Since I brown-bagged lunch today, I walk a few blocks to a little park where I can sit and eat in solitude. When I get back to the office, Raisa is eating Chinese takeout in her office. I almost go in there to ask if she needs anything, but Raisa reassigned me to be Chance's slave. I don't work for her, not for the time being. I belong to the sexy Brit.
Every time I think about that, my entire body tingles.
No sex with Chance. Get that out of your head, woman.
Right. No sex. No fondling. No kissing.
Ogling is allowed, though. Right? I mean, what harm can come from me drooling over him, as long as nobody sees me doing it? If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, the tree never fell, right? And yes, in this ridiculous metaphor, Chance Dixon is a tree. Well, his dick certainly gets stiff enough to pass for a tree. And it's thick like a big, hard oak, and---
Stop that this instant.
I tiptoe up to Chance's office door, hoping to see he's not back from lunch yet. At least then I'll have a brief reprieve from needing to fight my lustful urges. Jeez, it's barely been half a day. How am I going to survive weeks? Maybe months?
Just my luck, he's in his office---and he catches me peeking around the doorjamb at him.
Chance smiles, in that so-damn-sexy way. "There's my slave. Would you care to wash my feet?"
Yes, with my tongue. Not only his feet, but every inch of his body.
"Oh please," I say, rolling my eyes as I step into the office. "I just got back from lunch and wanted to see if you need anything."
"Actually, yes, I do." His gaze roves up and down my body, and his tongue slips out to wet his lips. He clears his throat, swerving his attention down to the papers on his desk. Gathering them up, he offers them to me. "Would you mind going through these depositions and drafting a summary?"
"Sure thing." Hallelujah, work to do that doesn't involve pimping or lying. I snatch the papers from him and make a beeline for the door.
"Elena."
My tummy flutters, and my knees wobble the teeniest bit. Oh God, I wish he'd never say my name again.
And I wish he'd say it every five seconds.
Yeah, I'm flip-flopping like a beached whale.
I paste on my professional smile and face him. "Yes, Mr. Dixon?"
He sighs, tapping his pen on the desktop. "Do I have to order you to call me Chance? I don't like being called mister."
"Sorry. I was trying to be professional and respectful."
"And I appreciate that, but it's not necessary."
I realize I've hurt his feelings, and I feel bad about that. My stupid idea to create distance between us by calling him Mr. Dixon is done. I rewind the conversation and start again. "What do you need, Chance?"
"For you to have dinner with me."
Damn, I want to say yes so badly. "I can't. The firm has a policy about coworkers dating."
"Yes, and it says all that's required is reporting the relationship to Raisa within thirty days. We have plenty of time to worry about that later, if things work out between us."
If things work out. I don't see how that can happen. He's my boss's ex, and she commanded me to help her get him back.
"No, I'm sorry, Chance. I can't get involved with you."
Spinning around, I hurry out of his office. How can I even think about having dinner with him? It was bad enough when he was my boss's ex-husband. Now, not only is he my boss's ex, but I've been tasked with convincing him to go back to her. I've got to stay away from Chance as much as possible.
Luckily, summarizing the depositions takes the rest of the afternoon.
Unfortunately, that means when I come to work the next morning, I have to venture into Chance's office again to ask what he needs me to do today. Since erotic dreams about him plagued my sleep, I'm in less than top form this morning, so frazzled in fact that I forgot to stop at Starbucks and buy a latte. How can I survive the morning without my coffee? The stuff in the break room is terrible.