She smiles a little. “Give her more hips.”
“Pardon?”
“Your model.” She nods at the drawings before me. “She needs more here.” Lainey’s hands land on her hips.
I hold my breath in a stupid attempt to stop the oxygen from reaching my brain and feeding my wicked thoughts. My hands. On those hips. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I haven’t seen you around much.”
“A lot going on,” I murmur, in a trance, watching her every step back toward the door, her perfect hands still resting on those perfect hips. “You settled in okay?” Keep it business, Ty, even if your brain is keeping it anything but.
She nods, only mildly. “It’s a great company. You should be proud.”
“Thanks,” I all but whisper, when any other time my chest would have swelled with justifiable pride. I know it’s a great company. The best of its kind, actually. But right now, I’m finding it hard to think and see past the images currently stamping all over my brain. Me. Lainey. My hands on those hips. I’m totally bewitched.
“Welcome.” She bites her bottom lip, like in contemplation, and silence falls. She stops at the door, regarding me closely. I’m not imagining it. She’s undressing me with her eyes, and rather than do what I normally do when presented with a woman who so clearly wants me, which would be smile and egg them on, I sit like a clueless virgin. “Good weekend?” she asks, one hand on the door knob now, one twiddling Sal’s phone.
“Yeah. Yours?”
“Pleasant.” She smiles, and it’s a knowing smile. Yet a careful smile. “Are you okay, Mr. Christianson?”
I clear my throat. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
I can’t do that, Lainey. And you damn well know it. “I think we’re done.”
Her expression falters a smidge, and I have to stop myself from reading too much into that. “Absolutely.” She nods, closing her eyes briefly, as if gathering herself. “Yes. Right. Um, catch you later, Tyler.”
My name. My name on her lips.
She turns and leaves. And I puddle in my chair, reaching down to force my dick against my thigh, breathing raggedly. I didn’t exactly reject her, but she was wounded . . . wasn’t she? Whatever. Don’t go there. This is bloody, fucking ridiculous. Skulking around my own floor, hiding in my office, constantly worrying about bumping into her. I’m slowly losing my mind. I laugh to myself. Slowly? No, no. I lost my mind very quickly the second I laid eyes on her. And I haven’t gotten it back.
I DIDN’T GO INTO THE office for the rest of the week, deciding to work from home instead. Because I’ll be more productive at home. That’s what I told myself. And I don’t have to skulk around, looking over my shoulder constantly for her. I also didn’t go out over the weekend. Again. Because I needed to tweak the Pyra pitch. That’s what I told myself. So, it’s not a surprise that I’ve woken this Monday morning even earlier than normal. But there’s no chance of working from home today. I have my pitch with Pyra, so I have no choice but to go into my own office and run the gauntlet.
I swim an extra twenty lengths to try and alleviate some of the lingering stress. I know it hasn’t worked when my heart hasn’t stopped pounding by the time I get in the shower. Because it isn’t an exerted pound. It’s an anxious pound.
After kitting myself out in my smartest and most expensive charcoal three-piece suit with a pale pink shirt and complementing tie, I fix my hair, pushing the waves behind my ears, before checking the length of my stubble. Perfect.
The silence is golden as I step off the elevator. I have at least an hour before people start arriving and force me to take refuge in my office. An hour to set things up in the conference room. Totally doable. If I hurry.
I gather up everything I need, my arms full, but my feet stall when I pass the elevator, hearing the mechanics carrying the cart up. Oh no . . .
Ding!
The doors slide open, seeming to take forever to reveal who’s in the lift. An audible gasp of relief rushes past my lips when I finally see who it is. “What are you doing here?” I ask Gina as she looks at me tiredly.
“I had a feeling you’d be in early today.” She steps forward and relieves my hands of some files.
“Because I have the Pyra meeting,” I point out.
“Of course,” she mutters, heading for the conference room. “Not because you might want to avoid someone.”
My eyes narrow on her back as I follow, but I don’t argue. There would be little point. “Put them here,” I instruct as I drop my own load on the end of the conference table. “Where’s the projector?”
“Sales had it last I heard.”
“Great. You go find it, and I’ll get my laptop set up.”
“Yes, sir.” She goes on her way, but stops at the door when I call her. She turns. “What?”
I grin. “Your tits look great today.”
“You’re not fooling me with fake pleasantries, Tyler Christianson. You look like a troubled man under all those expensive threads.”
My grin drops. “I am troubled,” I admit before I can stop myself. “I haven’t come in two weeks.” I shouldn’t have said that, because now she’s going to ask why, and it’s not something I’m prepared to go into.
As I knew she would, Gina recoils, shocked. “Why?”
Damn. Um . . . “Stress.” I go to my laptop and start wiring it up. “This pitch has taken a lot out of me.”
“Right. And so has temptation. Maybe it would be an idea to send out a group text to your harem to let them know you’re taking a break. Then they’ll stop calling your office and bothering me when you don’t answer your mobile.”
“Funny,” I mutter, and she grins before disappearing. Yes, the calls and texts are still occurring most days, but I’ve not been in the mood. It’s a temporary situation, so no need to alarm my harem with silly excuses. I’ll be back on form again soon, mark my words.
I’m pumped, totally psyched, as I stride to the conference room at ten minutes to two. I’ve been over my pitch a few more times, not that I needed to. But I needed to keep busy. “See them in when they arrive,” I say to Gina as I pass her desk, buttoning up my suit jacket.
“You look powerful,” she tells me, and I chuck her a cheeky wink on a grin.
“Good, because I feel it.”
“Knock ’em dead, tiger.”
“Oh, I will.”
I make it to the conference room and push my way through the door, finding Sal hunched over the table looking at my finished drawings. Damn, I’ve missed him. We’ve spoken every day, of course, but never have we been so long without actually seeing each other, the odd holiday aside.
He glances up, a bit blankly, forcing my steps to a stop. He looks drained. And then I remember; he was on a promise last week. “Still exhausted after date night?” I ask on a grin, shutting the door behind me.
He huffs sardonically, making my smile drop. That wasn’t a good reaction to my question. “Date night didn’t happen.”