"What are you drinking?" I ask.
She glances up at me, smiling in a distracted way. "Morning. I always have a butterscotch latte."
"That's not coffee."
"Maybe not for people who don't put sugar in their tea, but for the rest of humanity, it is."
Leaning against the cubicle wall, I study her. "It's not morning, Elena. It's lunchtime. You need to take a break."
"Oh, I brought a bag lunch today." She picks up a depressingly brown paper sack that's slumped on her desk and shakes it. "See? I'm all set. Have a good lunch, Chance."
I grab the extra chair that's shoved into the far corner of her tiny cubicle and set it down an arm's length from where she sits. My arse barely fits on the flimsy plastic-and-metal contraption. "It's lunch, Elena, not an invitation to an orgy. I want to confer with my paralegal over a meal."
Her lips tighten in a sexy little smile even while she types on her keyboard. "Sure, you want to confer with me."
Her tone implies something very, very wrong and very, very filthy.
Can she read my mind?
"Just lunch," I say. "Think of it as a business meeting."
"Right, business." She throws me a sly sideways glance. "You're all business whenever we're alone, aren't you?"
"We won't be alone. I'll take you to my favorite bistro, where there will be plenty of other people and plenty of light. No dark corners, I swear. We can sit by the window, if you like."
I want dark corners and a smoky atmosphere, with sensual music playing in the background. I want to do filthy things to her anytime, anywhere. But I promised myself I would not make any advances.
Today. Tomorrow is another story.
She still seems reluctant, though I sense she might be wavering.
"Relax," I say. "I'm British, remember? We say cheerio, and we love tea and crumpets. How much trouble could I possibly get you into?"
"Playing on American stereotypes of Brits? That's cute, but not convincing." She folds her arms under her breasts, which makes me notice them even more. Leaning in, she whispers, "You are the man who seduced me in an elevator."
"Guilty as charged. Let me make it up to you."
She chews on her bottom lip while scrutinizing me.
I squirm in my horrid little chair while seconds tick by.
Elena sighs and dumps her brown bag into the trash bin under her desk. "All right. I'm yours for lunch."
My mind conjures up several different ways I could mold that statement into a come-on, but I resist the impulse. Instead, I remain calm and professional while we board the elevator.
As soon as the doors close, I say, "You really should take a chance more often."
She raises her delicate brows at me. "Is that a dopey pun about your name?"
"It was unintentional, I swear. I can't help that my name is also a commonly used word." I lean in so close I can see the darker rims around her caramel irises. "But for the record, this Chance loves to be taken."
Elena laughs and shakes her head.
Chapter Six
Elena
Chance takes me to a quaint little bistro ten blocks away from the office, one he swears nobody at the office knows about---except Raisa, and she only ever came here with him. She doesn't like the place, he says, so she'll never come back here. We sit by the picture windows, where we have a beautiful view of the skyline across the river, and he insists I sit beside him instead of across the table from him. When Chance examines the menu, he sighs and looks disappointed.