Guarded King (Empty Kingdom #3)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHLOE

B ack at my desk, I pick up the phone and call Susan.

“Let me guess,” she says in greeting. “You need me to stay with your dad?”

Grimacing, I rest my elbow on my desk. “I need to put in more hours this evening. If you could help him with dinner and get him settled for the night, I’d really appreciate it. Of course I’ll pay you for the time.”

She sniffs. “Of course.”

I let out a silent sigh. It’s not Susan’s fault. I’m imposing, after all, even if I’m paying her. Even so, it would be nice if she were at least a little gracious about it since she’s happy enough to take the money.

After hanging up I call Dad and explain the situation to him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “I’ll do just fine with Susan’s scintillating company.”

Rolling my lips together, I fight a laugh. “You’ll probably be asleep by the time I get home, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, sweet pea. I love you.”

His use of the nickname he had for me as a child melts my heart. “Love you too. Bye.”

As I hang up, the sound of a throat clearing startles me. When I turn, Roman’s standing in the doorway of his office, attention fixed on me.

“Letting your boyfriend know you’re going to be home late?” There’s a faint edge to his voice I don’t understand.

“My dad, actually.”

His dark brows draw together. “You still live with your dad?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that Dad’s not well, but the hint of a frown on his lips stops me. Instead, I raise my chin and stare him straight in the eye. “Yes.” After all, my private life is none of his business. If he wants to judge me, that’s on him.

He holds my gaze, as if waiting for me to elaborate. If that’s the case, he’ll be waiting a long time. Eventually, he shakes his head. “Before tonight, please compile a list of potential tax credits that could offset our initial expenditures on the InnovaCore project if we go ahead with the updates.”

“No problem, Mr. King. While you’re here, do you have an idea of what you’d like for dinner. I’ll order now for delivery later.”

He shrugs. “Order whatever you want. I’m not fussy.”

“That’s hard to believe.” The words are out before I can stop them. Shit. I do my best not to cringe. I was doing so well remaining professional around him too.

Eyes narrowed, Roman crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the door frame. “And why exactly is that hard to believe?” he drawls.

The smart thing to do here would be to apologize and change the subject, but the challenge in his tone and posture sends electricity surging through my body, making my pulse race. I can’t resist rising to that challenge.

Tilting my head to the side, I smile. “Because you’re a billionaire who wears thousand-dollar suits, rides around in a chauffeur-driven car, only dates women who look like supermodels, and probably has a home chef to whip up food worthy of a Michelin starred restaurant.”

He brings one big hand up and rubs his chin, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who reads gossip magazines, but you must, if you think you know what the women I date look like.”

Heat washes over me. Smooth, Chloe . My need to push this man makes me irrational, and now I’ve just told him that I’ve been doing a little internet stalking lately. He hasn’t been photographed with a woman on his arm often, but when he has, each one has been nothing short of gorgeous.

Swallowing back the embarrassment creeping up my throat, I lift my chin, praying he can’t see my blush from where he’s standing. “It’s just an assumption.”

“Believe it or not, Miss Callahan, sometimes I enjoy being surprised. With food and…” his focus dips to my mouth in a way that steals the air from my lungs, “other things.”

For the briefest of moments, I swear that cool gaze of his turns hot. Tension coils tight in the space between us, but it’s gone a second later, when he abruptly straightens away from the door frame. “How about we get some work done first and then see what we feel like?”

“Okay.” The breathiness to my voice doesn’t sound professional at all.

He regards me for a moment longer, his expression shuttered. Then he pivots. “Don’t forget the tax credits.” With that, he retreats into his office and closes the door behind him.

I huff out a breath. Clearly, I was mistaken about there being heat in his gaze. Ridiculously, disappointment lands like a rock in my stomach. After Geoff, I should be glad I have a boss who isn’t the least bit interested in a more than professional relationship. I should be thankful he doesn’t stand too close, or accidentally brush against me, even when there’s plenty of room to pass by.

The sad truth is that part of me wishes he would do those things. Roman King is gorgeous, smart, successful, mature, and apparently not the type of man who uses those things to take advantage of women.

Unfortunately, my attraction to him is growing every day. It’s gotten to the point now that I may have indulged in a daydream or two about him over the last couple of weeks. Daydreams which have involved finding out what exactly he’s hiding underneath those expensive suits.

Daydreams or not, the reality is that not only is it unlikely he’d be interested in someone like me when beautiful women probably trip over themselves to be seen on his arm, but anything more than a working relationship between us would be inappropriate and would put this job I so desperately need at risk.

So no more daydreams. No more reading into things that aren’t there.

With a deep inhale, I sit in front of my computer and pull up my browser.

Tax credits it is.

“Note down that we’re willing to share the costs of the solar installations,” Roman says. “But we’re not willing to front all the investment for the hub. We’ll suggest a phased implementation there.”

I jot down that note, then shift in my chair. Again.

Outside, night has descended, and the city has come to life, hundreds of lights flickering brightly around us in lieu of the muted stars.

When I look up from my tablet, Roman’s watching me with one brow raised. “Am I boring you?”

I hold back a huff. We’ve been sitting here for close to two hours, and he’s questioning my work ethic?

“Of course not, Mr. King,” I say, with a little more saccharine sweetness than needed. “Though maybe you should invest in more comfortable chairs.”

Dropping his pen onto his desk, he leans back. He’s still wearing a tie, but he’s loosened it and popped the top button of his shirt, leaving an enticing triangle of tanned skin visible at his throat. “My thousand-dollar leather chairs aren’t comfortable enough for you?” He shakes his head. “And you accuse me of being fussy.”

Spine snapping straight, I blink. “Fussy? We’ve been sitting here so long my butt is going numb.”

As soon as the words are out, I suppress a wince. Did I really have to admit that to him?

He scrubs his hand over his mouth, and I swear he’s hiding a smile—a real one.

“We can’t have that. Why don’t we take a break?”

Thank god. Stifling a groan, I stand and place my tablet on my chair, then put my hands on my hips and arch my back, trying to work out the kinks.

A low noise from Roman draws my attention. He’s focused on me, his jaw tight. The look on his face sends a thrill of awareness humming over my skin.

“Hungry?” His voice comes out low and rumbly and far too suggestive.

I take a deep breath and try to keep my own voice steady when I answer. “Yes, what do you feel like ordering?”

Those mercurial eyes flick over my face. “What would you order if you could have anything you wanted?”

“Anything?” A spark of devilment springs to life inside me. Letting my head fall back, I stare up at the ceiling for a moment, making a show of thinking hard. “There’s an amazing hole-in-the-wall pizza shop near where Dad and I used to live. As far as I’m concerned, they make the best pizza in New York. That’s what I’d have if I could have anything I wanted.”

If I thought I was calling his bluff, that someone of Roman’s stature wouldn’t deign to eat hole-in-the-wall pizza, I was wrong. For the first time since I met him, genuine humor lights up his face and crinkles the corners of his eyes, and damn if my heart doesn’t stumble over itself.

“That sounds delicious.” His voice comes out deep and smooth. “Why don’t you order, and I’ll send Phillip to pick it up.”

I blink. “Uh, are you sure?”

“I’m always sure. You should know that by now.” He reaches into a drawer in his desk, pulls out a wallet, and drops a black card onto the desk between us.

“Any preference?” I ask him as I pick up the black AmEx.

“Lady’s choice.”

“May I?” I point to his office phone.

“Of course.”

I pick up the receiver and dial the number I still know by heart, and as the person on the other end picks up, my eyes catch and hold Roman’s.

“I’d like to order a large pizza, please. Pepperoni with chili.”

He quirks a brow.

Doing a terrible job of hiding my smile, I add, “Make that extra chili.”

His expression grows intense, making my heart take off. It’s as if the two of us are participating in some unspoken dare. And I suppose we are. The only time we break eye contact is when I have to look down to read his card number for payment.

After I hang up, I take a step forward and hold the AmEx out to him. His fingers drift over mine as he takes it, sending a spark sizzling up my arm.

In a flash his eyes are on mine, like maybe he felt the shot of electricity too.

Clearing his throat, he tosses his card back on his desk. “Give me the address and I’ll get Phillip to pick it up.”

Once he’s sent the message and slipped his phone back into his pocket, I ask, “Shall we do some more work while we wait?”

When he nods, I shuffle to my chair again, but before I can sit, he grips my wrist, stopping me. My pulse kicks into high gear as I stare down at his long, tan fingers pressed against my skin. Wetting my lips, I meet his gaze.

“Not that one.” A little smirk toys with the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard it’s uncomfortable.” He tips his chin over at the couches on the other side of his office. “Over there will be better.”

I swallow. “Okay.” My voice comes out a little shakier than I intend.

Roman’s grip tightens for an instant before he loosens it enough for my hand to slip from his.

Willing my pulse to slow, I pick up my tablet and make my way to the couches. Roman follows, taking the seat opposite and setting the files on the wood and glass coffee table.

With a deep breath in, I force my mind back to work and tap at the screen of my tablet.

“How long has it been since you’ve had New York’s best pizza?”

Surprised by the question, I look up. “Sorry?”

“You said this place is near where you used to live. How long since you’ve had it?”

“About two years.”

He leans back, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “Why did you move?”

Lips pressed together, I hesitate, considering how best to answer. “We needed to downsize.”

“ We being you and your dad?”

I sigh, my shoulders sinking. I refuse to be ashamed of my situation. “Yes. We couldn’t make the rent anymore.”

He nods slowly, completely focused on me.

Unreasonably nervous under his scrutiny and unsure of what’s going on in his head, I tuck my hair behind my ears.

“So, you’re supporting him?” he asks.

Surprised he’d immediately make that leap, I square my shoulders. “Just until he gets back on his feet and can paint again.”

His brows rise. “He’s an artist?”

I nod.

“But he’s not painting at the moment?”

A breath gusts out of me. Why is he suddenly so interested in my life outside work? “Dad has rheumatoid arthritis.” I try to keep my explanation as matter of fact as possible. “It’s an autoimmune disease that makes it difficult for him to paint. I moved back in with him after he had a bad fall.”

His gaze sharpens. “That must be difficult.”

Flustered, I stutter, “W-We’re doing fine. Should we get back to?—”

“So you have someone looking after him while you’re at work?”

With a huff, I throw my hands in the air then pin him with a look. “Why the sudden interest? I’ve been working for you for over three weeks, and you’ve barely smiled at me, let alone shown any interest in my personal life.”

He leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees, seemingly unaffected by my outburst. “You’re right, and I’m sorry about that. You’ve been doing good work. I should have made that clearer.”

To say I’m taken aback by his admission is an understatement. “I—uh, thank you, Mr. King.”

One brow twitches up, and a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “You can drop the Mr. King. If we’re going to eat pizza together, you might as well call me Roman.”

My stomach dips at the hint of playfulness in his tone. “Okay, um, Roman.” It feels strangely intimate to call him that to his face. Does that mean he’ll call me by my first name? If so, what will it sound like when he says it in that deep, sexy voice of his?

Nope.

I can’t be thinking about how sexy my boss is. “Do you want to keep going until the food gets here?”

With a nod, he picks up the file in front of him, and we get back to work.

Half an hour later, there’s a knock on the open door, then Phillip saunters in with a pizza box and a grin.

“This is a first.” As he places the box and a stack of napkins on the table, a delicious smell wafts over to me, making my mouth water and my stomach growl.

Phillip laughs. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

“Did you get something for yourself?” Roman asks him.

“Yes sir. And I gotta say, the lady has good taste.” He shoots me a grin which I return.

Roman looks between us, brows lowering. “I suppose we’ll see.”

After Phillip leaves, I open the box, revealing a cheesy, saucy masterpiece covered with plenty of pepperoni and red chili flakes. Perfect.

Across from me, Roman is studying the pizza like an unfamiliar specimen. For all his talk, I get the sense he’s never eaten pizza from a box like this before.

I take pity on him. “Do you have plates?”

“I don’t keep any in the office, no.”

A laugh bubbles up in my chest. I tried. Too hungry, and too deprived of the taste of my favorite pizza, to wait any longer, I pick up a slice and bite into it.

Eyes closed, I lick my lips, relishing the taste. “Mmm, so good.” It’s true, but my words are also an enticement. I want to witness Roman’s reaction to the flavors.

But when I look back at him, he’s staring at me, not the pizza. More precisely, he’s focused on my lips. Without thinking, I lick them again, and the way his jaw clenches and his pupils flare sends a jolt directly to my core.

“Are you going to try some?” I ask, hoping to distract myself from the tension thickening the air between us. Unfortunately, my voice comes out breathy again.

For a long moment, he just watches me. Then, finally, he looks back at the pizza and picks up a slice. He eyes it, then me, and I raise my brows, giving him a bright, slightly-too-innocent smile, then wait to see what he does.