Chapter 10
TEN
Colt
Every year, Davis and I have spent Christmas together. It started when we first moved to the city – he was living on his own for the first time and unable to get home for the holidays, so my family invited him to join us, and the tradition has stuck ever since.
The past couple of years, it’s been just the two of us; between Emmett being grown and having the option to spend the holiday with his friends or me, and my parents being gone, the table has gotten empty.
We adopted the tradition a few years ago of a catered meal and an open door policy – if anyone comes by in need of a hot meal, some company, or a warm spot by the fireplace, they’ve got it.
Davis sits across from me, picking at his plate, and I notice him staring at me with a thoughtful expression across his face.
“What?” I ask.
“You’ve just been…nicer,” he says. “It’s weird.”
“I’m always nice.”
He quirks a brow at me, as if to suggest that I’m lying. “Buddy, I love ya, but…”
“Fuck you, I’m nice!” I insist.
“Not as nice as you’ve been since you got some new blood in the office,” he pushes.
“It’s Christmas,” I say. “Christmas makes me nicer.” I use my hand to gesture toward my deep red suit. “Look at me, I’m practically fucking jolly.”
Setting down his fork, he props an elbow against the table and rests his chin between his index finger and thumb, raising his brow at me. “I would be, too, if I had a hot, young assistant at my beck and call.”
“Oh, shut up, man, she’s younger than Emmett!”
He throws his hands up in mock surrender, telling me, “Hey, I have eyes. I wouldn’t be mad to find that tight little body wrapped up under the tree...with a string of lights.”
“Jesus,” I hiss, “you’re an HR nightmare waiting to happen.”
He throws his head back and roars out a laugh before returning to his food.
Once we’ve each had dinner, dessert, and seconds of each, I stand from the table and pull my phone from my pocket, checking the messages that came in while we were eating, one of which is from Rowan.
I open the message to find a picture of her younger sister playing with her makeup set, at least five different styles of clips in her hair, with the message ‘Thank you, Santa.’
I slide my phone back into my pocket, trying to bite back the smile fighting to curl at my lips.
·
I find myself watching the door of my office, waiting for eight fifteen to tick by. I tap mindlessly at my computer to seem busy, to pass the few minutes until I hear that sweet, silvery voice greeting me.
Right on time, Rowan rounds the corner to my office, wearing a bright smile. “Happy Monday, Mr. Fowler!”
“Happy Monday, Rowan,” I reply.
The top half of her hair is pulled up, separated into two buns at the top of her head that look like little bear ears, which makes that big smile of hers so incredibly endearing.
My eyes rove over her of their own volition, taking in the way that her deep green sweater dress hugs her body. I watch as she unloads her belongings – among them the water bottle that was in her stocking, and her cane.
I force my gaze back to my computer when I see it, so that she can’t tell that I’m beaming with pride.
“I had a thought earlier,” I tell her.
“Oh? What’s that?”
She steps closer to my desk, leaning over it by bracing her hands at the edge. Her elbows lock together and I can see, even under the thick material of her dress, that the position squeezes her breasts together.
I clear my throat. “Until your car is working, please let me know what your rideshare fees are. You should be reimbursed.”
“But work didn’t break my car,” she laughs.
“Your reliability shouldn’t cost you money,” I push.
“Fine.”
She sits on the edge of the desk, one leg crossed over the other, and leans toward me to grab a pen and pad of post-it notes, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
She opens her mouth just enough to let the tip of her tongue slide out and she taps the point of the pen to it a few times, then turns her attention to the paper and starts writing.
Jesus Christ.
When she’s finished writing, she slides the post-it pad across my desk toward me.
“Is that okay, Mr. Fowler?” She asks, a blush creeping across her cheeks.
My mouth goes dry. It takes a concentrated effort to peel my eyes from hers and look down at the note in front of me. “Yeah,” I rasp, “I’ll get you a check by end of business.”
“Thank you,” she tells me.
I watch her ass sway under that dress as she walks out of my office, fighting the urge to call her back in here, lock the door and bend her over my desk.
“Rowan,” I call out. She turns to face me and I tell her, “I’m taking you home tonight. No discussion.”
“O— Okay, Mr. Fowler,” she says. “Thank you.”
·
“How many cars do you have?” Rowan asks as I open the passenger door to my Continental GT and wait for her to climb inside.
“Four,” I answer, closing the door behind her. “But I’m looking at a fifth.”
I slide into my own seat and reach behind her, placing my hand against the back of her headrest. When I turn to look behind us, I stop to meet her gaze, just for a second, before reversing out of the parking space.
From the corner of my eye, I can see her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress as we cruise through the streets, and I wish it was my hands there instead.
“It’s like a space ship in here,” she comments.
“Do you want to drive it?”
I glance over as she practically jumps up in her seat, excitement overcoming her.
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
Pulling off to the side of the road, I bring the car to a stop and step out. She doesn’t move to open her own door. Good, she’s figuring it out. I pop open the door for her and extend a hand to help her out of the car.
As she settles behind the wheel, she pulls the seat forward until she’s in a comfortable position then pulls the car into drive, looking over at me, her eyes full of both fear and excitement.
“This is a lot fancier than my car,” she comments. “I don’t wanna wreck it.”
I shrug. “I have insurance.”
A giggle bubbles up from her throat as she puts weight on the gas pedal, propelling us forward.
I should be watching the road ahead of us, but I can’t pull my eyes away from her.
She smiles the entire time we ride, giggling when she takes a sharp turn or bumps up the speed on an empty patch of road.
It’s like watching a kid let loose in a candy shop, and her overwhelming excitement is contagious.
It isn’t until we pull up in front of her house that the smile leaves her face. As her expression falls, I follow her gaze to the truck on her driveway – scratched, dinged and peeling, parked halfway on the yard. Again.
“Your father?” I ask.
Her only answer is a nod.
“Does he drink?”
“Yeah.”
“Does he hurt you, Rowan?” I don’t mean for my voice to be as rough as it is.
She shakes her head, tapping the spot on her chest just above her heart. Her voice breaks as she whispers, “Only in here.”
My hand finds its way to her knee, offering her a comforting squeeze.
“Do you want him gone?”
“Sometimes,” she admits. “Most of the time, I just want him back.” I’m not sure she even realizes that she leans forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Thank you, Colt. That was really fun.”
“Rowan…”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she tells me with a smile as she climbs out of the car, and I remain frozen, stuck to my seat.
She moves up the driveway, weaving around the hood of her father’s car, and stops dead in her tracks. Her hand flies up to her lips and she turns to me with eyes wide as saucers. I smile at her and throw her a teasing wink.
Fuck. I want this girl.