I lurched forward, moaning like I was in pain. His thumb pushed firmly against my button as his cock steadily fucked me.

I pushed myself up so that we were face to face. We were both gasping over the new angle. I locked my heels behind his butt, pulling him closer and therefore deeper. Now, his groin rubbed against my clit as his cock went deeper. We moaned and grunted into each other's mouths.

We shared one more kiss, a deep passionate kiss with our tongues so deep we probably both almost gagged. Just as I thought about needing air, Wilson thrust hard. His cock flooded me with warm cum. In an instant, I was coming with him. My nails dug into his arms, my legs pulled him closer, and my pussy gripped his cock for dear life.

I kept feeling the aftershocks of our shared orgasm for a few more moments. Now and then, my pussy would quiver or Wilson's cock would twitch. I could feel his cock sliding out of me as he shrunk and then he pulled out. Before I could get up, or say anything, sleep overcame me.

That night, I didn't dream. I only slept. Most nights, I had vivid recalls of the accident or, I would imagine even worse realities. But there was none of that. The only reason I opened my eyes was the grating sound of my phone alarming me to wake up for work.

It took as long as swinging my legs off of the bed to remember, I didn't fall asleep in bed. I reached for the blankets to cover my naked body as if someone were going to come waltzing in. I had sex with my boss.

And it was great sex. I thought back, hoping to figure out why we ended up like that. It had to be adrenaline because thinking you've been in another terrible accident will do that to a girl.

I wrapped myself in my blanket to go check the house and make sure Wilson didn't steal something. Nothing was missing, not that I really thought anything would be. There wasn't any evidence that anyone had sex on the counter. My clothes were folded neatly and placed on the kitchen table. All except my bra. I looked all around, but it was nowhere to be found. This was a later problem. For now, I had to get ready for work.