Chapter 8: Brooks
The only way this day could have gone any worse would be if Olive had refused to work with me. Until she signs the paperwork, it’s still a genuine possibility. It’s obvious she’s pissed at me, but it’s not like I said anything that wasn’t true.
When Olive joins us at the table I'm surprised to see that she brought me a muffin and a cup of coffee. When I meet her eyes and thank her, all I get in return is an icy stare and a small nod. I feel a twinge of guilt. I don’t like seeing her so angry at me.
Olive sits between us at the small square table. When she sits her knee brushes against mine and she flinches, honest to god, flinches before turning her body towards Della to avoid touching me. Jesus, I don’t know what nerve I hit with her but it must have been a fucking doozie.
The only upside to the way Olive has positioned herself is that I can watch her while Della walks her through the timeline for the planning phase of her addition. She’s so expressive. I can see each thought as it passes across her face. I’m captivated by the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the way her long lashes flutter as her eyes narrow and holy hell, the way she moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue.
I watch her lift her coffee cup to her lips and I’m oddly fascinated by her wrists. They look so tiny and fragile sticking out the end of her chef coat. I have a flashback to the way I grabbed them and used them to hold her against the wall last night. It’s a miracle I didn’t bruise her. Fuck. She’s so small and vulnerable. The thought of another man, anyone at all, grabbing her like I did, has me clenching my jaw. Fuck that, I decide as I grind my teeth. She’s mine and I’m going to fucking protect her. No one is getting their hands on her but me.
Subtle I’m not. Della catches me watching Olive and her eyes flash with a warning before asking me to walk Olive through the construction timeline. I do my best to keep it professional, but she won’t meet my eyes.
I’m still trying to figure out how to get Olive to warm back up to me, when Della stands, interrupting my thoughts. “Well, I think that’s everything. I know Brooks has other clients to meet and you have delicious things to bake so we’ll get out of your hair. I’ll be in touch soon, Olive.”
They hug and Olive offers her some cookies to go, but she waves her off. “I’m stuffed. Next time.” She motions at me to walk out with her, but I can’t leave like this.
"I'll catch up." I try to send her off without me, but she won't go until Olive shoos her out. They do that mysterious and horrifying thing where women communicate with just their eyes. I can see it happening, but I'm not sure what is passing between them. Della finally sighs and gives us a half-hearted wave as she leaves. She throws me one last threatening glare as the door closes behind her.
There are a few customers in the dining room and a handful of Olive’s employees near enough to overhear us. “Could we talk outside for a minute?” I ask her. She crosses her arms over her chest, her sharp green eyes boring into me. For several seconds I’m convinced she’s going to boot me out of her bakery, but she sighs and nods her head to the side door before stomping out ahead of me. I make an effort to suppress my grin as she huffs her way outside, her cute little ass bouncing with each step.
Olive rounds on me the second the door shuts. She comes at me with so much fire I almost take a step back. Almost. But I stand my ground even when she jambs a finger in my chest. “The only reason I let Della talk me into hiring you is because she says you’re the best man for the job, and probably my only chance to get my classes running in time for the summer.”
I cock an eyebrow, surprised that Della went to bat for me like that. She’s right that I’m the best man for the job, but I know other guys could get it done in time too. And I know she knows that. I opt for a half-truth.
“She's not wrong. I am the best man for the job. Look, I wanted to apologize for what I said before. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. I just meant that I’ve been nothing but professional with clients before you…”
Olive sparks again, holding out a hand as she interrupts me. “Great!” Her voice is too high and way too chipper. “So you can do this job for me and be one hundred percent professional from now on, yes?”
I reach to take her hand without thinking about it but catch myself, dropping my arm back to my side. I want to slide my hands down her arms and calm her, but I doubt she would find it professional. I flex my hand, my fingers are itching to feel her skin again. “Is that really what you want from me?” I ask her.
She hesitates, and I don’t miss the way her gaze darts to my lips. It’s only a second, but I recognize the heat in her eyes before she puts her walls back up. She’s blushing fiercely and maybe it’s because I piss her off, but I don’t think so. I’d bet big that she wants me as badly as I want her.
“Yes, that is exactly what I want from you.” She holds up her fingers and counts on them: “One, keep your damn hands to yourself. Two, get my addition done on time. And three, be professional while you do it. Three things. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?”
A lot of things shouldn’t be as hard as they are, including my dick, which I’m having to hide behind my bag like a teenage boy. She’s beautiful and so fucking tempting when she’s fired up. I can only imagine how amazing all that pent-up passion would be when redirected…
Shit. I’m staring at her again. I try to clear the roughness from my throat, but my voice still comes out hoarse. “Yes, I can do all of those things, Olive.” I can do all those things. And I will until I can convince her to change two of those three rules.