She has a point. “Yeah,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe…”
“So, go! Tell him off!”
“Yeah…” I get to my feet, determination spooling up inside me, drowning out the self-pity I’ve been steeping in since reading James’ text. “I am going to give him a piece of my mind.” I tell her, heading toward my bedroom.
“Where are you doing?” Olive calls out, pointing toward the front door. “The door is that way.”
“I’m going to change,” I say, hooking a thumb toward my bedroom.
“No, ma’am.” Olive chases me, grabs me by the elbow and steers me back toward the living room. “You look hot as fuck in that dress. Show him what he’s missing.”
11
MATT
There’s a banging coming from my office door, and it won’t fucking stop. “James!” I call out hoarsely. “Whatever you’re doing out there, knock it off!” That’s all the effort I have left in my body. I slump over, my arm and shoulder hanging limply off the couch.
Fuck me. I haven’t been sick in years.Years.My body used to be a fucking temple, but now look at me. I spent one day with a bunch of kids, and they got all kinds of things up in my system. The banging stops, but I can still hear James rustling around in the reception area.
“I told you to go home, James! I’m fine!” I swear on all that’s holy, if he tries to get me to chug a wheat grass smoothie again, I’m going to fire him. I’d have to re-hire him again five minutes later, but at least he’d get the point. The door to my office swings open, letting in a hateful shaft of light. I pull a cushion over my head and growl.
“Oh, James was right. You are grumpy.” A soft, familiar voice filters through the cushion I’m clutching to my temple. “The man cold hits you hard, huh?”
“Chelsea?” I’m hallucinating. Or maybe James is pulling a prank. I lift the pillow and, sure enough, Chelsea is standing over me, a steaming mug in one hand, and a look of pure sympathy on her face. She’s wearing a green dress, the material sliding over her like a second skin. One I really want to help her shed. It plunges in the front, framing goddess-level cleavage, and swings from her hips with every step. Hips that I dug my fingers into as she straddled me in the back of the limo.
I try to clear my throat, but it fucking hurts. “God, you look good,” I groan.
“Thank you,” she says with a blush.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to clear the cobwebs. I’m half convinced this is a dream. Why else would Chelsea be here, dressed like that?
“James texted to cancel our date, and I… well, I thought you were blowing me off,” she adds sheepishly. “Using your assistant. So, I came to tell you off.”
“What?” I croak, looking around my office. When I spot the time on the clock, my heart stops so hard it gives my soul whiplash. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been asleep since I got here. He must have sent it without checking with me. Which, for the record, is a very James thing to do.”
“I know,” Chelsea says. “I talked to him outside.”
“I’m going to fire that man so hard—but you shouldn’t be here. You’re going to catch it.”
“Oh, shut up. I’ve been teaching for long enough that my immune system will see it coming and go all Karate Kid on it,” she laughs, sitting on the edge of the couch. Her weight settles next to my hip, and even sick as a dog, I want to pull her on top of me. I want those curves in my lap, those thighs wrapped around my waist… fuck, I’m horny.
“Besides, you wouldn’t be sick if I hadn’t tricked you into spending the whole day with the kids.”
“I enjoyed that,” I argue. “Especially the drive home…” I walk my fingers down the outside of her thigh, the smooth fabric of her dress slippery under my touch.
“You’re bad, you know that?” Her fingers snare mine, and she holds my hand. I love it. I’ve never thought of holding hands as something intimate, but this is.
“Good lord,” she mutters, picking up the empty bottle of cough medicine from the glass end table. “How much cough medicine have you taken?”
“I dunno. Not enough to make me feel better, but James wouldn’t bring me more.”
“Good,” Chelsea laughs. “I can comfortably say you’ve had enough.” I try to sit up, but don’t get very far before my head gives an almighty throb and I give up. “Uh-uh. Lie down right now,” she commands, pushing me backwards by the shoulders.
“You’re sexy when you’re bossy,” I mumble as she pulls the throw blanket up over me.
“It seems you always think I’m sexy. I could probably roll in mud, and you’d think it was sexy,” she says, arching a brow in my direction.
The mental image of her wearing a white t-shirt, dripping wet and grinning ear to ear, springs to the forefront, making me groan. My dick hasn’t gotten the message that the rest of me is dying, because he jumps to attention. He’s ready to dive headfirst into anything resembling Chelsea Crawford. White blood cell count be damned.