“Holden has been watching out for your best interest as well, Carl. Don’t doubt that we want a level playing field and safety for all parties involved.” I assure him.
With that, he thanks us and leaves the meeting. Miles rolls his eyes at me and leaves as well. I check my to-do list and don’t see anything that can’t wait another day. So I pack up and try to head out of the office when Neal stops me.
“I wanted to ask you or Nick about the absence policy.” He looks at his fingernails, cleaning them out with another one of his nails as he mentions it.
“What about it?”
“If an employee misses weeks at a time while still within the first six months of their time here, isn’t that grounds for dismissal? It seems like it should be. Unless there’s something else at play.”
He means Sophie. Stupid man doesn’t even know how to fish without giving himself away. I narrow my eyes. “If the employee has no issue getting work done in a timely fashion and their time off has been approved, I see no problem with it. By all means, ask Nick”
“I think I will. It just doesn’t seem right that a specific employee is able to avoid work just because of who she decides to spend time with. Consider what’s fair.”
“Consider who you’re speaking to and about.” I hiss. “And your own standing at this company before attacking others.”
He glances from me to Miles who comes from his office, whistling. Neal sits down like a good boy and lets me get to more important things than attendance policies.
SOPHIE
Ithrow some flour at Gunner, who wears a cute apron that’s neon pink with a pineapple on it that says “sweet and slutty” under it. He gasps at me, then picks me up, tossing me over his shoulder as he walks to the fridge.
Smacking his ass, I try to adjust. “Put me down!”
“Don’t start a fight you can’t win, sweets.” He chuckles, slapping my ass with a lot more sting than I can manage with him. “I think we need something to drink. I’m thinking rum and coke.”
“Down!” I insist.
“Nope. I can’t trust you not to make a mess when my back is turned.” He jostles me until I squeal.
When he finally sets me down, he kisses me with flour-dusted lips. I wrap my arm around his neck and give into the kiss. He’s been a lot gentler with me since we got back from Hawaii. Not necessarily with his spanks, but with his kisses, his time, the way he shows his affection.
It’s steadily ruining my heart. As if I had any room in my heart left for anyone outside these guys. They own me so completely and totally and I don’t think I can pick one specific moment where it happened.
Gunner works on making me a drink – definitely not rum and coke – while I go back to forcing the dough through the pasta maker. It’s not easy, but at least this one is newer and easier to use than the one that I used in Italy.
Gunner turns up the music a little louder and I dance while keeping track of the pasta. I’ve been studying Italian since we went to Italy and with Roman’s help it’s finally sticking. Not to mention I’ve been purposefully listening to this Italian playlist I made just to impress Roman.
But it’s Gunner who watches as I sing along with a warm smile on his face. He grabs my hand and spins me under his arm before dipping me back and making me giggle. “Since when can you dance?”
“I took ballroom dancing lessons once.” He whispers. “Don’t tell. Only Holden knows that because I asked him to join me when my partner was sick.”
He whispers the steps in my ear, but I hardly need it with how well he leads. I shake my head at him. “And you made fun of me for wanting to go.”
“I have to cover my ass. But I’m standing by my agreement to pole dancing classes. You go and I’ll go too.” He kisses my neck. “And then we can install a pole in the house and see who’s the better stripper.”
I giggle and spin under his arm. He cradles my hips with his and I wrap an arm around his neck. This is a more familiar way to dance like we did in the club when we went out with Nick. It feels like years ago.
Dragging my eyes from Gunner’s face, I find Roman, rolling up his sleeves as he looks over the mess the kitchen is. He shakes his head slowly and Italian (that I actually understand!) slides through his lips. “My grandmother would cry. Poor kitchen.”
“It was fun,” I argue, in English. “She would appreciate the dancing.”
His eyes focus on me with a heat that was absent when we were in his office earlier. Gunner spins me to Roman and he presses his forehead to mine. “You understand it, so speak it.”
“Balla con me,” I whisper, rocking my hips side to side to the beat. “E cucina con me.”
He groans and we work in the kitchen with Gunner. The guys find every possible excuse to touch me as we make the pasta and cook it. Roman gives us free cooking lessons as we make the red sauce from scratch. Gunner dumps a little more salt than necessary, but apparently Roman knows how to fix that and every other issue.
While I watch him, he grins. “No one is perfect in the kitchen. Grandma made sure that I knew exactly how to fix all my mistakes.”