Текст книги "Sweet Obsession "

Автор книги: J. Daniels

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“I actually think Brooke might’ve preferred that to what really happened.”

“Ha-ha,” Tessa dryly replies. “Spill it. What did you do?”

I blankly stare at my comforter. “Took her camping when she expressed a strong aversion for it. I thought maybe I could get her to like it if she just focused on being with me, and not where she was or what we were doing. Last night I saw how anxious she was out there. I should’ve taken her home then.”

I might still have a bloody shot with her if I had.

Exhaling a worried breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She was trying to like it. Christ, she was beautiful out there, Tessa. So determined. Then today I pulled a tick off her leg and she broke down crying. I felt terrible. I still feel terrible. It was fucking awful seeing her upset like that and knowing I was the reason for it. She asked me to get her out of there and I did. When we got back, she barely said anything before she left to go home. It felt like a brush-off.”

“Maybe she was just freaking out and needed a moment to deal with it. Did she actually tell you to go fuck yourself and never speak to her again?”

“Not in so many words,” I answer.

“Well, I would’ve,” Tessa chuckles. “Fucking gross. A tick? That’s just cold.”

I feel the muscles in my shoulders tense. “I didn’t fucking put it there. I got the bloody thing off, didn’t I?”

“Would you relax? I think you’re overreacting.”

Overreacting? Am I? I don’t see Brooke here with me, so I think I’m reacting just fine.

Tessa breathes a laugh. “Mason. Mason. Mason.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you love her? It kind of sounds like you do.”

I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

When did my obsession with Brooke become something more?

I have no doubt of my feelings for her. I’ve never been more certain of anything before, but I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it all changed for me.

Would it even do me any good to admit it to someone now? If it’s over, what’s the point?

“I . . .” My response is interrupted by another call coming through the line. I pull the phone away to look at the screen, and my spine straightens as I blink the caller’s name into focus.

I nearly drop the damn device before I press it against my ear again.

“Tessa, it’s Brooke. I need to take this.”

“Ah, see? All that worrying for nothing. Let me know how it goes.”

“Yeah,” I reply thickly, my bloody voice bound by my uneasiness again. I clear my throat before clicking over to answer the call. “Brooke?”

“Hey.” Her voice is light and lifted. She sounds like she’s smiling.

Why would she be smiling?

“What are you doing?”

I look down at my towel, then around the darkened room. “Nothing. Just took a shower.”

“God, I took so many showers. I used an entire thing of body wash,” she giggles.

I run a hand through my wet hair.

She’s giggling? Why the fuck is she giggling? Is she happy right now?

“So, Mason . . .”

“Yeah?”

“That goodbye sucked. It was awkward and really fucking weird. I didn’t like it. You need to do better than that, okay?” A slurping sound comes through the phone. “Mm. Are you coming over?”

“What?”

“Billy is making his famous martinis. They’re so, so good. I’m on my third one so I can’t drive. You have to come to me.”

I sit down on the edge of my bed. Am I dreaming this phone call?

“You want me to come over there? After what happened today?” I ask hesitantly.

I almost don’t want to shatter this illusion. This Brooke still likes me.

“Yes, hello! You wanted me for the whole weekend, right? I mean, that was the original plan before that bloody tick showed up and ruined everything. It’s Saturday night. Still the weekend, mate,” she laughs again. “You’re so funny, Mason.”

“I am?”

“Yes. So sweet and funny. A little strange, yeah? I like it.” She pauses, humming a bit. “Now hurry up and get over here. I want to kiss you before I’m drunk and don’t remember it.”

The call disconnects. I bring the phone away from my ear and stare at it.

What just happened?

Brooke isn’t upset anymore. She isn’t mad or acting like we’re through and she’s done.

She wants me to come over. She hated that goodbye as much as I did.

She wants to kiss me before she’s drunk.

Too fucking right. I want that. I hated that bloody goodbye. I didn’t even want one.

I dart off the bed and attack my dresser like a man possessed. Clothes are flying. I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and stumble into my runners, grabbing my keys and my phone.

My mood is jubilant. There’s that runner’s high I was hoping for earlier. Only this is better. Leave it to Brooke to shock me back into my usual pleasant self. She can’t do or be anything predictable. It doesn’t suit her.

Traffic is mild and I arrive at her building within a few minutes, pulling underneath and parking in the garage.

I take the elevators to her floor. I knock twice and step back, scowling at the water I collect off my neck. I didn’t even bother running a towel over my hair before leaving. My collar is damp.

The door swings open and Brooke’s bright face appears. She squeals and lunges at me, wrapping her hands around my neck and tugging me inside.

My back hits the wall. Her full lips form to my mouth.

“Hey. Hi. Your hair is wet, goof.” She filters her fingers through my hair and tugs on the ends. She kisses me slowly. Deeply. Pressing her small body against mine. Her tongue swipes across my lip and she moans. “Mm. My face is so warm right now. Feel.” Stepping back, she grabs my hand and presses it to her cheek.

I look at her, at that wild, devilish smile twisting across her mouth. The dimple sinking into her cheek and her brilliant eyes, round and eager.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers, smiling so goddamn big. Her cheeks lifting and flushing pink.

My heart thunders in my chest.

Christ, I’m so in love with this girl.

A throat clears in the room. I look up and spot our audience, Billy and Joey, hovering a few feet away by the sofa. Both of them looking more than pleased at what they’re witnessing.

“Hey. How are ya?” I choke out, straightening off the wall.

“Evening.” Joey tips his glass, arching an eyebrow. “She’s been pacing around waiting for you. I almost had to sedate her.”

“Whatever. I was not,” Brooke snaps over her shoulder. She tugs on my hand. “Come on. Do you want a drink? We have beer.”

“And martinis,” Billy adds, nodding his greeting and then gesturing across the room. “Liquor cabinet is over there if you want something stiff.”

Brooke spins around. Her mouth slowly falling open and then spreading into a knowing smile. “Oh, my God. Do you get it? Something stiff?” She gets up on her toes, hand beside her mouth as she whispers, “like a cock.”

Tipsy Brooke doesn’t know how to whisper.

Her eyes pop wider when everyone enjoys a good laugh. Joey and Billy remark about only wanting stiff ones as they move about the condo.

I grin down at Brooke, scratching my jaw. “Yeah, sweetheart. I get it. I’m good with a beer, yeah?”

Her little nose twitches. “Yeah,” she chuckles, pushing on my chest. “Go sit. I’ll grab you one.”

I do a quick take of my surroundings as I pad toward the bar.

The condo is spacious and elegantly decorated. Expensive looking art covers the walls.

“Nice place,” I comment, sliding out a stool and stretching my arms out on the cool marble. “I’m still working on getting all of my stuff unpacked. It’s been a bit of a slow process. Other things have been occupying my time.”

Brooke smiles over her shoulder as she grabs me a beer.

“Oh, this is all Billy. I can’t decorate to save my life.” Joey comes to stand at the bar with his cocktail. “It’s strange how fabulous I am with my own fashion sense, yet when it comes to color schemes for a room I’m a hot mess about it.”

Billy steps up behind him and kisses his shoulder, laughing a bit. “It’s a good thing I love you for other reasons. Remember when you tried to wallpaper the bathroom?”

“Christ, don’t remind me,” Joey groans in embarrassment. “I have no idea why I thought that was a good idea.”

“Because you had just moved in and you wanted to surprise me with something. It was sweet.”

Brooke runs her hand across my back and places the beer in front of me. She kisses my cheek.

“I’ll be right back.”

I watch her disappear behind a door. I fight the urge to follow her in there when I decide on that being her bedroom.

Slow it down, mate. You damn well know what’ll happen if you go in there.

“So, camping . . .”

I turn my head and watch Joey’s eyes flicker with amusement over the top of his drink. He takes a slow sip.

I look between him and Billy. “Right. How was she when she got back here? Like this?” I hook a thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the bedroom.

“Hardly.” Billy drops his chin on Joey’s shoulder, his arms wrapping around his waist. “She was freaking out about the tick, which isn’t shocking. This is Brooke we’re talking about. She once stayed at her sister’s house for the weekend because she saw a spider in her bedroom. Wouldn’t come home until we promised her we killed it.”

“We never found the damn thing,” Joey adds with a cheeky grin. “We just missed her crazy ass and wanted her to come home.”

I rub at my mouth. “So, when did she start acting like this? She seems fine now, like nothing happened.”

“Do you not know the glorious effects of alcohol?” Joey’s eyebrow lifts. “Once we distracted her with drinks, she calmed down about it.” He looks at Billy, then back at me, smiling like he’s in on some secret. “That’s also when she started going on and on about you.”

“Another thing you need to know about Brooke,” Billy pauses, his eyes lifting to something over my shoulder. I hear a door shut and he quietly adds, “She doesn’t do that,” before turning his head and pulling Joey away from the bar.

My mind soaks in that obscure bit of information.

She doesn’t do what? Talk about blokes like she does me? Drink and forget about unfortunate run-ins with insects?

What the fuck? I need clarity on this.

Brooke moves back into the kitchen and waves at me. I watch her as she reaches for a tall cocktail on the counter, one resembling Joey’s. It’s a pale green color with a cherry floating at the bottom.

She spins around and closes a cabinet. I study her, resting my chin on my hand. Her long hair falls down her back, curling against her black tank top. Loose trackies hang low on her hips with the words Team Pink covering her arse.

She brings the drink to her mouth and takes a sip. Our eyes meet. I smile, and she cutely waves at me again.

A door slides open behind me and draws my attention.

Billy looks up, places his hand on Joey’s shoulder, and muscles him outside. He looks to be struggling with it.

“We’re . . . go, will you? Jesus! We’re going to go sit on the balcony. Give you two a little privacy for a while.” He jerks his chin and then steps out onto the terrace, pulling the door closed and drowning out Joey’s flippant protest.

“Goddamn it, Billy,” I faintly hear through the glass.

Brooke’s quiet giggle turns my head as she sits beside me, her bare feet swinging in the air. “This is my fourth apple martini.” She takes a small sip, licking her lips. “It’s apple.”

Laughing, I twist off the cap on my beer and take a swig. “How’s your leg?”

“Mm. Good! Look.” She sets her drink down and pulls up her pants. “It’s not even red anymore. Not that you can tell ‘cause of the Band-Aid, but still. I cleaned it like you said and put some Neosporin on it. Billy said it looks fine. He’s had tick bites before.”

I wrap my hand around her calf and examine her leg, slowly running my thumb along her smooth skin.

Images of Brooke on the rock, scared and trembling corrode my mind. Her broken voice fills my ears.

“You know how sorry I am for this, right?” I quietly ask, looking up into those big, curious eyes. I tug down her pants to her ankle and release her leg. “I’m so fucking sorry, Brooke. I should’ve never taken you there. I shouldn’t have made you do that.”

She gives me a lopsided smile. “I liked the swanky tent. Remember what we did in there?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t make me do any of that.”

Straightening with a quick breath, I look down as her hand finds mine under the lip of the bar. She squeezes my thumb.

I close my eyes.

Fuck, she’s so different with me right now. When has she ever reached for my hand, or displayed any sort of honest affection for me in front of people she knows? Is it the alcohol?

Christ, just enjoy it, will ya? Stop analyzing everything.

“I thought it was over today,” I softly admit, brushing my fingers against hers and staring down into my lap. “I was shocked when you called. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Maybe you were.”

Our eyes lock, and she breathes a laugh, taking another sip of her drink and then tipping her head down. Her eyes flutter. “Dreaming about me is kind of your thing, isn’t it?”

“You are kind of my thing.”

“And yoga.”

“Yeah.” I reach up and grab a piece of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. My phone beeps with a text alert, and I pull it free from my pocket and place it on the counter.

Tessa: Well?

I quickly type my response.

Me: Crisis averted.

“Who is that?” Brooke asks, leaning close to see my screen as I set the phone back down. She studies it for a moment. “Tessa?” Our eyes lock. Hers narrow. “Mm.”

I turn my head, smiling as she rights herself on her stool and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s a mate from Alabama. I’ve told her about you.”

Brooke lifts her glass to her mouth. “Oh, really? And have you seen her vagina? Because I’ve never seen any of my mates’ vaginas. Just saying. Or their penises, before you ask. No penises or vaginas between mates.”

I rub at my neck, watching her, uncontrollably smiling at this development.

Now this is quite interesting.

“Are you jealous, Brooke?”

Her head snaps in my direction, eyes heavy with disagreement. She lowers her glass to the marble. “Jealous? Me? Of who? That ugly bitch who just texted you? Why would I be jealous of her if you’ve never seen her vagina, which you have yet to confirm. Please confirm that before I toss my drink in your face.”

I take another swig of my beer, letting her stew a bit next to me before I respond.

“Tell Theresa to find her own Australian.”

I nearly choke.

Wiping at my mouth after my coughing fit, I turn to Brooke and set my beer down, reaching for her hand. She fights my hold for a good three seconds before letting me have it, but keeps her gaze fixed behind the bar.

“Tessa, not Theresa, and I went out on one date months ago. I never even kissed her, Brooke. She’s just a really good mate.”

“You don’t need to explain your relationship or whatever with her. I really don’t care.”

“No?”

She shakes her head.

I lean forward to see her face. “Because I would really fucking care if you were texting some bloke and I didn’t know who he was to you. I’m not a jealous guy, but I think for you I would be. It’s staggering how you make me feel.”

She turns her head, watching me press a kiss to her palm.

“And I rather like thinking you might be right there with me, willing to be jealous and crazy for only one person.”

Her face relaxes the longer she stares at me. She wets her lips. “You never even kissed her?”

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“Not like I want to kiss you.”

Slowly, like she’s fighting it, a gentle smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, then pulls across the rest of it. She shakes her head through a quick exhale, giggles quietly, then slides her warm body into my lap, squeezing my neck and pressing soft kisses to my jaw.

“Tell me something in Italian again,” she whispers as her fingers slide through my hair. “I liked it so much before.”

I drop my head beside hers. My arms tightly coil around her back. “You like not knowing what I’m saying?”

“Mm.” She nods and kisses my neck.

“I could say anything, you know? Maybe something you aren’t ready to hear.”

“I know.” She moves back and stares at my mouth. Her eyes darken, liquid desire swirling in those wild green and brown irises. She wets her lips and grabs my face. “I think I’m drunk.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, she leans in. “Definitely.”

Her lips press against mine. I open my mouth and take her tongue, sucking off the bitterness from the alcohol. Letting her taste saturate my soul.

God, what this woman does to me.

She moans and presses her chest closer, kissing me hard and unhurried, stroking her tongue against mine, sucking on my lips and wiggling in my lap.

I both hate and love how Brooke’s being with me tonight, so unashamed with her affection. Abandoning all her doubts. Exactly how I want her to be with me all the time. Exactly how I am with her, all the time.

It’s bloody torture, knowing why she’s acting so free with me, but fuck, it’s hard to pull away from.

This is what it can be like. And this, goddamn, this is what I’m missing.

“Mason,” she groans, digging her nails into my neck, rocking her hips against my erection.

I snap out of my haze and slow us down, moving my lips to her cheek and kissing her dimple.

“Voglio che questo non finisca mai,” I whisper against her skin.

I won’t ever want this to be over.

She stills in my arms, her breath blowing hot and sharp against my ear. Then, with a quiet sigh, she drops her head to my shoulder and goes limp.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I won’t remember that tomorrow.”

Laughing, I lean back and push the hair out of her face.

“Are you spending the night?” she asks, her fingers dancing along the back of my neck. She looks excited for that possibility.

“Better not.”

Her lip twitches. “Think I might forget your rules and try and take advantage of you in my drunken stupor?”

I smile, squeezing her hips. “Yeah, and I might forget you’re drunk.”

Too much temptation. I know how fucking amazing it feels having Brooke next to me at night. I won’t be able to keep my hands off her.

“I would,” she confesses through a massive grin. “Forget, and take advantage of you. But can you at least stay until I fall asleep? I’ll let you stare at my tits a little.” She shimmies her shoulders and makes her tits bounce and sway.

My cock stirs.

No bra. Fuck, this is going to be a challenge.

“Jesus Christ, Brooke,” I groan, leaning in and taking her mouth again, tilting her head and pressing kisses to her jaw. “You’re keeping that on, yeah?”

“Nah.”

She laughs and I suck on her neck.

“Good,” I tell her. “Then I’ll stay.”

BROOKE

Mondays have never bothered me.

I know most people would rather skip this day entirely, but I’ve never had a problem with it. I don’t mind working on Mondays, or dealing with the general population on this specific day of the week. Traffic is never really an issue because I work so close to where I live. And as long as I’m not drinking my weight in booze the night before, I never have difficulty waking up and getting my ass to the bakery on time.

Mondays have never bothered me. Until today, this particular Monday.

The Monday after my weekend with Mason.

Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to come into work today?

Because I was nursing a wicked hangover all day yesterday and spent my life in bed with my door locked, Joey missed his opportunity to run off at the mouth and bug the shit out of me about everything that happened this weekend. But now that I’m fully coherent and stuck in this chocolate raspberry scented Hell for eight hours? I not only get to try and ignore Joey’s nosy comments, but Dylan is also weighing in with her opinion on everything.

She’s my boss. I can’t exactly toss her through a window to shut her up now, can I?

Plus, there’s the whole pregnancy thing. I’m sure that wouldn’t be good for the baby.

“Cupcake, you should’ve seen her.” Joey’s broad smile reemerges as he steps into the back for the hundredth time today.

I sigh and keep my head down.

“Talking about how sweet Mason was when he removed the tick. How he held her while she cried with those sexy ass arms of his. She even mentioned something about having a decent time up until that point. Can you believe it? Our little mini muffin actually enjoyed camping.”

I place another pastry into the large bakery box in front of me and glare at him from across the worktop. Dylan laughs quietly from her stool. “I was drunk when I said that,” I tell him.

I can’t believe it. I actually had fun camping. What is happening with the world?

“You were barely into your first martini. Don’t even go there with me, Brooke.” Joey points a finger at my face. “I am way past the point of trying to get you to admit you have feelings for this guy, because I think you’re way past just having feelings. I saw you with him when he came over, and I know how you flirt when you’re drunk. That wasn’t it, honey.”

I close the box and stack it on top of the other two I have already filled. A sharp, unrelenting tension builds behind my eyes. I ignore Dylan’s pleased smile and focus all of my annoyance onto Joey.

“Well, I don’t remember how I looked when Mason came over, because like I said fifty times already today, I was well on my way to party hour, but I’m sure I looked how any woman would look when sex comes knocking at their door.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break.” Dylan pushes a sheet pan away from her and crosses her arms under her chest. “Brooke, when was the last time you had sex? How many days ago?”

I open my mouth to answer, then quickly close it.

Fuck. Fuuuck. I can normally count my response to this question on one hand. But today I have no idea . . .

How long has it been?

Paul. That giant asshat was my last regrettable encounter. I met Mason the following week. Am I into double digits territory?

Holy shit. That had to be at least two weeks ago.

“Do you need a calendar, Brooke? There’s one right over there.”

Ignoring Dylan and her question, I open up a paper bag and begin filling it with banana muffins, keeping my eyes down and focusing on my task.

“So what if it’s been longer than usual since I’ve had sex. Who cares? I’m doing other stuff with Mason. I’m still getting off. I don’t see what the big fucking deal is or why both of you are bugging me about it.”

Silence.

No wiseass responses. No amusing little noises like I’ve been listening to all morning.

Have my prayers been answered? Am I suddenly the only employee of Dylan’s Sweet Tooth?

I look up and spot two pairs of eyes on me.

Damn.

Joey looks over at Dylan, grinning wildly. “I so wish I would’ve gotten that adorable speech on camera. You?”

She nods slowly. “Absolutely.”

What the fuck are they going on about now?

“What?” I ask, setting the bag down. My hands flatten on the wood as I flick my gaze between the two of them. “What did I say?”

Dylan straightens on her stool and rests her hand on her belly. “You just admitted you don’t care anymore that Mason is withholding sex from you. You, Brooke Wicks, don’t care about sex because you’re spending time with a man who is making you so happy, you’re forgetting what you’re missing.” She tilts her head. “Now, are you ready to admit why you don’t care?”

“I just told you!” I yell, slapping a hand over my mouth.

Oh, my God. What am I doing?

Dylan and Joey both startle from my outburst. Worried glances are exchanged, and then directed at me.

Shit! Get it together, Brooke. You like having a job. You need a job. No more incidents like that or your ass is going to be out on the street.

“I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my hand and looking across the worktop at Dylan. “I didn’t mean to yell like that.”

She unscrews the cap on her water and brings it to her mouth. “All right.”

Reaching back and untying my apron, I calmly continue after I’ve settled on a more appropriate work-place volume. “As I told you, I’m still getting off with Mason. The orgasms he gives me are some of the best of my life. Maybe even the best. It would be different if I was just hanging out with this guy and he wasn’t touching me, but he is. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t had sex yet. Mason’s foreplay is on point.”

Joey shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “What is he to you? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits? What?”

“We’ve been over this,” I sternly reply, tossing my apron onto the table. “Jesus. He’s just this guy I’m spending time with. And in five minutes when you ask me that question again, he’ll still be just this guy I’m spending time with.”

Dylan stands from her stool and reaches for her pink mixer, sliding it in front of her. “Denial doesn’t look good on you, Brooke. Stop wearing it.”

“Oh, my God,” I softly utter, snatching up the muffin bag and setting it on top of the three boxes.

I need to get out of here. Far away from these two. I’ve never done a delivery by myself before but I’ve knocked out tons with Joey. It’s usually the two of us.

Well, that’s not happening today. If I don’t get a break from this madness, I’m going to end up burning this place to the ground just to avoid further conversation.

Joey comes to stand beside me. He rubs his hands eagerly together, looking between the boxes and my face.

“Ready to go, Mrs. King?”

My eyes widen. He did not just fucking go there.

Did I say burn this place to the ground? I meant slaughter a third of the staff.

Fists clenching at my sides, I step closer to him. Joey leans back when he registers the look on my face.

“Too much?” he meekly asks.

“You think?” I lift the boxes and balance the bag on top, glaring at Joey as I lower them against my chest. “I’m doing this delivery alone. Do yourself a favor and eat a dick for lunch while I’m gone. You sound deprived.”

“Ow, kitten.” Joey gapes at me. He looks sincerely hurt. “Just because I’m all up in your business, doesn’t mean I’m deprived. Retract the claws, please.”

I look up at him, trying to stay angry, swallowing down the remorse I feel burning the back of my throat.

I haven’t spoken to Joey this cruelly since before I moved in with him. This used to be regular dialogue between the two of us, back when we could hardly stand each other. Then I started working here. The closer we became, him and I, the more playful our banter. We stopped cracking on each other years ago.

Why did I have to go there just now? Why did he?

Why are both of them on my case about this?

I brush past him and move toward the doorway. If I stay any longer, I’ll either yell or apologize. Neither one seem appealing right now.

“Brooke, do you know where it is?” Dylan calls out as I step into the main bakery.

“Yeah. We delivered there last year.”

I turn sideways to push the door open with my elbow. Movement catches my eye. I look up just as Joey walks in from the kitchen, looking like he wants to tell me something.

I don’t wait around to hear it. God only knows what other clever little comments he has to say right now.

With a firm shove, I exit the bakery and head for my car.

I take the elevators to the eleventh floor of the Harding and Associates building, a huge venture capitalist firm in the city.

I have definitely been here. More than once in the same day. While Joey and I made our delivery to one of the offices in this building last year, I caught the eye of one of the associates. Our delivery just so happened to be for a breakfast meeting. The associate ended up being my entire lunch.

I hardly remember anything about him. Dark hair maybe? Glasses? The only thing sticking out in my mind is how irritated I was with Dylan’s thirty minute lunch rule that day.

I drop my head back against the mirrored wall behind me.

What if that had been Mason, and it was a year later, or several years later. Would I remember little details about him? Or major ones? Anything?

Yes.

My answer is as certain as my desire to keep breathing. It’s terrifying and oddly comforting all at once. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand any of it. My stomach feels like it’s being twisted into a perpetual knot.

Balancing the three boxes filled with treats and the bag of muffins, I step off the elevators and walk across the shiny marble floor to the reception area, praying I leave my anxiety behind me. An older woman directs me down the hallway to the conference room by the large window overlooking the city streets. I say a silent thank you when the doors to the room are already propped open. I would hate to place these boxes on the floor to be able to knock.

That’s extremely unprofessional, and probably one of the reasons these deliveries are done in pairs.

I step inside the room, lowering the boxes so I can see above the paper bag. Several men in suits are seated at a long rectangular table. All of them look up at my arrival and halt their dissection of whatever document is in front of them.

“Hello. I have a delivery from Dylan’s Sweet Tooth. Pastries and muffins.”

The older man closest to me stands and takes the boxes. He smiles warmly. “Excellent. We were just about to get started.”

He spreads the boxes out in the center of the table. Lids are quickly flipped back and the contents of the paper bag is examined.

The older man straightens and looks back at me. “Please see my secretary Helen for your payment, Miss . . .”

“Brooke.”

I look across the room at the sound of my name.

Seated at the other end of the table is the very associate I gave up my lunch for last year.

Blonde. No glasses. Nothing particularly memorable at all about him. In fact, if he hadn’t called out my name just now, I would easily pass this guy on the street and not recognize him. It’s only in this setting, large board room with baked goods spread out on a conference table that my memory is being triggered. And that might have everything to do with the treats and nothing to do with the sex we had.

He stands and buttons his jacket, grinning in my direction. “I’ll walk you out.”

I smile at the older man who took the boxes from me and exit the room. Blonde, no glasses guy has to catch up.

“I said I would walk you out. You can’t wait a second?” He gently squeezes my elbow, bending down to whisper into my ear. “In a hurry? I can make it quick.”

I wrench my arm away. “That’s okay. I need to get back to work.”

My feet continue to carry me down the hallway. He stays right with me, his quiet chuckle grating on my nerves.

Christ, just go away. This isn’t going to happen.

“Come on, Brooke. I’m about to have to sit through this boring as fuck meeting. Make a guy’s day a bit brighter, will ya?”