She coughed up half a lung, and I figured out pretty quick she’d never smoked before. Didn’t deter Ellie, though. We shared the rest of it, watched some old Romero zombie flicks, and planned an apocalypse survival strategy with the kind of excruciating detail only the stoned can appreciate.
Then she went all in on a bag of Cheetos, freaked out about her father coming downstairs, and passed out on the couch. I spent the wee hours of the morning on the floor, shivering my ass off in a pair of shorts and a black Henley covered in her bright orange fingerprints.
I never told her this, but it was the best Christmas I’d had since I was a kid.
I wonder if she remembers…
“I’m going through with this,” she says now, the softness vanishing from her eyes. “To borrow a phrase from the esteemed Rictor, I need to ‘grow a pair.’ So, you can help me, or you can stay out of the way while I grow my own, but either way it’s happening.”
Great. This isn’t going away.
A laugh escapes my lips, and we both know she’s got me by the balls.
But hell if I’m giving in without busting hers, first.
“In all your scheming, Eleanor, there’s one problem you haven’t considered.” I pin her with the stone-cold gaze I reserve for special occasions, like getting a tight-ass client to part with his money.
She wavers, the space between her man-brows wrinkling. “What’s that?”
I blow out a breath. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s bad. Probably a deal-breaker for you.”
“Jack, will you just—”
“Our snack machine…” I deliver my final words in a whisper. “It’s an organic, Cheetos-free zone.”
Her gasp says it all.
Oh yeah. She remembers.
Her cheeks turn pink, and beneath that hideous mustache, her mouth rounds into an “o,” sending a bolt of desire straight below the belt.
Hell. Every time I think I have the upper hand here, she undoes me all over again.
There’s no way this arrangement can end well.
“That’s fine,” she says, regaining her composure. “I can bring my own.” She rises from the chair and collects her case. “Does this mean you’re in?”
I waver.
As much as I want to offer the support her inner fire deserves, I can’t help my best friend’s little sister infiltrate our company as a dude.
Not without putting myself in a precarious position with Ryan, a guy who’s been a damn loyal friend and the only real constant in my life. Not without violating some ethical standards and probably breaking a few SEC rules.
And definitely not without rocking a constant, raging,highlyunprofessional hard-on. It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing—Ellie is still Ellie, and my cock knows it.
But damn it, I can already feel myself giving in.
“Well?” she demands.
I may not agree with her methods, but if Ellie needs my help, she’s got it.
I meet her gaze across the desk and silence the warning bells clanging in my skull.
“Welcome aboard, Eric Webb. You and your porn ’stache start tomorrow, nine a.m. sharp.”