11. BODI
11
T his is another one of my stupid ideas, but I can’t fucking help myself.
I strut out of my office, putting my sunglasses on with one hand while holding my keys and phone in the other.
“Let’s go, Kayla.”
I should avoid her during work hours. Every morning I tell myself that today I’m not going to find excuses to have these small moments with her and only interact with her when it’s really needed. And every single day ends in flirting, unnecessary touches, and a sour mood before I go to bed that’s fueled by my aching dick.
My sexual frustration is killing me and the muscles in my right arm are actually sore from jerking off while I think of her.
It seems ridiculous because it’s easy to scratch that itch, but I’m pretty sure that if I cross that line, I won’t be able to stop. I won’t be able to keep it between the four walls of my home and having sex at the office is a bad idea.
Even as fucking hot as it is.
From the corner of my eye, I catch her confused look as I keep a steady pace toward the elevator, then push the button and turn around.
“Where are we going?” Her head peeks above her screen.
Of course she’s not going to jump up and listen.
She wouldn’t be Kayla if she didn’t challenge me at least a little.
I just stare at her while she’s giving me a look filled with sass, waiting in anticipation for an answer. When I don’t utter a word, she folds her arms in front of her body, pursing her lips with attitude to compel me to tell her. The youth in her face shows me a rioting nineteen-year-old, but she holds her own like a thirty-year-old businesswoman.
It’s sexy.
And fucking disturbing what it makes me want to do to her.
The elevator dings and I shrug my shoulders.
“Suit yourself.” I casually turn around, stepping inside the cart while I hear her scramble to her feet, grabbing her bag and darting toward the closing doors.
As much as she’s fierce, and loves to raise hell for me every chance she gets, she’s also pretty predictable at times. Her curiosity always gets the best of her, and it’s my way to torture her like she’s torturing me by fucking existing.
Amusement reaches my pursed lips as I wait for her to run into the elevator. Right before they close, her hand pops in, opening them again, and I meet her glaring eyes. They are bright as always, blue like dusk, sparkles glittering like stars, yet laced with a hostile look that makes her even more fierce.
She brings her hands up, slightly adjusting her lengthy strands. With a straight spine, she strolls in to stand beside me, and I do my best to suppress the laughter that wants to fall from my lips.
This is killing her.
I could tell her we’re going to lunch. That it’s nothing special but that I want to get out of the office and I want to do it with her. But having her squirm from curiosity is so much more fun. Especially after the taunting games she’s playing with me.
The little minx.
We descend, and she puts the handle of her cross-body bag over her head before letting it rest on her shoulder.
“So, where are we going?” Her head tilts to the side to look at me. “To meet an investor? A new author you want to sign? Oh!” she squeals. “A new author who wants to switch publishers? Is that it? Do we have a secret meeting with someone?” I can see her eyebrows wiggle from the corner of my eye, a smile tugging on my cheeks.
“You hate this, don’t you?” I ask.
“Which part? The part where you are being an asshole?” She smiles widely.
“I’m your boss,” I snicker. “You can’t say shit like that.”
“Maybe not around the office, but when I have you for myself… I ain’t holding back, McKay.”
The thought of having her to myself makes my light mood disappear, wanting nothing more than to do everything her boss shouldn’t do with her. My head slowly turns, my eyes darkening. “No shit.”
I watch her smile drop as she swallows, peering up at me. The tension in the small area rises while my chest slowly moves up and down, every fiber in my body wanting to slam her against the wall and cage her in with my arms around her waist. But instead, I ignore my aching hands until the doors open again.
I never knew I had this much fucking willpower.
“Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” she calls out behind me.
“Lunch.”
She stomps behind me like a small pony, huffing, a smile creeping onto my face again. “Pfft, are you serious?”
“All that testosterone because we’re going to lunch?” she hisses, catching up with me. “You don’t have to make this so hard, you know. We can work together and still have sex.”
Crashing to a halt, she almost bumps into me while I glare at her from under my sunglasses. “You really need to learn when to shut up.”
Her eyes roll to the back of her head, but not before she scans our surroundings. “Oh, whatever.”
“You’re going to get us both in trouble if you don’t shut your mouth.”
“We already are in trouble, Bodi. You’re just in fucking denial. Where are we going, boss ?”
Amused, I shake my head, really having no clue what to do with her.
She’s right, though. This whole situation is one fucking disaster, and as much as I’m dying to find her a different apartment and a different job while I’m at it, I’m in too deep to even have the fucking willpower to actually make it happen.
Her bluntness acts as refreshing as a cool glass of sweet tea on a hot summer’s day. Fucking irresistible, if you ask me.
“A bistro a few blocks from here.”
Mocking, she points her hand forward, almost doing a curtsy that has me snorting.
“Lead the way.”
Her hair. It sparkles under the sun that’s shining through the window. It looks voluminous, like in one of those shampoo commercials; silky, perfectly styled, and dying to be touched. Her pink lips wrap around the straw that sits in her sweet tea, her bright blue eyes giving me an innocent expression even though she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“So,” I start, putting my ice water back on the table, “you wanna tell me why you dropped out of Stanford?”
Her body goes completely still for only a brief moment before her brows knit together, slipping back into whatever act she’s pulling off.
“You mean kicked out,” she rectifies.
“Bullshit.”
She smirks. “What? I know you think I’m this extraordinary girl capable of basically anything she puts her mind to, but even for me, passing tests intoxicated was a bad idea.”
“Don’t fish for compliments, Kayla,” I rumble from my chest, entertained.
She keeps her eyes trained on mine, probably hoping I’m buying her lies. I bet she was able to sway any bloke her way at Stanford, but I’m not any bloke.
I’m also not stupid.
“Why are you lying, babe?”
With a pinched mouth, she leans into her chair like a rebellious teenager.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me ‘babe’?”
We did. But I like to slip one in every now and then.
It feels natural.
“Kayla,” I growl. “Answer the question. Tell me the truth.”
“There is nothing to tell.”
“Look, you’re smart. You organized my charity ball better in a week than I did in the last six months. You are not your typical teenager, because there is a drive in your eyes that most kids your age lack. It’s the reason I even considered giving you a job in the first place. You don’t get kicked out of school. Especially not a school like Stanford.”
Appreciation flashes in her gaze for a nanosecond, before they turn stern again.
“Not smart enough.”
I push out a frustrated groan, resting my elbows on the table. “I know you dropped out. I talked to Dean Fowler.”
“You didn’t,” she calls my bluff.
You bet your ass, I did. She’s hiding something, and I’m going to find out what.
“I did.”
“You what?” she gasps, her expression darkening in anger. “You have no right, Bodi! Isn’t there some kind of student privacy law or something?”
I hoist up my shoulder. “I was his favorite student.”
Besides, being a big name in the corporate world makes people less tight lipped than normal, but in this case it wasn’t even needed because the dean was as curious as I was to her reason to leave.
“You went to Stanford?” She looks surprised.
“Berkeley. He transferred to Stanford a few years ago.”
Clearly irked, she holds my gaze, then turns her head to look out of the window with a defiant stance. “I wish he didn’t.”
“I like to know who’s working for me.”
“Yeah? Do you do a background check on all your editors as well?” she snaps.
Just the ones I care about. Which makes her the only one.
“No. Only the one who should be in school getting a degree.”
Her demeanor changes, her fierce attitude being replaced by slumped shoulders and an averting gaze. Whatever it is, it’s eating her from the inside, and in turn, eating me.
“You can feed Rae that bullshit story about you failing your classes, but I’m not buying it. There is something you’re not telling me.”
Her arms fold together. “Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“Maybe,” I concede before I continue to tell her she’s full of shit. “But you dropped out of Stanford even though your grades were higher than the average. You weren’t failing. In fact, in most classes, you were top of the class. That tells me you left for a different reason. But I can’t seem to figure out what is important enough to leave your dream. Because that’s what you told me last summer, that Stanford was your dream.”
She shrugs, faking indifference. “Dreams change. I was homesick.”
“Err,” I make a buzzer sound. “You don’t get along with your parents and you were home for two weeks before you jumped on a plane to a different state. Try again. Tell me the real reason. Tell me what happened.”
Her eyes cut to thin slits in ferocity but her energy gets smaller by the second. When her phone starts to vibrate on the table, she gives it a quick glance, then closes her eyes in defeat. I’ve seen her do that a few times now when her phone rings and she ignores it.
Who the fuck is that?
Before she can grab it, I reach out, snatching it from the table to see who’s calling.
Trent.
All of a sudden, the wires in my head connect, and I narrow my eyes at her.
Wasn’t that her ex-boyfriend last summer?
“Unless,” I trail, “you left because of someone , instead of something .” I hold up her phone, and I watch how her usually sparkling face falls to a gloomy expression.
“Maybe I should answer it,” I suggest.
“No!” Terror flashes in her eyes and she lunges over the table, her palm facing up.
“Ding, ding, we have a winner.” I decline the call, then put it in her hand. “You’ve got two minutes to tell me who Trent is and why he keeps calling you, or I’m going to find out myself.”
“No one. Just some guy from Stanford.”
“Yeah?” I eye her, suspicious. “Is that why every time he calls you, your body goes rigid and your mind seems to take off when you see his name popping up on your screen?”
She stays quiet, scowling.
“Let’s trade,” she offers. “I tell you why I dropped out of Stanford, and you tell me why you are so desperate to ignore this chemistry between us.”
I let out a pleased grunt, knowing that’s easy. “Sure. You first.”
She sucks in a deep breath, the features on her face relaxing a little as she exhales slowly.
“He’s my ex,” she finally confesses. “I didn’t tell him I was leaving. I just left.”
I hold her gaze, looking for the lies, but I can’t really decipher if she’s bullshitting me or not. “Why didn’t you tell him?”
She’s not the kind of girl that necessarily avoids confrontation. Hell, she’s giving it to me all the fucking time.
“We broke up.” She shrugs. “He wants me back. I knew if I told him, he would try to convince me to stay. I didn’t want him to. He’s the star tennis player on campus and he can be very persuasive.”
There’s something in her tone I can’t quite place, like she’s still holding back.
“So, why did you drop out?”
She leans back into her chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Look, I know this might sound stupid to you, but I didn’t like it there.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just didn’t feel like I belonged. I know homesick is a big word, but I didn’t feel at home. I guess I’m not a California girl.”
“So, you dropped out and decided working at Walmart would be good enough?”
She’s not telling me everything.
“No, no. You had your question. My turn.” A playful smirk replaces her gloomy stance quicker than I want it to. “Why won’t you just give in to this? To us ?” She moves her hand back and forth.
“Easy.” I mimic her stance. “One, I’m your boss, and two, you’re ten years younger than I am.”
Her eyes hit the ceiling with a grunt.
“You didn’t care about my age last summer,” she challenges.
“Last summer, you weren’t working for me.”
“Oh, please, Bodi. I’m staying with you. We flirt every chance we get. We can easily have sex when we’re not in the office, but you’d rather walk around the house with a sexual tension that’s suffocating both of us than just give in to it.”
“You really blurt out whatever you want, don’t you?” Her boldness keeps amazing me. I would’ve expected a nineteen-year-old to be more wait-and-see, a little more shy, a little more apprehensive. But then again, it shouldn’t surprise me, since the only reason we hooked up last summer is because she made it no secret that she was into me. And the fact that she’s gorgeous as sin didn’t make me hesitate for a second.
“No sense beating around the bush, right? I like you, Bodi. And I know you like me too.” There is more sitting on her tongue. I can see it by the look on her face, but she presses her lips together.
“I’m not looking to date anyone, Kayla.” I won’t deny I want her in my bed. But I also know we can’t be more than just that. An innocent office flirt.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Here comes the ‘I-don’t-date-and-you’re-to-young-speech, right’?”
I stay quiet, holding her fearless gaze while licking my lips. I’d expect her to be disappointed, maybe even mad, but instead she just gives me a dull look like I’m boring her.
“It’s weird because you are ten years older than I am, yet I’m the one who doesn’t want to beat around the bush. I’ll tell you what. You can fuck me.”
My eyes widen at her cavalier delivery of those crude words, almost choking on my own breath.
“But you also have to date me.” I want to kiss away the smug look on her face, but I’m very aware I’d be playing in her hands if I do that.
“You’re too young,” I tell her.
“I knew it!” she yelps in victory of her being right, before she adds unfazed, “But that’s a bullshit excuse, and you know it.”
“It’s not. We want different things in life due to the simple fact that you are a teenager and I’m a grown ass man.”
“Like what?” she dares, leaning forward.
“I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Neither am I. I just got out of one, and I’ve had my fill for a long time.”
I reply with a frown. “You’re telling me you want to date.”
“ Casually. Just to loosen you up and show you we can keep this professional at the office and have fun outside of it,” she mocks, “I’m not expecting to move in permanently or get a ring on my finger by Christmas. What else you got?”
My gaze still flicks to her empty finger before I suck in a deep breath to gather my thoughts.
“You want to party.”
“I’ve partied enough over the last year to last a lifetime.”
“Your parents would never approve.”
“Don’t give a shit if they do,” she counters, like it’s the damn Australian open.
Should’ve seen that one coming. Rae mentioned one time that Kayla spends most of her time at her house instead of her parents since she was old enough to ride her bike there.
“You’re not even allowed to drink.”
“That has nothing to do with it. Besides, I’m allowed in Europe.”
“We’re not going to Europe.”
“You’re being such a buzzkill.”
“I am a buzzkill,” I throwback as an argument.
“Smooth.” She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Just stop, McKay. I’ll change your mind in five dates.”
I shoot her an incredulous look. “I just told you I don’t want to date.”
“And I’m telling you, you’re full of shit. This lunch is proof of it.”
“What?!” I screech. “It’s a business lunch.”
“Really? Because so far, we’ve discussed my academic life or lack thereof and us becoming a thing. Not really business-y, is it?”
“We’re not a thing ,” I grunt, holding on to my point of view.
“No, but we will be. This is date number one.” I shake my head at her cheerful face. I want to be mad at her, scowling at her for not keeping this professional, but I simply can’t. I will admit I like being with her, and I don’t want to stop that. But I can’t date her. I’m not going to let it fuck with my head anymore than it already is.
That’s crossing a line we’ll never come back from, and I have a feeling it won’t end well.
And it will end.
It always ends.
“Friends. We can be friends ,” I suggest.
“He’s putting me in the friendzone.” She dramatically throws her hands up.
“It’s the only way we can still work together. I’m not going to sleep with one of my employees.”
“Fine, you stubborn Australian son of a bitch. You can call it friends if that gives you peace of mind.” She rests her elbows on the table, giving me a determined look. “But I’ll be telling you ‘ I told you so ’ when you decide you’re going to keep me in your bed when we are way past the friendzone.”
“Just friends, Kayla.” I laugh, but it’s really not funny.
I’m losing my resolve here.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a spark going through my muscles while I hold her gaze, trying to convince myself I can do this. I can ignore my want for her and be her friend.
That shouldn’t be too hard, right?
As if on cue the universe is shouting bullshit , my phone dings.
JASON: Did Kayla wake up in your bed yet?
ME: Shut up. We’re friends.
JASON: Is that a yes?
ME: No. We’re friends.
JASON: You’re as much friends as rock pretending to be a bird, LOL. But you keep telling yourself that, buddy.