“I still have time left, so why ask?”
“Just making plans for advertising a certain personal shopper position sometime soon. And sending Thérèse a gilt-edged ‘I told you so’ card.”
I mutter something under my breath. It begins with an “A” and ends with a “hole.”
“What was that?”
Instead of answering, I take a sip of coffee, letting a drop of it linger on my lower lip. I run my tongue over my lip, lapping it up.
I’m gratified to see him shift uncomfortably in his chair. If I have to suffer the raging fires of denied lust, then so does he. I smile, arching my eyebrows. “I was simply expressing my concern about all the unscheduled time you’re spending in my office today. I know how busy you are.”
He leans back in his chair and laces his fingers behind his head. “This is scheduled.”
Of course it was. “You scheduled in a harassment break?”
“Don’t all bosses do that?”
I take a sip of coffee before answering. “Not in my experience, no.”
He reaches out, grabs another cookie, and takes a bite. “Mmm.” He lets out a groan of pleasure. “So good.”
It’s such an obvious gambit, and yet I fall for it. I think of him inside me, me bent over his desk, his tortured groans of ecstasy stroking my ears… I blush hotly and drop my gaze.
A gentleman would pretend not to notice. He just lets a slow grin spread across his face.
“What’s on your mind, Scarlett O’Hellion?”
I’m stressed, I’m exhausted, I want you to sex me all night long but I’m afraid I’d fall asleep before I got my clothes off…“What’s on my mind? I’ll be happy to share. I want to know the real reason you’re so hell-bent on forcing me to quit.” It’s the same question I asked him in the courtyard last week, when he batted it aside with vague answers.
I’m not letting it go this time. This is my life he’s playing with, like a cat batting a mouse between its velvety paws.
He sits up, his smile fading into a defensive scowl. “After your performance your very first day here, you have to ask?”
“Those were extraordinary circumstances,” I protest. “Thérèse left before she was able to give me any instructions. I tried to be proactive, and yes, I made mistakes. But I have done a killer job for the past week that I’ve been working with you, so why are you riding me so damn hard?”
His thick brows rise, and he smiles politely.
“What are you, twelve?” I say irritably. “You know what I meant.”
“All right. You’ve kept it together for one whole week, hooray.” He does a sarcastic golf clap. “I’m an excellent judge of character, and I don’t think you have the right temperament for this type of work.”
“You’re still not telling me the whole truth. And I’m going to keep asking you until you do. Tell me tell me tell me.”
“Now who’s twelve?”
“Tell me tell me tell me,” I chant.
He grabs his phone and starts typing something.
“Adding more bull-crap for me to do?” I snort. “I don’t care if you pile on so much extra busywork that I have to sleep here, which I’m probably going to start doing anyway. Tell me tell me tell me…”
“Fine.” He drops his phone in his lap and shakes his head in exasperation. “First of all, I’m not asking you to work any more than I do. Every minute that you’re here, I’m here too. When I go home, you go home.”
Wait a minute. Is he deliberately keeping me here until it’s time for him to go home? Like…he wants me to keep him company in some weird, twisted way?
“But here’s the thing. Me coming in here like this, bringing you lunch…what am I even doing?” He rubs his face with his hand. “You’re right, it’s weird, it’s totally out of character. I’ve never done that for anyone before. It’s you. Ever since the first day I laid eyes on you, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I have a thousand things to check off my to-do list, but here I am. I’m spending time that I don’t have dreaming up wild goose chases to send you on, then checking my email all day long to make sure you finish every dumb job I assign you, and if I’m being honest, it’s because every time you send me one of your snarky answers or a middle finger emoji, I get a little thrill.” He says it all in one long, heated breath, his eyes blazing with a passion that threatens to set my panties aflame.
“And that’s bad because…?” I let the question dangle between us.
“Because I am this close–” he holds up his thumb and forefinger “–to fulfilling my late father’s lifelong dream of raising enough money for us to go international, and to do that, I need the full confidence of my board of directors. I’ve got the Popup Palooza, which is a huge undertaking in itself, as well as all my usual duties running Hudson’s. If anything goes wrong at all, if I screw up one little thing, if that confidence in me wavers…the whole house of cards fall down. And you are in my head all day long, and I don’t have room for you there.”
“I had no idea I was so powerful,” I say drily.
“You clearly don’t take this seriously. I do.” There’s a flash of anger in his eyes, and I think I see hurt there too. Or defensiveness.
I bite my lower lip. It’s so much easier to hate him when he doesn’t let these glimpses of humanity leak through, taunting me with possibility. “I’m sorry if it came across that way. Sincerely. I do want you to succeed. I want your company to succeed. I’m sorry I’m distracting you. I think about you all the time too…” I choke on that admission, then frantically wave my hand as if I could erase the words from his memory. “That’s not relevant to anything – you’re the one who’s got huge responsibilities that you need to focus on. If there’s a way for me to stop being so distracting, tell me. Would it help if I changed offices? You could move me back downstairs to the personal shoppers’ office.”
Something dark and sad flares up inside me at the thought. Why? I hate working right down the hall from Blake and being so painfully attracted and knowing that he’d never make the time for me and he doesn’t even like me as a person anyway. He wants me, yes, but he clearly can’t stand me.
What masochistic part of me would resist the chance to put some distance between us?
He frowns. “What if I offered you ten thousand dollars to quit?”
How dare he? “I’m not looking for a handout,” I say, stung. “I wasn’t raised that way. The personal shopper job is perfect for me. I love helping people, I love fashion, I’m great at putting outfits together.”
“Fifty thousand. But you have to take the offer right now.”
I rear back as if I’ve been slapped. It’s taking everything I’ve got not to cry. It really hurts that he wants so badly to get rid of me.
I desperately need the money. I could do so much with that money. It’s incredibly tempting, but the personal shoppers at Hudson’s earn a couple of hundred thousand a year between salary and commission, so if I keep working here, I could make my own damn money.