Текст книги "The Singles"
Автор книги: Emily Snow
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 45 страниц)
“Verify final details with Natalie Roche for Halloween charity ball, schedule travel accommodations to Paris for November fourteenth meeting...” The sound of a new message coming through drew my attention away from the paper, and I looked up at my screen to see a response from Oliver.
If my mother said anything to you, let me ease your mind by telling you this: I’ll be thirty in December. I haven’t let the wishes of others dictate whom I date—or fuck—in many, many years.
My mouth went dry as I read his message. Again. And then two more times. The words seemed to seep into my skin, waking parts of myself that had no business being in Los Angeles with me. Tugging at the scooped neck of my dress, I considered my next words carefully before I tentatively typed my reply.
Oliver,
I have no intention of dating or bedding you, so sorry to bruise your ego. Please stop harassing me at the office—I’d hate to have to report your behavior to HR. Don’t you have work to do?
Lizzie
His final reply came a few minutes later, and looking at the new message alert on the screen tightened every muscle in my body. Oliver wouldn’t have simply brushed that last email off with a simple fuck you. I closed my eyes, knowing that whatever he’d said would mess with me. I told myself that I didn’t have to read it, that I shouldn’t give Oliver another thought. But I shrugged off my own warning. Opening my eyes, I glued them to the screen, reading his words hungrily.
Lizzie,
There was nothing innocent about the way you stared at me earlier this week, and if there was, I wouldn’t be pursuing you. Innocence is an overrated headache that I don’t want.
And that threat about HR? I’d be happy to explain my plans for you to Isadora, but I’m not sure you want her hearing some of those details. Before you respond, I should also tell you that I still want—and plan—to take you to dinner.
You won’t regret it, but it’s your call.
-Oliver
I rapped my fingers on my desk to shake out the tingles bursting across my skin. I wanted to reply—God, did I want to—but I stopped myself and pulled my hands in my lap, wringing them together. It hadn’t taken him long to get into my head. Somewhere in L.A., he was probably sitting in his luxurious corporate office, waiting for me to continue this exchange with him, and the thought of that both thrilled and terrified me.
But here was the thing: Oliver’s job wasn’t on the line, so of course it wouldn’t matter to him that his mother had declared him off-limits.
It was my place to put an end to contacting him, no matter how much a part of myself reveled in his words.
I was here for Margaret, and the only way to get anything I needed from her was to give her what she wanted. Period.
Moving the Rolodex from the far side of my desk to sit right in front of me, I flipped through it until I found the business card for Natalie Roche Events. As I dialed the event planner’s number and got to work, I reminded myself again what I had to do—uncover, expose, and get the hell out.
Uncovering Mr. Sex-in-a-Business-Suit didn’t fit in those plans anywhere.
*
“How’s life on the seventh floor?” Stella asked as she held the door open to the bar she’d picked—a hole-in-the-wall called Sunny’s—on Tuesday. Processing the skeptical look I wore as I took in our surroundings, she released a throaty laugh. She hooked her arm through mine and led me to two open seats. “It’s a little rough around the edges, but it’s quiet here,” she promised, setting her Burberry bag on the bar. “Now, spill it, girl. How’s working for Mrs. Emerson?” She emphasized Margaret’s name, causing me to scrunch my nose. To my relief, she hadn’t noticed because she was digging around in her satchel in search of her wallet.
“It’s...” I slid onto the stool beside her and shrugged. “It’s different.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” She pushed a thick black curl behind her ear, causing her gold triple drop earring to swing back and forth. “What did you say you did before?”
I hadn’t mentioned it, but I’d gone over my pseudo-history so many times with Pen that I could probably tell people more about Lizzie Connelly than Gemma Emerson. “I worked for the VP of a telecommunications company.” I twisted the corner of the drink napkin in front of me. “My job was mostly answering the phone, not—”
“Picking up Margaret’s laundry, trying to remember her coffee order, and harassing people she thinks owe her for their existence?”
Stunned by the unconcealed animosity dripping from her beautiful accent, I stopped tracing the whorls in the counter’s worn wood and looked up at Stella. “You said it,” I replied carefully.
“Believe me, it’s easier to say when there’s nobody around to run and tell her.” She turned her attention to the blond bartender who was busy drying glasses a few feet away and called out, “Hey, Luisa? Can I get a lemon drop and a—” She looked at me over her shoulder.
“I’ll take a bottle of Pumpkin Ale,” I told Luisa, who winked at us before starting our order.
Placing her elbow on the counter top, she rested her chin in her palm, drumming her scarlet-painted fingernails gently against her cheek. “Didn’t take you for a beer drinker.”
“I’m not,” I admitted. “But I’m a bit of a Halloween junkie and anything pumpkin-flavored goes with the territory, including seasonal beer.”
“Mmm. You know, the company throws this big Halloween charity gala for foster kids, and—”
I cringed. “Don’t remind me, I spent most of Friday and today playing phone tag with the event planner.” I’d quickly learned that verify the final details with Natalie Roche meant that it was my duty to stay on top of the event planner until after the party.
“I’ve always heard good things about Natalie,” Stella said, her forehead creasing. “She’s not rude, is she?”
The bartender slid my beer in front of me, and I gave her an appreciative nod. Tipping the bottle up, I swallowed a liberal amount before shaking my head. “No, she’s nice. Hell, she’s probably too nice. I just—”
Noticing my hesitation, Stella leaned closer to me, her expression firm. “Honey, if I planned to tell you-know-who everything you say about her, I would’ve just asked you to come to my office. Anything said here is between you and me.”
Dipping my face close to her ear, I said, “The party is in two weeks. Natalie has everything ready—I mean, I personally have a walkthrough of the venue scheduled with her next week—but Margaret still has me harassing her a few times a day.” It wouldn’t have been so bad if I called the event planner with legitimate concerns, but it had gotten to the point where I felt like a broken record. Adding that to the fact she was thirty-six weeks pregnant and had another major event scheduled for this week, I was certain Natalie wanted me to go jump headfirst off a cliff.
I straightened my back and rolled my eyes. “Plus Margaret loathes waiting for a callback.”
“Lord, just now you sounded exactly like her. That woman loathes a lot of things.” Raising her glass, Stella shivered in delight as she took the first sip of her drink. “Ahh, I needed that. We’re launching a new marketing campaign, and it’s been a pain in my ass.”
I nodded understandingly. “How long have you been there?”
“At Emerson & Taylor?” she asked, and I moved my head up and down. “Just under a year. During that time, Margaret’s gone through two assistants.”
“Three assistants in a year is a little outrageous.” I ran my finger around the rim of my beer bottle. “So what happened to them?”
“Know that lovely little NDA Dora had you sign on your first day in the office?”
Keeping the surprise off my face, I bobbed my head. The truth was the HR director had never asked me to sign a non-disclosure agreement. For the second time in less than a week, Dora’s distractedness was working in my favor.
“Well, the PA before you started an anonymous blog about an unnamed, bitch-faced fashion CEO. She messed up when she blogged about a very specific argument she and Margaret had.” Snorting, Stella signaled the bartender for another lemon drop, even though she wasn’t halfway finished with her current drink. “And the assistant before her had sex in the conference room.”
“With Oliver?” I hated that he was the first person who came to mind when I thought of someone screwing an assistant on the executive floor—and I hated that my chest tightened at that thought.
She swirled her drink. “Oliver Manning steers clear of his mama’s employees.” She was silent for several seconds, and then, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, she informed me, “The VP was on the other end of the conference room romp.”
“What?”
“Uh huh. The man can’t keep it in his pants to save his life.”
Although he hadn’t been with the company when my father was CEO, I’d seen pictures of the company’s vice-president on Emerson & Taylor’s website. From what Margaret had told me, he would be on company business in London for the rest of the week, but I was in no hurry to meet him, especially now that I knew he was a horn dog.
“Well, since I don’t have a blog or a desire to hump a man whose official bio lists him as being happily married with four children, I should be safe.”
“Yes.” Stella murmured a “thanks” when the bartender set her second drink in front of her. Scratching her head, she leaned away from me, her dark eyes inquisitive. “You’re not going to ask about Oliver?”
“What’s there to ask?” But of course my thoughts automatically pinged to the ridiculously expensive gift card waiting in my desk drawer and the email from last week I’d yet to erase, even though he hadn’t messaged me since. “He doesn’t work there.”
“You’re not going to ask about him and Dora?”
“If I did, what would you tell me?”
I could clearly hear Oliver’s voice pounding in my skull, telling me that he absolutely wasn’t sleeping with the HR director.
“That there is no Dora and Oliver.” She studied my expression carefully as I grabbed my beer and downed a mouthful.” “They’re just close friends.”
“Close friends?” I felt my face heat up when I blurted the question.
“Yes ma’am.” Polishing off the remainder of her first drink, she lifted her shoulders playfully. “Not that there was anything to ask.”
Chapter 5
When I stepped into the comfort of my apartment an hour and a half later, I kicked off my black heels and left them by the front door. Plucking the hairpins out of my updo, I dropped them on the foyer table and padded across the laminate floor, following the sound of Pen’s voice to the dining room. I found her at the table, squinting at her laptop screen. She was holding her phone between her ear and her shoulder and making quick notes.
“Hey, I’m home,” I whispered.
Her head popped up, and she covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “August business,” she explained.
August. The name conjured up images of strong shoulders and a ready laugh. I’d met Pen’s longtime associate—another “white hat” hacker who did the occasional side job—only a handful of times, but he’d always been friendly.
When my tire had blown out on I-15 almost two years ago while Pen and I were on our way back to my place after a Best Buy excursion, she’d called August instead of her brother to help us. He’d come to our aid quickly, looking more like a model than a tech whiz. While I watched him change the tire—so that I’d be able to help myself if it ever happened again—he’d made small talk with me. We talked about everything from my job to the improvements my landlord was making to my apartment, until I’d finally stopped him and warily asked if he planned on using all my information.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I wanted something from you,” he had brazenly informed me, winking up at me as he tightened a lug nut with the tire iron. “I could crack your computer from my phone. If I wanted to.”
To date, I was one hundred percent certain he’d never tried, so I nodded at my best friend. “Ahhh, I see. I’ll be in the bath if you need me.”
She shook her head and jabbed her finger toward the living room. “Coffee table,” she said, before snorting at something August said and replying, “Are you kidding me? I can get it done in a week!”
Expecting mail, I turned on my heel and crept back toward the living room. The sight of the stunning, floral arrangement waiting on the coffee table stopped me in my tracks. Snow-white lilies and vivid blue-dyed roses.
How had I missed these when I came in?
The strange, sexy combination brought a splash of color to the neutral room. When I blinked, an image of cornflower blue eyes and a sinful grin slunk into my mind. I didn’t even try to fight the intense shiver that ran through me when I let his name wrap around my thoughts.
Oliver.
He was the only person I could think of who knew my address, and who might send me flowers, but I’d chalked up his radio silence since last Thursday to disinterest.
Swallowing hard, I stood over the coffee table and plucked the note from the arrangement, a shock hissing through me when the back of my fingers brushed a rose and I immediately pictured Oliver again. I tried to remember the last time someone sent me a gift—not because they were a client of mine, but just because. About a year ago, the man I’d been dating gave me red roses over dinner, a week before he found out what I did for a living and subsequently ended things. But this arrangement—they were sadly a first for me this year. My hands trembled as I opened the envelope.
Lizzie,
I still want to know more.
-Oliver
Wow. Two names, six words, and my mood suddenly shifted from pensive to ... Oliver—which was a confusing combination of exasperation and desire.
He wanted to know more.
Even though I knew that likely had everything to do with what was beneath my dress, and nothing to do with the what, when, or why of Lizzie Connelly, his words set my skin on fire.
“I just ordered a pizza, and.... Damn, Gem, you look like you’re about to combust,” Pen spoke up, dragging my focus from the card to where she was now standing behind the armchair.
“Combust?” I managed unsteadily, grateful for her intrusion. If she hadn’t said anything, I’d have probably kept rereading the note, continued looking at the flowers.
“Would you have preferred I asked you about the current state of your underwear?” When I glowered at her, she smiled suggestively. “So, you already have a suitor other than the mystery caller who dragged your ass out here? Impressive. Very impressive.”
I folded the note and shoved it back into the tiny envelope. “For starters, the mystery guy who called me is definitely not a suitor. If anything he’s the bane of my existence.” Running my fingers through my long platinum hair, I sunk down in the leather cushions of the couch behind me. I looked up at Pen, confusion clouding my expression. “Oliver Manning asked me to dinner,” I confessed.
“And I think my panties just melted.”
I’d successfully tiptoed around the subject of Oliver and had even brushed off going into details about the gift card situation last week, and the grin on my best friend’s face reminded me why.
“Pen,” I groaned, and she held up her hands defensively.
“Whatever. Okay, so he asked you to dinner. Why not just go with him?”
Realizing that I was still clutching his note, I dropped it beside the flowers. “I don’t need the distraction. I don’t want the complication. I should just concentrate on what I came here to do.” Seeking a temporary reprieve from the Oliver onslaught that I’d brought upon myself, I turned to face her. “What kind of job can you do for August in a week?”
“The usual.” She shrugged, and I twisted my lips. The usual. When it came to Pen’s job—and her solo side work—she had no problem telling me things she definitely shouldn’t share. Of course, I was the same way. Pen and I had that mutual trust in one another that few people were lucky to find. The moment she started a job with another person, however, she was tight-lipped. As long as she wasn’t in danger, I never protested. “How’d your drinks with the marketing chick go?”
“It was ... fun.” Thinking of how easy it had been to talk to Stella, a sincere smile played at my lips
“Good. That you’re getting in with Margaret’s employees, that is. Is she still going out of town tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Won’t be back until Friday night.”
“Perfect. Gives you time to back up her computer files.” At the look I gave her, she cocked her head. “Don’t make that face at me, Gemma. We’ve been playing dirty thus far, no point in holding back now.”
“You make it sound so bad.”
“Quit your bitching.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but every time she started to speak, she stopped herself, flicked her tongue over the center of her lips, and reconsidered her words. “You know, it probably wouldn’t hurt if you said yes.”
“What?”
“To the manwhore. Let him take you out in his douchemobile.”
“His douchemobile?” I threw my head back and laughed. “Last week you were praising the design of the Viper and now it’s a douchemobile?”
“Yeah, well, I’m also a jealous bitch.” She fisted her dark hair into a ponytail before releasing it to fall around her face. “You go out with him and then you can pick his gorgeous brain about his wonderfully adoring mother.”
I brushed my finger over a velvety blue petal and jerked my head to either side. “Unwise.”
“It might be fun. Did you ever think of that?”
Sniffing, I got off the couch. “That’s why it’s unwise.” Although I wanted to take one last look at the flowers, I kept my gaze straight ahead as I headed toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a bath before the pizza gets here.”
“Take too long and it’ll all be gone,” she warned.
It wasn’t until I’d settled into the bathtub, and a Rachele Royale song about having loud sex was throbbing in my brain, that I came to terms with something that knocked me a little off my axis.
I wished Oliver had sent those flowers to me. Gemma, not Lizzie.
*
The next morning, Margaret inundated me the second I set her scalding coffee on her desk. “When did you say you were doing that walkthrough with Natalie?” She didn’t look up from the paperwork strewn in front of her as she pointed to the empty seat opposite her. “Did you make a note on my schedule?”
I sat down and crossed my legs at the ankle. “Next Tuesday. And I’ve already updated your schedule.”
Although her attention was pointed down, her frown of disapproval was clear.
Oh God, here it comes, I thought. Picking a piece of lint off the skirt of my navy fit-and-flare dress, I waited for Margaret’s next request, and sure enough, a few seconds later, she ordered, “Move it to Monday.”
The possibility of changing the appointment was slim, but I wasn’t about to let Margaret know that. If I was ever going to get anything accomplished, getting on her good side was imperative. “You got it,” I said smoothly. “I’ll have Natalie change the appointment.”
Her blue eyes lifted to meet mine. “Wonderful. Tuesday will be a full day. I’ll be in meetings with the board all day, and I’ll need you close by to help keep minutes.”
So much for what Dora had told me about the board meetings not involving me. Using the LCD writing tablet I’d picked up over the long weekend, I made myself a note to get in touch with Natalie so I could beg her to squeeze me in a day earlier. “Alright, I’ll shoot her an email as soon as I get back to my desk and then I’ll follow up with her in a couple hours.”
“Good enough.” Margaret sat up straight in her high back chair and tapped her manicured finger against her chin. “As you know, I’ll be flying to New York later today and won’t be back until Friday afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve scheduled a car to meet me at the airport?”
That had been one of the first things I’d done the day I started—after my infuriating back and forth with her son. Any thought of Oliver immediately pushed the flowers from last night into my mind, and I knew I couldn’t ignore them.
Clearing my throat, I squared my shoulders and began, “I emailed you the travel itinerary yesterday after—”
Margaret held up a hand. “I need you to print them out and bring them to me.”
“No problem, I’ll drop them off shortly.” When she realized I was waiting for her to finish today’s list, her eyes narrowed into a slow, burning glare.
“Now.”
Fisting my hands in my lap, I smiled and nodded, like a damn bobblehead. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” As I departed her office, my back uncomfortably straight and every muscle ticking in anger, I wondered if she found any pleasure in this.
She had to, right?
“Absolute bullshit,” I hissed as I sat down at my desk and began locating the documents I’d emailed her previously. As I sent everything to the personal printer in my office, I glanced at the email conversation I’d had with Oliver, reminding me that I’d have to thank him for the flowers sooner than later. A frown tugged the corners of my lips. He could have given up or moved on to another conquest—it wasn’t like the man was in short supply of willing women, I supposed. Though that would have been too easy.
Releasing a frustrated noise, I gathered the printouts and put them in a file folder before returning to Margaret’s office. Her chair was empty, but when I heard her voice coming from the far end of the room, I tiptoed closer to see her lying on the white sofa.
“Goddamn it, Oliver, I’m not getting into this with you,” she growled, and I felt my breath catch. He was everywhere—in my home, on my computer, and now on the phone with my boss. “I’m leaving here in the next ten minutes as soon as that little—.”
Before she could call me who knows what, I cleared my throat. She lifted her head slightly, observing me standing close to her desk. “I’ll just leave these right here.” I flashed her the documents before dropping them close to the based of her desktop screen.
She waved her hand flippantly, but before I could completely leave her office, she stopped me. “Wait, Lizzie.” When I turned, she was in an upright position, sliding her feet into her snake-print Louboutin pumps. “I’m leaving shortly. I’m going to email you a list of things I need you to take care of while I’m away.”
“I’ll look out for it.”
“Also, call the cleaning service in New York and make sure they’ll have my apartment clean by this afternoon?”
“I’ll do it right now. Have a safe trip, Margaret.”
Ignoring me, she resumed her call with her son. “It’s too late to cancel, so you’re just going to have to deal with it,” she snapped at him, and I couldn’t help but wonder what they were arguing about as I returned to my desk to at least attempt to get some work done.
When I heard the door to her office slam shut, I was on hold waiting to speak to someone with the cleaning service she employed for her Upper East Side apartment—my father’s old apartment. I scooted my chair back and glanced out just in time to see her stalk on the elevator in an angry huff.
Finally, I thought, feeling a burst of giddiness.
With her gone, tomorrow I would be free to look around her office without getting caught.
“Ms. Emerson?” a voice on the other line spoke up, and my heart automatically jumped into my throat even though I knew he was referring to Margaret.
“No, I’m Mrs. Emerson’s assistant, Ms. Connelly,” I quickly corrected.
“Ah, sorry about that. I checked our records and it looks like your boss’ apartment was cleaned this morning.”
“Perfect.” That was one item I could scratch off my list. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Brandon.”
Grabbing an owl-print Post-It from the top of the stack, I scribbled a quick note in case there were problems and stuck it to the bottom of my computer monitor. “Thanks, Brandon. You have a good one, okay?”
“You do the same.”
Typing quickly, I sent Margaret a one-line message letting her know her apartment was clean and ready for her stay. No sooner than I hit send, a new email from her appeared in my inbox with the subject line To-Do List Pt. 1.
Already? My head fell back against the headrest. It would be my luck her to-do list would be so long I’d barely have time to breathe, much less look around her office. Surprisingly, though, the email was short with only one task.
Hello Lizzie,
Can you please drop by Manning? There’s a package I need you to pick up from the receptionist. Thanks.
Thanks? I wasn’t even aware that word was in her vocabulary, but I immediately responded that I would. Then, looking at her email one last time, I laughed. She was sending me to Oliver’s company. And I thought she wanted me to keep my distance from the man.
*
Since it was more than two weeks into October, the weather was perfect, a clear and sunny eighty degrees as I followed the directions on my phone to the Manning Hotel Group headquarters. I took my time, allowing the heat to warm my skin during the walk to Oliver’s building.
Twenty minutes after leaving work, I stood on the bottom step of a light brick office building that I would have passed right by if not for the GPS app on my phone. Even from the outside, this place was the polar opposite of Emerson & Taylor, with its nondescript sign and plain architecture.
I couldn’t help wondering if Oliver’s office followed the same design—or if he was here today.
Smoothing down the front of my dress, I walked up the steps and into the building. The lobby was nice, unsurprisingly reminding me of a hotel atrium with its ambient lighting and diamond-pattern carpet. Spotting the circular receptionist’s desk, I waited for the skinny guy behind it to finish the call he was taking before approaching.
“Welcome to Manning Hotel Group, do you have an appointment?”
“I’m actually picking up something for Margaret Emerson.”
He pulled his thick brows together. “What was your name?”
“Lizzie Connelly.”
As soon as I replied, his eyes widened in recognition, and he bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Ah, okay. I have you listed. Take the elevator.” He pointed to the two cars on the side of the lobby. “Go to the fifth floor, and when you get to the desk upstairs, just tell Danielle who you are.”
Patting his desk twice, I started toward the elevator as the phone began to ring. “Thanks.”
Smiling crookedly, he reached for the receiver. “Yeah, no problem.”
As I waited for the elevator, my own phone buzzed from inside my purse. I checked it as I rode the car to the fifth floor. I’d stupidly linked my work email to my device, and I cringed when I spotted the new message from Margaret with the subject line Tasks 10/17 & 10/18. Sighing, I dropped my phone back into my bag and waited for the doors to open.
I should’ve known the single task from the first email was too good to be true.
Stepping off the elevator, I came face-to-face with another receptionist’s desk. “Danielle?” I asked hesitantly, and, putting on an obligatory smile, the bespectacled brunette glanced up at me.
“Ms. Connelly?”
“Yes, that’s right. I was supposed to be picking up a—”
“It’s alright, Dani, she can come back with me.” My gaze lifted to a boyishly handsome man, whose head was poked around the corner. The receptionist gave me an encouraging nod, and I frowned as I walked behind the desk to join him in the next hallway. With a head of curly black hair that I was immediately envious of, he wasn’t incredibly tall, but I still had to tilt my chin back a little to look at him. “I’m Easton Campbell, head of IT.”
“So, I’m picking up a computer?”
His deep brown eyes crinkled as he laughed and shook his head. “Not exactly.” Walking ahead of me, he opened an office door on the right, and motioned me in. When I stepped through the doorway and into the large office, I froze.
Blue eyes that had haunted me for the past week and a half stared from behind a large, U-shaped mahogany desk. I let my gaze wander down slowly, feeling a pang in my chest when Oliver’s full lips stretched into a grin. My mouth was still hanging open when he looked past me and said, “Make sure you delete it from Margaret’s sent box.”
I heard a soft chuckle behind me. “Already taken care of,” Easton assured him. “Enjoy your lunch, boss.” Then a second later, the office door closed quietly behind him.
“What the hell is going on?” I finally managed, and Oliver stood from his desk. My eyes helplessly followed the motion, taking in his broad chest and powerful shoulders through his business suit. He walked in my direction, but just before he reached me, he stopped and gestured to the right of the room.
I twisted slightly to see a tiny, two-person dining set positioned between a mini fridge and a recliner. The tabletop was covered with takeout boxes. “I ordered us lunch.”
“The package for your mom...” But he shook his head, and I allowed myself to reevaluate the respectful way Margaret’s message was worded and what he’d said to his IT guy a couple minutes ago. “You sent me that email, didn’t you, Oliver?”
Walking across the room, he sat down at the dinette, his eyes burning into me. “Guilty. But the last thing I want to talk about is my mother. For the next hour, you’re all mine.” He motioned at the other chair and added, “Sit down.”
Pinching my lips together, I reached for the doorknob. “What if I turn around and leave?”
He dipped his head, drawing my attention to that ruffled light brown hair that was just begging to be touched, and a shiver coursed through my body. “Then I’ll consider you uninterested. The choice is yours.”
For what felt like the longest minute of my life, I stood completely still with my hand on the doorknob behind me. My heart pummeled my rib cage, my breathing sounded uneven and broken in my ears.
“Sit down, Lizzie,” he implored.
Before I knew what was happening, my legs moved me toward him. I settled into the chair and covered my knees with the hem of my dress. The moment I looked up from the tabletop and into his eyes, I instantly regretted it because his slow, conquering grin swallowed me whole.
