She blinks up at me, a knowing smile dancing across her beautiful face.
But she doesn’t respond.
“I’ll email you the details. Oh... and we need to add a nine a.m. interview for tomorrow. Quinn O’Doul is coming in.”
She jots down a note on one of her fluorescent pink sticky notes and adds it to her notebook. “Gotcha, boss.”
I walk away, wondering what the hell’s gotten into her today.
* * *
It’s after seven that night when a knock on my open door has me looking up from my computer. I’m not sure what she’s still doing in the office.
She usually leaves around five.
“I didn’t realize you were still here.” We haven’t crossed the line here, but I’m tempted to change that as she closes the door behind her.
She glances around my office, her eyes lingering on my closed blinds. “It’s just the two of us here now.”
My mouth waters as her crisp, citrusy scent hits my nose.
“I was working on organizing your kick-off party. I’ve lined up the catering, waitstaff, and DJ.” She crosses the room toward me and fingers the pearl buttons of her shirt seductively. “I think we should get a face painter too. A lot of these guys have families they’ll bring, and you want something to keep the kids occupied, maybe even a bounce house. You have enough room for it.” She walks around my desk and leans against it, facing me.
I rest my hands on her hips, looking up at her. She’s every fucking fantasy I’ve ever had come to life. My sexy siren calling me to my destruction, and I’m willingly jumping in.
“I made sure to keep your Friday afternoon free this week, like you asked. You got a hot date?”
My brain tells me we shouldn’t be doing this here, in my office. In any office. This isn’t smart or thought-out. But my brain’s losing the fight as I lick my lips with anticipation, want and need battling for control. I’m close to crossing a line that, until now, I had no intentions of crossing. “Thanks. We’re getting together for Sebastian’s bachelor party that night.”
“The night before the wedding? Cutting it close, aren’t you?” She scrapes her fingers along my scalp, and it feels good.
So fucking good.
“Yeah well, everyone has practice and preseason games. Two of his friends play for Baltimore and couldn’t make it up before now.”
Daphne loosens my tie, then her fingers trace the lines of my chest before her lips brush my ear, and she whispers, “You forget I know his friends better than you do.”
My phone vibrates on my desk with Lenny’s face flashing across it, and I groan.
Daphne’s eyes dart down. “Take the call, Max.” She straightens herself, then trails her fingertips along the tattoo on my arm. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you tomorrow, boss.”
I grip her wrist. “Come home with me.”
“I can’t.” Something in the mask that’s just slipped back into place tells me she’s lying.
The call goes to voicemail, and I stand to follow her out when my office line rings.
“Daphne...” I call after her, but she doesn’t turn around.
“See you tomorrow, Max.”
I ignore the voice in my head telling me to chase her and answer the damn phone. “Max Kingston.”
“Oh, thank God, Max. I need your help.” Len’s out of breath and sounds frazzled, which is not at all normal for Lenny. But it is three days before her wedding.
“I’m here, Len. What do you need?”
One of us might as well get what we need.
My need just walked out the fucking door.