“I’m cleaning. This is one of my side jobs. The girl who usually cleans called in sick, and since I don’t work at the Tavern, I told them I would work.”
“Have you ever cleaned this office before?” Surely if she had, I would have noticed her. Ramsey isn’t the kind of woman you forget. I’m an expert on this at this point.
She nods. “I have, but usually, it’s just me. Everyone is typically gone by the time I start. What are you still doing here? It’s late.”
Is that concern I hear in her voice? “Working.” I run my hands through my hair, which I know has to look like I’ve been on a bender. I’ve done that same motion countless times today. I just can’t get this woman out of my mind.
“So Palmer’s right? You are a workaholic?”
There’s no judgment in her tone. “Yeah. However, coming from someone who has three jobs, I’m not so sure you can give me a hard time about it.” I’m teasing, and I hope that my smile tells her so.
“Oh. I’m not. I’m sorry. I was just… making conversation.”
I take another step closer to her. I shove my hands in my pants pockets to keep myself from reaching for her. “I know. It’s not a bad trait.”
She smiles warmly. “No. It’s not,” she agrees.
My stomach grumbles, and she laughs. The sound fills the quiet of the room, wrapping around me like an embrace. “I forgot to eat today.”
Her eyes widen. “You forgot to eat? Deacon, that’s not good. You have to take better care of yourself. You can’t go all day without eating. Your body and your mind need fuel,” she scolds. Her brow is furrowed, and she’s cute as hell.
“I know. It’s not something I make a habit of.”
“Go. Your day is done. Go home and eat and get some rest.”
“How much longer until you’re done?”
“I just need to sweep and take out the trash in the offices.” She tilts her head to the side to study me. “Why?”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No. I just figured I’d grab something when I get home.”
“Ramsey.” I place my hand over my heart as if I’m appalled. “Your body and mind need fuel.” I smirk.
A slow, sexy smile crosses her face. “I deserve that.”
“Have dinner with me?” Asking her to have dinner with me is the last thing I should be doing. The warnings of why I can’t have her are still alive and well, but I’m choosing to ignore every single one of them.
“Oh. Um… I don’t want you to have to wait for me.”
“I’m not going to. I’m going to help you.” The idea takes shape in my mind. I can help her with the trash, and she can sweep, and then I get her all to myself.
“No. I mean, you can’t do that. I can’t let you do that.”
“You’re not letting me do anything. I volunteered. Besides, we both still need to have dinner, and from the sounds of it, we were both planning on going home and eating alone. This way, we can keep each other company.” And I can spend a little more time with her and maybe satisfy this craving I seem to have for her that I can’t shake.
“Deacon, I,” she starts but quickly closes her mouth when I take the final two steps that leave me standing right in front of her. Her blue eyes peer up at me under long dark lashes, and she’s just as beautiful as I remember her.
“Please? Let me buy you dinner.” She’s quiet as she chews on her bottom lip, debating her answer. “I’m going to touch you,” I warn her. Lifting my hand, I rest it against her cheek, and fuck me. Her skin is so damn soft. “I’d love your company.” It’s not a line. I would love nothing more than to spend a few hours with her over a meal. There’s just something about her that I can’t let go of. Time with her will give me the opportunity to figure out what that hold is and how I can stop it.
“I’d like that,” she replies. Her voice is soft, and her breath warm as it touches my face.
“Yeah?” I lean in even further. I’m so close I could kiss her. There are just as many reasons I should as I shouldn’t, but my conscience wins, so I force myself to drop my hand and take a step back.
“Yes.”
I flash her a grin. “I’ll get the trash.” I turn on my heel and head for the office across the hall. We’re a small firm. Three offices, two conference rooms, a break room, two small bathrooms, and a reception area.
I rush through rooms, pulling bags of trash and tossing them into a pile by the back door. Once I’ve replaced all the cans with a new bag, I gather them all and take them out to the dumpster. The light in the lot flickers, but it doesn’t provide much brightness. I’ve never thought much about it before, but we need to get that fixed. It’s not safe for Ramsey or any woman to be out here at night by herself if the lot isn’t properly lit. This is Willow River, and the crime rate is low, but her safety isn’t something I’m willing to risk. I make a mental note to talk to Mr. Gordman and Mr. Patrick first thing in the morning about getting the light fixed.
I’m closing the back door and making sure that it’s locked when Ramsey steps out of the small supply closet. “Thank you for your help, Deacon.”
“Thank you for having dinner with me. Are you all set?”
“Yes.” She looks down at her black leggings and her Maid For You Cleaning Service polo. “I’m not really dressed for going out.”
“I know just the place. You like pizza?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” she counters.
“Everyone I know.” I nod, smiling. “Grab your things and meet me in my office.” I rush down the hall and close down my laptop. I don’t bother packing it up to take it home with me. I know I won’t be getting any work done. I’ll be back bright and early in the morning before everyone else arrives and try to get something accomplished.
“You can ride with me. I’ll bring you back to your car,” I tell her, placing my hand on the small of her back and leading her out of the building.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can just follow you wherever.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to follow me home, but I keep that request to myself. “Nope. Come on.” I guide her to my truck.
“I expected you to drive a car or an SUV,” she confesses.
“I have a car too, but I prefer my truck.” Reaching for the door, I pull it open. She gives me a spectacular view of her ass as she climbs inside. I wait for her to be settled and her seat belt in place before shutting the door.
“So, I thought we could drive to Harris and eat at Momma Joe’s Pizzeria,” I suggest as I put the truck in Drive and pull out of the lot.
“Oh. I’ve never been there.”
“Harris is only a twenty-minute drive.”
“I’ve been to Harris, but never to Momma Joe’s,” she explains.
“You’ve been missing out,” I tell her. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s my favorite pizza around.”
“I’m excited to try it.” She smiles over at me, and something happens in my chest. It tightens, and the feeling is foreign.