“You shouldn’t wear so much makeup.” I regret the words the second they leave my mouth.
Holy shit.
That came out wrong … in so many ways, on so many levels.
“I don’t mean it like—” I add.
“—what’s that supposed to mean?” Her left hand hooks at her hip and her lips are slightly agape. “The way I look is none of your—”
“—I just meant,” I cut her off as she moves closer, but I lose my train of thought when her face is so close to mine I can almost taste that pink little mouth.
The line moves again.
I move again.
She moves again.
Pull yourself together, Welles. Fix this.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you hide your freckles,” I say, not sure this is going to make any of this better.
Her nose wrinkles, head tilts. “And?”
“You don’t need to hide your youth to be taken seriously.”
“I’m not hiding my youth.” Her face is tight, as if my words taste bitter. “And even if I were, it’s not your place to comment about it. Have you no tact?”
“I have plenty of tact,” I say. Just not in this moment.
The line moves again—thank God.
“It’s just makeup,” she says, shrugging and letting her hands fall at her sides. Sweet Jesus, she’s not going to let this go. I must have really nicked a vein here. “Did you know there are hundreds of foundation options out there? Sheer formulas. Medium. Full coverage. BB creams. CC creams. Tinted moisturizers. Organic products. Vegan products. Mineral makeup. And each brand has its own range of shades and colors with various undertones like cool and neutral and warm. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find that one holy grail of foundation that works with your skin type and looks natural and matches your tone perfectly? Do you?”
I cover my smirk with my hand before biting my lower lip. “I … can’t say that I do, Keane.”
“So now I’m curious … what other assumptions have you made about me?”
“Why would you ask that? Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you tell me just this morning that you don’t go around asking people what they think about you?”
“That was then. Before you accused me of being ashamed of my freckles.”
“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.” I slide my hands in my pockets, letting my shoulders fall, showing her this conversation amuses more than aggravates me.
“If we’re going to be working closely together for the next four weeks, I’d like to set the record straight on any misconceptions you might have.”
The line moves. We move.
One more ahead of me, then it’s my turn and I can get the hell out of here.
“Honestly, Keane, I haven’t thought about you all that much,” I lie.
I thought about her more than I should have today. I thought about her ass in that tight skirt. I thought about how good she’d look with one less blouse button buttoned. I thought about how it might feel with her legs wrapped around me or what she’d do if I claimed that hot little mouth for my own.
It’s funny where the mind wanders when it wants to be anywhere but sitting in an office across from my father’s cronies, listening to my dad act like we’ve been in touch all these years and I’ve just been “busy.”
“Rest assured I have no further ideations or notions about the person you are,” I say before turning away.
“I don’t buy it.”
I glance back at her. “You don’t have to buy it.”
“I can tell by the way you look at me, you’re thinking … things. I don’t know what they are, but you’re thinking something …”
I check the time on my phone. “Like I said, Keane, you’re drunk. And honestly, you should go home before you say or do something you’re going to regret in the morning. We’ll be seeing each again other in approximately thirteen hours. I’m sure we could both use the space.”
“I’m not drunk.” The pitch of her voice cuts through the loud bar and she lifts on the balls of her feet.
“You’re not … not drunk.”
“Whatever. Just … tell me what you see when you look at me,” she says.
She’s crazy. Certifiably insane.
The man before me looks over his shoulder at us. I’m pretty sure he’s been eavesdropping this entire time, but I can’t blame him.
“You want to do this here? Now?” I ask.
Rubbing her lips together, she nods with the kind of enthusiasm only a woman with a couple of strong gin and tonics in her veins could muster.
“Keane. Please. I’m not—”
“—do you think I’m uptight?” she asks.
“I’m not going to answer that.”
“It’s okay if you do. Most people think that about me. And they’re not wrong.”
Inhaling a sharp breath, I hold it for a second. “Yeah, all right. You seem uptight.”
To say the least.