At Mr. Cartwright's Command by Ingrid Ash Page A

as I doze off.
    I awake what feels like 15 minutes later, jumping instinctively at the feeling of someone else being in bed with me when I awake.
    “Shhh, shhh,” Mr. Cartwright whispers, his lips pressed tightly against my ear. My entire body relaxes when I realize it's just him, feeling the warmth of his own body against my back, his arm wrapping gently around my waist.
    “I'm leaving tomorrow,” he whispers to me with a yawn.
    “Mmm, yeah, I know,” I reply, my voice muffled against the bed sheets.
    “Are you going to miss me?” he asks sleepily against my skin.
    I giggle and reply, “Yeah.”
    He chuckles and I see him smile out of the corner of my eye. He pulls me closer to him, settling in against the bed and holding me tight. It feels good, being cuddled and all. It feels even better when I realize I've never truly been held before.
    I exhale, letting my body relax back against his.
    “So where are you going tomorrow?” I ask quietly.
    He's still and silent, minus the faint sound of his steady breathing in my ear. I shut my eyes too, realizing there are better things than hearing the answer to that question.
     
    *
     
    I wake up a lot earlier than usual the next morning. The sun is still low in the sky and I'm lying flat on my stomach. The first thing I realize is the arm thrown over my back, and for a split second, it startles me once again. I turn to the side to find him next to me – lips slightly parted and perfectly messy bed hair. I bite my thumb nail as I watch him for a moment – it's an odd and foreign feeling, sharing a bed with someone by choice.
    I lean upwards, glancing at the clock – it's almost 8:00am, around the time he's usually out of the house so I figure I should wake him.
    “Hey,” I say, stroking his shoulder gently. Who knew he was such a heavy sleeper? He doesn't budge, so I jostle him gently until his eyes flutter open.
    He yawns wide, rolling on to his back and stretching, still clothed in his slacks and button down.
    “What time is it?” he asks as he rubs his eyes.
    “Almost 8.”
    He groans, arching his back up off the bed before his head rolls to the side, his eyes fixing on mine. He pauses and I see something flicker there, like he's just now coming to his senses and realizing where he is.
    “Did I fall asleep in here?” he asks.
    “Nope,” I say, shaking my head sarcastically. “I carried your body in from your bed room.”
    He rolls his eyes, turns, and throws his legs over the side of the bed. “Very funny, Tamara.”
    I chuckle. “Did you at least sleep well?”
    “I've slept better,” he says as he fumbles with his shoes.
    “Nice.”
    “I'm taking off in two hours. It's a good thing you woke me.”
    I roll over, stretching across the length of the bed. “Taking off to where?” I ask him casually.
    He scoffs, looking back at me while he buttons his shirt. “You already know you aren't getting that answer.”
    “Well then, you can at least tell me what you're going for .”
    “No, actually I can't.”
    I roll my eyes and say, “What is it, a top secret mission or something? I already know it's for the agency. Would it kill you to tell me what?”
    His nose scrunches and he says, “The agency? No, I don't bother with that thing.”
    “You don't bother with your own business?” I ask.
    “It's not my business. I didn't start it, my father did. He gave it to me for my 18 th birthday for a damn good reason – it makes my portfolio look like shit, ” he responds bitterly.
    My brows furrow; there are so many questions plaguing my mind that I can't seem to articulate one. This is the second time I've heard him say something about his father that's far from complimentary. And all this time I hadn't considered the idea that the CMA wasn't his sole source of income. So as it turns out I know even less about Mr. Cartwright than I thought. And that's pretty freaking bad.
    “So what do you do, then?” I ask him.
    He turns to me and with a sly smile he