Chapter 7
Vaughn
I lock the door to the office, swing the Open sign around to Fucked off to Go Fishing, and when I turn, I'm greeted by a smiling Clayton carrying a bag of takeout.
"Hi."
"Hello." He takes a step toward me, but his eyes aren't meeting mine. They're focused on my chest. Well, on the precious cargo attached to my chest. "How are you, Princess?"
Mabel waves her arms, letting out a few happy little coos in response.
"You're back early," I say as we step onto the pier.
"You've noticed?"
Heat crawls up my neck. I've been back a few days, and yes, I've noticed Clayton's routine. Out by seven, back by seven. With takeout. Always with takeout.
"It's part of my job," I reply, which is a small truth masking a bigger secret that I'm a paranoid bastard who spends hours poring over security footage to make sure I know everything that everyone around here is doing. I cannot be too careful.
And, okay, maybe I'm interested in him.
"You hungry?" he asks.
"A little."
"Want to join me?" He lifts the white takeout bag. "I ordered plenty."
I have food in my refrigerator, ready to be cooked, but I was raised to believe it's rude to decline an offer of a meal. "Okay. Let me just feed Mabel and get changed, and then we can come to yours?"
Clayton smiles like I've just made his day. "Sounds good."
"Which one is your boat again? Is it the oversized one that's definitely not overcompensating for anything?"
His smile doesn't falter as he brushes past me. He holds out his index finger, which Mabel latches onto, then pins me with those chocolaty eyes. "Not overcompensating," he breaths against my ear. "Built to scale. It matches everything."
And with that, he winks and takes off, swinging the bag innocently, like he didn't just make me pop a boner in public.