Why did I think this was a good idea?
There was a chance seeing her again wouldn’t live up to the hype. Two weeks of thinking about her might have built her up to be more than she was. Sure, she was pretty, but was she really the best-looking woman he’d ever met? In male time, two weeks was practically an eternity. When he finally did see her again whatever zing had been might be gone.
It wasn’t as if he’d pined for her for fourteen days. He’d gone to dinner with a couple of women. Both had asked him out. He’d had no reason to refuse.
He hadn’t fucked either of them, though. Which was—unsettling.
They’d both been beautiful.
They’d both been funny.
Smart too.
Somehow, though, his dick had stayed in his pants . . . on strike. Connor would have been concerned, would have rushed to the nearest doctor, if it weren’t for the fact that every time he thought about seeing Angelina again he got an instant boner.
He glanced down at the tented front of his pants. Dude, since when are you so picky?
He’d tried to talk to Dylan about his dilemma. After Dylan had stopped laughing . . . something that had taken a good amount of time . . . he’d assured Connor there was a cure. Sex with Angelina, even one time, would solve the issue. Men only obsessed about what they couldn’t have.
That was Dylan’s theory, anyway.
Connor wasn’t convinced it was that simple. There were plenty of women in the world who wouldn’t sleep with him, but that had never stopped his dick from working before.
Still, the idea of sex with Angelina was enough to have his heart pounding and his face flushing. I would definitely fuck her.
If she asked me to.
I’m her boss now, I can’t ask her.
Wait a minute. Why did I agree to this? Clay got lost in Australia looking for a bathroom in the Outback and I’m taking advice from him?
I’ll probably never have sex again.
Shit.
Connor froze when he heard Kimmie’s voice rise in welcome. Angelina had arrived.
His chest constricted.
His stomach fluttered.
He flexed his hands at his sides.
Any moment Kimmie would announce Angelina’s arrival. He’d have to open the door to his office and choose which version of him to be. The Barringtons practically had Angelina and him walking down the aisle together.
He just wanted to see her again. Work their way around his office, see where that led them. The possibilities were endless . . . boats, private jets . . . he’d heard helicopters held potential . . . although he did wonder what the pilot thought of that going on behind him. It probably required one of the larger aircrafts. Yeah. Definitely not one of the four seaters.
There was a knock on his door. “Mr. Sutton, Miss Kroll is here.” Kimmie stuck her head in the door she had opened just enough to peek around. “Would you like to see her now or should I settle her into her office first?”
He rolled his shoulders and took several deep breaths. Mrs. Tellier had told him to simply be himself. He would have considered that wise advice if he didn’t know his own track record with women. If all he wanted with Angelina was sex . . . then sure he could be whoever he wanted to be with her.
But she was different.
No other woman had left him tongue-tied and unsure.
None had ever felt important enough to make him worried they’d like him.
That had to mean something.
Could it be that Angelina really was . . . the one?
He swayed on his feet at the thought and his hands clenched. If so, everything I say is important. This is a day we’ll tell our kids about.
Kids.
He swayed again. I want kids. Me. Holy shit. When did that happen?
Kimmie gave him an odd look and said loudly, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were on the phone. I’ll take her to her office first.”
He nodded because that’s all he was capable of in that moment.
She closed the door.
He went to his desk, sat down behind it, and laid his hands flat on its surface. Angelina was a refined woman. Intelligent. Responsible. She wouldn’t be impressed by his greasy jean-wearing, off-road driving, water-tower-climbing old self. That wasn’t the Connor she’d met. It wasn’t the one she’d agreed to work for.
My family doesn’t even want that Connor anymore.
His phone rang again with a call from New York’s mayor. He wanted to discuss the park Connor was proposing and what the city could and couldn’t do. The old Connor would have been excited by the call and shown it. That wasn’t how to win in the city, though. Connor played it cool, let the mayor talk himself out, gave him enough time to second-guess his proposal . . . and won more concessions from him without even asking for them. Bradford was right about intelligent people. In response to sustained silence they often talked themselves right out of sounding smart.
When the call ended, he sent a message out to his team so they could act on the mayor’s concessions before he changed his mind. He also called the legal department to get everything sewn up for the purchase of the building. Clay’s signature was the one required, but the legwork was done, and if the team’s enthusiastic response was any indication—Connor had negotiated good deals.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. New Connor wasn’t a bad thing. He was hard-working, socially responsible, and effective. Rocking forward again, Connor flipped through the top script on his desk. His agent said his name was gold right now. He could name his price if he accepted any of these roles. Grant promised to take whatever amount Connor made and grow it into a fortune.
All he had to do was not be himself.
Old Connor would have already been at Angelina’s desk, sitting on the corner of it, making her laugh with stories of ridiculous situations he’d found himself in over the years. He wouldn’t have felt the need to conceal how he felt. Women liked him.
Or they used to.
Back when I liked myself.
Despite how much he’d anticipated Angelina’s reappearance in his life, he chose to stay in his office rather than seek her out. New Connor couldn’t bound into rooms. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t have the luxury of time to flirt inappropriately with his newest employee. There were too many emails to answer, too many people counting on him, a pile of scripts to read.
Angelina would just have to wait.
Late in the afternoon, Angelina gathered her purse from the side drawer in her desk, stood, and hesitated. Overall, it had been a great first day. It had consisted of introductions to the various departments and her support role for each. She felt welcomed and needed. Her office was one door down from Mrs. Tellier and Kimmie’s and their perma-smiles. Mrs. Tellier repeatedly gushed over how much she was enjoying her new job and she wasn’t alone. Almost everyone Angelina met that day was a walking commercial for Connor Sutton. He was amazing to work for, an invigorating asset to the program’s growth, and someone who got along as easily with wounded veterans as he did politicians and the press.
Kimmie said he was the kind of person people would walk through fire for.
Angelina hadn’t expected Connor to be so well liked.
It made her question if she’d allowed the stress of her old job to taint her impression of him. There had definitely been an attraction there, but she was having difficulty reconciling the arrogant, closed-off man she’d met with the one everyone else seemed to know. Although, as she thought back, she had glimpsed another side of him . . . when he’d spoken to the soccer team. Was that the real him? The side everyone else saw in him?