But the more I thought about it, the easier I figured it had to be. She was an author. They were the quiet types, right? The sit in the back of the cafe and observe types. How much of a nuisance could she really be?
“Oh my happy little heart, it’s just how I pictured it! Even you standing there at the window, like the lord of the manor, surveying his domain.” Her voice had the sweet southern drawl I’d become accustomed to in Charleston.
“How you pictured?” My eyebrows hit the ceiling, and I turned to face the invading force…and almost dropped my balls.
If this was Daisy Lewis, I was absolutely fucked.
This woman was distractingly, mouth-wateringly, inconveniently fuckable. She had a beautiful, heart-shaped face, flawless skin, and wide brown eyes framed by thick lashes. Her hair was pinned up, but a single tendril of a corkscrew curl had been left alongside her cheek, which made me look at what could only be described as a kissable mouth. And God bless the early August heat, she was dressed in my absolute kryptonite—a pink sundress that skimmed just above her knees, then hugged the generous curve of her hip and dipped at the indent of her waist before framing two of the most incredible breasts I’d ever seen. She wore retro, forties-style pumps that made me instantly question if I had a foot fetish, and a tiny cardigan she’d pushed up to her elbows that had zero chance of closing over her breasts.
She was a forties pin-up shoved into modern clothing, all curves and cherry red lips.
So. Fucking. Inconvenient.
“You know,” she said, setting her messenger bag down on my conference table. “Looking out over your territory.” She smiled, and I instantly wanted her lips around my dick.
Get a fucking grip.
I squeezed my eyes shut and forced air in through my nose and out through my mouth. She was here to shadow me, not be objectified the second she walked in the door. Every woman I worked with would have smacked me upside the back of the head for that thought.
“Tell me you’re not Daisy Lewis,” I managed to say.
Confusion put two lines between her brows. “Who else would I be?”
“Right. Who else?” Anyone else would have been preferable.
“You’re Asher Silas, right?” She glanced around my office like it was possible that she was in the wrong room.
“Yep.” I nodded, crossing the polished floor to my desk and putting the balls back in their box. Hopefully, the inappropriate and out-of-character attraction I felt would stay there with them. “That’s me. Asher Silas. The man who agreed to let you shadow him.” The man who was now going to focus his brain back on business and off her mouth.
“Cool.” She rocked back on her heels and clasped her hands in front of her. “Did this just get awkward?”
“Nope.” I cracked a smile and leaned back against my desk. She called it as she saw it. I could work with that.
She stared at me for a second, her gaze roaming over my features thoroughly before she walked forward and extended her hand. “Good, because awkward would really make this tough for the next month, don’t you think?”
I shook her hand, my mind whirling. “A month?” Shit, her hands were soft, too. Weren’t they supposed to be hard and callused from typing all the time? This isn’t the eighteen hundreds and she doesn’t use a typewriter.
“That’s how long I figured we’d need.” She dropped my hand and walked back to her messenger bag, taking out a spiral notebook and pen.
“You need a month?” A month of her watching me, altering my schedule, walking around with that ass—scratch that. Fuck, I was about to become a sexual harassment lawsuit if I didn’t watch it. Maybe I should not watch her. Yeah, that was a good plan. I walked around my desk and sat behind my computer, unbuttoning the bottom of my suit coat.
“Well…yeah.” She came toward me, pen poised above the notebook. “Is that okay?”
“Uh-huh. We’ll make it work.” I didn’t exactly have another choice with Weston holding the other end of the dare. Was it hot in here? It felt hot. Maybe something was wrong with the AC.
“Oh good!” She flashed me a smile and plopped into the seat in front of my desk, crossing her legs to balance the notebook.
I didn’t look at the exposed length of her outer thigh. Nope. Not even in my peripheral vision. I shrugged out of my coat, leaving me in two pieces of the three-piece suit as I tossed the jacket at the coat rack to the left and magically hit my target.
“So let’s be honest.” Her foot kicked slightly as she studied me, her soft eyes narrowing slightly. “How impractical is it for you to run an entire empire out of a hockey arena?”