Chapter 13
“Bad Habits” - Ed Sheeran
Maeve
I’ve dressed for the occasion: black turtleneck, black twill skirt with gold trim, and knee-high black boots.
As I step off the lift on the twenty-first floor of Luminara Tech, I’m wondering if the boots are overkill, but the second I spot Pierce through his open office door and watch the way his eyes travel up and down my body, pausing an extra beat on my shoes, I know they were the perfect choice.
My satisfaction is hampered by the fact that he seems to have been on the same wavelength as me this morning. Black suit, unbuttoned black shirt, no tie, and black-framed sexy glasses. Bastard.
“Funeral today?” I ask, placing my palms on the edge of his desk.
He pulls off the glasses and leans back in his chair, using the opportunity to scan the length of me again. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I shrug demurely. “You never know when someone might accidentally die.”
The corners of his eyes pinch together ever so slightly—I almost miss it—but when he turns his face away, I know he’s trying to hide his amusement. “I hope you’re ready for a day of slave labor.”
If he thinks he can intimidate me, he’s in for a surprise. I have every intention of slaying whatever tasks he sets before me. “Bring it on.”
“I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘hit me with your best shot.’” He punctuates this with the world’s cockiest smile.
It’s a nice smile objectively, or would be without the gigantic dose of arrogance he infuses it with.
Bright white teeth, all perfectly aligned, full lips with that damned Cupid’s bow, curving just so in all the right places.
It takes zero imagination to remember exactly what that mouth felt like on mine, those teeth pressing into my bottom lip, tasting me like a sampler platter at Del Lucca’s.
I still haven’t been able to shake the flavor of him, and it’s been nearly two weeks.
This challenge is going to mess with my head in the worst way.
I’m beginning to wonder if it would have been smarter to simply bow out entirely, tuck my tail between my legs, and put as much distance between me and Pierce St. James as possible.
But it’s too late for that now. I’m here, and this means war. I straighten my shoulders and fix him with an unblinking gaze. “If that phrase ever leaves my lips, consider it permission to kill me.”
“With pleasure.” He sits upright and leans across the desk until he’s way too close for comfort, but I can’t very well back up now and let him think he intimidates me. “Your first task is to handle all incoming calls and text messages.”
I open my mouth, but no words present themselves. I was expecting him to stick me in a basement with a thousand boxes of files and tell me to sort them alphabetically in the dark. “How will I know what to say?” I ask.
He slides his phone from his pocket and holds it out. “You can ask me.”
Gingerly, I accept it, being careful not to touch him in the process.
This seems to amuse him as well, judging by the way the corners of his mouth are quirking.
The phone is warm from being pressed against his body, and I can’t tell if what I feel is repulsion or fascination. Maybe a little of both?
“So I’m just supposed to sit here, waiting for someone to call or text you, then ask you how to reply?”
He gets to his feet and rounds the desk. “Nope. You’re coming with me to a meeting.” Leaning around me to reach a file on his desk he definitely could have grabbed while he was still sitting behind it, he adds, “And taking notes.”
I nod and accept the file from him. “Got it.”
“Last chance to back out.” He ducks to catch my eyes.
“Game on.”
Instead of responding, he just grins and heads to the door, holding it open for me to walk through.
He leads the way to a conference room down the hall.
There are people already seated around the table, and I can’t help but notice the way they react when Pierce walks in.
Backs straighten, eyes lift, smiles hover.
“Good morning,” he says.
Everyone responds with a clear “good morning,” congeniality present on their faces.
Pierce pulls out a chair for me, and I sit, hiding my surprise when he takes the one right beside me rather than the one at the head of the table. He leads the meeting much the same way he led the one at the Wilson Foundation—with efficiency, while also ensuring everyone feels seen and heard.
I do my best to take notes—he never told me what he wanted exactly—but I’m not used to writing by hand much these days, so not only is my handwriting sloppy in places where I hurried (annoying), but I keep getting distracted by Pierce’s presence next to me.
I know what you’re thinking, and yes, we’ve sat next to each other plenty of times before.
But those times we hadn’t just had the hottest kiss of my life in an elevator.
Despite what I told him outside the club, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, and having his body brush against me every five minutes is not helping it stay out of my mind.
It’s as though his essence is another entire person in the room. I’m hyperaware of every movement he makes, every shift in his position, even the scent of him every time I inhale. I can’t relax, because the second I do, our bodies will touch, and I’m doing my bloody best to avoid that at all costs.
By the time the meeting is over, I have a stiff neck and am in the beginning stages of carpal tunnel.
“Here,” I say, thrusting the small spiral notebook at Pierce once we’re out in the hall.
“I took as many as I could.” I bite my tongue to prevent the rest of what I really want to say from spilling out.
He glances down, then slides his hand over mine to take the notepad from me—completely unnecessary, by the way. He could easily have grabbed it without any physical contact at all.
My face burns at the sensual way his fingers rest over mine for a beat too long before letting go. Snatching my hand away, I badly want to make a sharp retort, challenge be damned, but before I can, his phone buzzes in the pocket of my skirt. I pull it out and glance at the screen, but it’s locked.
I hold it up so he can see. “How am I supposed to handle your phone if I can’t even get inside?”
He gives me a nonplussed look and rattles off his code.
I blink. I didn’t expect him to actually give me access to what could potentially be his deepest, darkest web of shame and secrets. Heck, I don’t even know Preston’s password, and we’ve been dating for a year.
Instead of waiting to see what I do, he heads back to his office. “We’re leaving in five minutes,” he calls over his shoulder.
I glance up from the treasure trove at my fingertips. “Leaving?”
“The rest of your tasks will take place at my flat.”
I snap my jaw shut and follow him into the room. “Why? What could you possibly have for me to do at home?” Oh god, he’s not going to make me do something gross like laundry, is he? “Don’t you have a housekeeper?”
He doesn’t bother looking at me, just continues whatever he’s doing on the computer. “I do.”
“So then—”
His chair swivels around so fast, my words cut off midsentence. “If you’d rather bail, I’m sure—”
“Nope,” I say, sitting down in one of the chairs near his desk. “I can’t wait to see what your sweet disposition has in store for me.” My syrupy smile is literally hurting my mouth, and by the look on his face, I think he knows it.
While he finishes at his desk, I open the text he’s just received. It’s from an unsaved number with no previous exchanges. I’m free tonight if you are.
The message is punctuated by a kissing winky emoji—my least favorite.
I briefly consider asking Pierce how he’d prefer I respond but decide I can handle this one myself.
A devious smile tugs at my lips, and I glance up to make sure he hasn’t seen.
He’s still absorbed in his screen, so I type out a quick reply.
My place at 10.
* * *
By the time we leave Luminara, it’s started to rain, the air cold.
Pierce has a car waiting for us outside, but there’s a short walk to the street from the glass skyscraper that houses the country’s leading tech firm.
He opens an umbrella and holds it over my head as we both dash toward the waiting black Mercedes.
I slide in first, and he follows after shaking off the umbrella.
As the door closes, I’m struck by the intimacy of sharing a back seat with someone.
The air feels charged with electricity. I do my best to put as much space between us as I can, but Pierce is not a small man, and his presence is even bigger than his physical body.
I hug my side of the car, but he still manages to encroach on my personal bubble with his intoxicating scent and warmth.
Fortunately, the Atlantis is only a few blocks from Luminara.
As we ride the lift up to Pierce’s flat, I pretend to be absorbed in something on my phone, because the last thing I need is for him to think I’m thinking about what happened the last time we shared an elevator, which I’m definitely not.
I can feel his eyes on me, though, so I’m not entirely sure he isn’t thinking that anyway.
He escorts me into his flat, and I realize I’ve never been inside it during the day. I’m here nearly every week for poker night, but it feels different with the afternoon sun streaming in through the huge windows and without the chatter of everyone else in the next room.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, moving into the sleek kitchen.
I frown. “Are you planning to lace it with barbiturates?”
He lets out a sharp laugh. “Naturally.” Coming back into the foyer, he hands me a glass of ice water with lime.
I take it gratefully—we won’t be discussing how he knows how I take my water—and wait for him to deliver my orders.
He gets right to it. “Your first task is to help me choose an outfit for my date tonight.”