The coffee breaks, the swatch pallets of color, Paul’s blunders, conversations with Kitty. My whole existence, every piece of me that I fought tooth and nail to rebuild? I have to say goodbye to it.
A small mourning will certainly ensue tonight behind closed doors. Pangs of sadness are already sewing deep in my stomach.
Those pangs die away, however, as I step into the hall. It’s darker out here due to the rain outside, and I’m sure there would be a chill in the air if I wasn’t catching sight of Brexton the moment I step out.
He swivels his head to face me, and his breathing seems to stop.
Instantly embers awaken under my skin, burning me alive. Fuck, he makes me feel sexy, and my heart won’t stop pounding from behind my ribs as his gaze rakes over me from head to toe and back again.
It stirs my appetite, but I skirt away regardless.
He’s a creation tailored to everything I visually like; however, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit afraid of him—of what he can make happen with a single word. But the fact that he’s using his pull to make me a part of his world, it strokes my ego, whether I want it to or not … filling my head with my own sense of power.
Power—a thing I’ve never had. It’s always been non-existent in my world. I was told when to smile, how to smile, what to say to my friends and what tone to use. I never even knew what having control meant until I moved out from under my stepdad and mom’s roof. Only then could I dictate my own life. But power? I’ve never been fully free enough to know what that feels like. So this taste is new—invigorating. It’s fueling my already dangerous attraction for the man. The air ignites with a pull that causes my skin to dew with sweat. It overwhelms me until I strain for breath and snap back to Earth.
I need to leave this room. If anything, for his safety, because I'm warding off a savage desire that I'm much too weak to fight. Grant Brexton is not the man to satisfy this craving. He can’t be. He makes me forget who I am, and what I’ve been through.
About Lonnie … about him. And losing myself in his gaze almost makes me wonder if I could feel safe again. That’s not a feeling that I can afford.
No. I simply can’t go there. My problems are strictly my own.
I blink, break the spell, then breeze past him—I consider it a small victory when I reach the elevator. I press the number for the lower floor and avoid eye contact.
I’m going to see Kitty.
Mr. L said to grab essentials from my desk, but the only essential I need is a Kitty talk. She'll put my head straight before I leave with Brexton.
By the time I reach her desk, the ungodly run-in upstairs is a memory. Now I'm just overwhelmed with hot cheeks and shaking hands.
“What happened up there?” She stops typing and stands. “Have you been le—”
“Let go? In a way, yes.” I want to cry. “Mr. L is outsourcing me.”
Her mouth falls open. “But why? Mr. L loves you.”
“Not enough to keep me from Grant Brexton.”
“The one that’s here?” Her eyes widen. “You mean, that thing gracing our building is Grant Brexton?” She gulps when I nod. “Shit.”
A scramble happens as she makes a mad dash for her drawer—the one loaded with foil-wrapped chocolate squares. We call them “therapy” and only eat them during the moments we can't cope with. She clutches four in her hand and shoves two my way. “Here.”
We tear into them like impoverished creatures at a banquet, indulging at the same time, letting silence pass between us. While the chocolate melts away, clarity of mind returns.
“So, tell me everything,” she says.
I shrug, allowing the creamy square to work its magic. “You remember the Brauns? The couple I decorated for last summer?”
“Yeah.”
“I ran into them at the gala on Friday.”
As much as I adore the Brauns, I could kick myself for talking to them. Why didn’t I just say hello and move on? I shake my head. “How was I supposed to know they were there doing business with Brexton, who had no German interpreter?”
“I take it you turned out to be the interpreter.”
I nod.
“Sounds like fate to me,” she says, opening her second wrapper. “Tell me more.”
I confess everything. The run-in after the bathroom, dancing, how he flirted with me … I'm an open book. And while I'm expecting a shoulder to cry on, I don't receive any of that. Instead, she giggles.
“There could be worse things, honey.” She shrugs. “You'll be making a pretty penny, and that man is a dream to look at.”
“And doesn’t he know it?” My eyes roll skyward. “The man is hotter than hell, but that doesn’t mean he needs to strut around like the offspring of Aphrodite.”
“Is that a fact?”
The sensual voice of Grant Brexton sounding off in my ear makes me flinch. I spin around, my ass colliding with Kitty's desk as I try to create space.
His eyes brim over with a proud gleam, and he seems to enjoy the effect he has over me. It makes the air around us stifling, so much so that I’m finding it hard to breathe again.
I scowl, his actions and the chaos he’s causing finally catching up to my brain. “Just who do you think you are? Marching in here and getting me fir—”
“I know who I am.” He smirks. “Which is why you’re working for me now.”
“I told you I didn’t want to work for you.” I can’t stop the nervous twitch popping up in my legs.
“And I told you, you would work for me. Fair warnings were given.”
Coming from him, I love the sound of that, but he’s too much. I look away. Intense stares and being told orders in deep voices have a way of sucking the fight out of me—blame Lonnie and my stepdad, I guess.
“You’ll kindly look at me when I talk to you, please.” My head lifts without hesitation at his tone, my knees feeling like jelly as I lean onto the desk behind me. He walks closer, enclosing me until he’s all that remains. Staring at him becomes easier as his eyes soften. “I usually don’t have to coax my employees, but I’ll be nice. I’ll play fair and win you over by being a good boss. Knowing now that you think I'm good-looking, I'll try not to use that to my…” His gaze dips to the lowest part of my shirt before working itself back up. “Advantage.”
Heat spikes in my veins while my spine deliciously chills. No reply comes to mind as any thoughts completely blank out.
“Now,” he says, taking a step back, “I hope you're almost ready to go. I'm in a hurry, so if you could not waste time…” He checks his watch and moves for the door. “I'll be in the limo.” He leaves the building without a second look back.
I blink, dazed, with his lingering aura hanging heavy around me. How do I cope with someone like this? Someone who I can’t help but want, badly, but it’s so clearly wrong and stupid? I turn for the exit, fold my arms across my chest, and say the only truth I can. “He’s too sexy.”
“Roger that,” Kitty says. I glance over to see her staring at the door, looking stunned as I feel. “Why don’t you want to work for him again? If he came for me, I’d leave this place and not blink twice.”
My brows furrow. “He’s too high profile. You know how I like keeping to myself.”
“I don’t think you have a thing to worry about.” A corner of her mouth pulls up.
“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Curiosity sends my head tilting.
“Because from the way that man looks at you, he has only one intention in mind…” A pause hangs, but just for a second, then her smile widens. “Keeping you all to himself.”
That observation is terrifying and oddly thrilling, all at the same time. I only wish I could understand why I’m not feeling the most rational emotion of all—panic.
Because every part of me should be panicking at being thrown into Brexton’s orbit, but that emotion is nil, nowhere to be found. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I like this feeling.
These next few weeks are going to be interesting.