Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Gigi
The day finally ends, and I pick up Emma, bringing her upstairs. We make grilled cheese and tomato soup, and while she plays with her dolls, I FaceTime with Erika as we try and pick her first-date outfit.
“I’d go more casual,” I say, as she poses in a fitted, knee-length red dress.
“Right,” she turns, looking at the back of the dress in the mirror. “Don’t want him to think I’m too excited.”
“Are you? Excited?” I ask, curling up on the couch, my yoga pants and fitted T-shirt a welcome change from my skirts and blouses. My hair is up in a high ponytail, and I sink into the cushions, enjoying Erika’s fashion parade while I am doing my best impression of a couch potato.
In front of me, Emma puts an outfit on her American Girl Doll. I found them used on Market Place and she loves them.
“I am,” she gushes. “I mean he’s nothing like John. He’s kind of quiet, a little shy, cute but not excessively handsome. But he’s just so…nice.”
“Erika,” I sigh, so happy that she’s taken this step. “That’s wonderful.”
“I’m glad you think so. I was worried that you…”
I shake my head. “You deserve to be happy. What that looks like will be different for you than it will for me. And there are good guys out there, we just picked bad ones the first time around.”
“You think you’ll date?”
I frown. I can’t even imagine it right now, except…I remember how I felt in Rush’s office. When he stopped barking orders and asked about my past with his hand at my back. It woke something inside me that I thought was dead, but maybe it was just sleeping.
It’s safe to be alone, but it’s…lonely. “I don’t know.”
She sets down her phone so that I’m looking at her bedroom ceiling while she changes. “Maybe that floral one I got at the thrift shop?” she asks me from her closet. I already know the dress is adorable on her, I don’t need to see it.
“Perfect,” I call back. But that’s when my phone beeps that I have another call, Rush’s name flashing on the screen. “It’s Mr. Smith. I’ve got to go. Good luck tonight!”
I hang up and click over to the other line. “Hello?”
“I need the financial projections for the next five years,” he says with no introduction, his voice back to a bark.
“Printed or emailed?”
“Emailed will be fine. Actually, send them to the office printer as well.”
“Not a problem,” I answer. The line clicks dead.
Part of me is glad we’re back to the same old grumpy boss/accommodating assistant. It’s easier in so many ways. I’m getting used to that man. I know what to expect.
But I think of Erika going off on her date and a little jealousy niggles down my spine. I push it aside and fire up my laptop at the kitchen table.
The apartment is open concept, with one room for the kitchen, dining, and living area. It’s a great layout to have with a three-year-old.
Emma continues to play with her dolls, while I send off the file to Rush’s email and then to the printer.
Leaning back in my chair, I see Emma lay down on the couch and rub her eyes.
She must be exhausted after her first week at a new school. Standing, I pick her up and snuggle her close.
She’s already in her pajamas, bath done. Taking her into the bathroom, we brush our teeth and sing our little good night songs.
Sometimes when she’s overtired she’ll fight me. But not tonight. I slide her into her bed, her eyes already closing, as I pull the covers up over her body. “Sleep tight, my sweetheart,” I whisper against her cheek, giving it several kisses.
She’s already drifting off by the time I turn out the light and close her door.
Crossing to the living room, I pick up her dolls, placing them in their wicker bin and then stuff the bin in the television console.
Making my way out to the kitchen, I wash up our pans and load the dishwasher, glad for the quiet.
Drying off my hands, I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. No matter how difficult this week was, Emma is safe in her bed.
For that, I am so thankful.
That’s when a knock sounds at my door.
I jump, the sound so unexpected. Does Erika need last-minute advice? Crossing to the door, I peer out the peephole and nearly gasp.
It’s Rush.
His shirt is open, his hair looks like he’s combed his fingers through it several times.
I turn the lock and open the door. “Everything all right?”
“There is a discrepancy in the numbers submitted to us by the city.” He pushes into my apartment, his laptop in hand.
I blink at him, my lips falling open. Apparently, this is part of the safe-place-to-live bargain. Drop-ins from the boss. Softly, I close the door and follow him to my dining area.
Opening my laptop, I quickly locate the email he’s referring to. His laptop is next to mine on the table as he reads over my shoulder.
I scan my gaze down the rows of columns, realizing that he’s right. “Clerical error?” I ask, leaning closer to the screen.
“Intentional sabotage,” he rumbles. “Fucking Vigo.”
I stiffen, pressing my lips together to keep from making noise. Buying off a city official to falsify a report that would shut down the whole deal is the exact kind of move my ex-husband would make. Honestly, he’d do much worse than that. “What are you going to do?”
He straightens, his hands scrubbing down his face. “My brothers are here because they think I’m going to fail.”
“Brothers?” Only Gris has been in the office.
“Killian doesn’t like offices, but he’s in New York.”
If Vigo talked about Rush in tones of irritation laced with awe, he spoke of Killian with actual fear. I turn back in my chair to look up at him. “What can be done to correct the report?”
He looks down at me, one of his hands coming to my cheek.
I gasp this time, as his thumb brushes over my skin. “So soft,” he murmurs. My eyes are glued to his, I can’t look away, but I sense the danger.
“Mr. Smith,” I breathe out, trying to add some distance.
“Rush,” he corrects. “Mr. Smith is for the office, Gigi.”
I shake my head. This is a bad idea. I don’t want to date, and I would never compromise Emma’s safety by jeopardizing my position here at Smith Brothers. I stand, but that’s a mistake, my chest brushing his.
I try to step back but hit the chair and then try to correct by skittering to the side. But that throws off my balance, my arms rising to try and regain my balance. His arm wraps around me, pulling me to his front to steady me.
But the feel of him makes me go haywire. He’s hard, his muscles pushing into the softer planes of my body. My hands come to his pecs, another mistake.
I had every intention of pushing him away but the rippling muscles of his chest…
I gasp, my gaze flying to his as my chin notches up. “I…” I start, wetting my lips with my tongue. “I think it’s better if I call you Mr. Smith.”
But one of his hands is around my back, the other on my face, his palm cupping my jaw. “I heard you today. You’re not dating.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, his palm brushing my skin. “I’m not.”
“Me either,” he says and then he leans down, his lips brushing mine. I nearly moan at how good a simple brush of his mouth feels.
It’s been so long and I had no idea I wanted to be touched so much. But I’ve got to keep my head. Which is why I say against his lips, “This job. I need it. I…” I don’t even know what I’m asking.
He pulls back and looks down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable as he moves his thumb across my lips. His arm around my back tightens, his fingers splaying out on the exposed skin between the top of my yoga pants and the bottom of my cropped T-shirt. “Then we’ve got a problem.”
“We do?” I cry, starting to pull away.
He holds me tight, not letting me go. “Because you’re right. We can’t do anything that compromises your job.”
A rush of air leaves my lungs, as relief makes me slump, my body pressing deeper into his. “Thank you. Working at Smith Brothers is ideal and I would not want to risk my position here.”
“But we are consenting adults,” he whispers close to my mouth, right before he kisses me again.
I melt into the softness of the kiss, trying to remember if any man has ever kissed me like that.
It makes me think of Sunday mornings in bed, and pain au chocolat pastries.
“You are free to say no. It doesn’t change your position as my assistant. But you’re also welcome to say yes.”
Holy shit. Is it crazy that I kind of want to say yes? I don’t want a relationship. I have Emma. And I’m not ready to commit to any man.
But the idea of his skin against mine, of feeling passion again… I groan softly as he dips down again, giving my mouth a long, slow press that coaxes me deeper into his embrace.
An ache is throbbing between my legs, my arousal already scenting the air.
I guess I have a thing for men who are unavailable and a little dangerous. Because a few little presses of this man’s mouth and I’m ready to completely submit to him. I’ve always liked a man who takes charge and I just know that being with Rush?—
“Mama?”
I cry into Rush’s mouth a second before his head jerks back. For a moment we just stare at each other—and then he takes a definite step back.
Cool air rushes against all the places that had been warmed by his skin.
And then his lip curls in distaste as he rumbles, “You’re a mother.”