Chapter 12
12
Poppy
“Why didn’t you tell me your name?” He’s standing where I left him. After sulking about this for the past ten minutes, I glare at him with a punctuated hip where my hand is planted.
Laird. His name is Laird. Why does it have to be so damn perfect for him. I hate that I like it so much!
“I just did.” Look at him sitting there so smugly, acting like an innocent bystander. Throwing his arms out is a nice touch. Real nice . . .
“Pfft.” Turning on my heels, I storm back to the bedroom, unsure of why this little piece of information has set me off. The smooth glide of my socks sends my hair into the air on the fast one-eighty. Contrary to what I believed, the added effects don’t make me feel better.
I tug the door back open and head down the hallway with a vengeance but stop just shy of the entry into the living room. “Why didn’t you just tell me yesterday when I asked? It’s like you purposely withheld it just to use it against me.”
“I wasn’t using it against you. I thought you knew me better than that. I was mad.”
“I don’t know you at all, Laird.” My words have him pulling back physically, his eyes disconnecting from mine with each breath we take.
His gaze lowers to his lap, making it hard to read him. “And hurt.”
I’m not made of stone. My heart hurts for him, and hearing him pained makes me ready to forgive him. What point am I trying to make anyway? Is it so important that I win this imaginary war? I lower my guard and ask, “Why were you mad?”
A thoughtful pause keeps him from rushing to answer. I give him the time and space he needs to share it with me. He looks up. “I was confronted with my past.”
“And hurt? Why were you hurt?”
He doesn’t hold me in suspense this time. He just says, “Because of the loss. Like you said, I cared very deeply.”
“And you loved them?” I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question of my boss, but he’s made this an open forum for us to share. I don’t take it back. I want to hear that this man cared so deeply that the loss caused him to lose himself as well. I need to know he would risk everything. I don’t know why. I just want him to be flawed like I am.
He’s not asking for forgiveness, but I’d give it to him if I knew how he felt.
“More than anything else.”
I smile, unable to help myself. It’s not just me being a romantic, which Marina has suggested. It’s connecting with this stoic man on such a human level. Breathing is easier, so I nod in reassurance. “I hope you find beauty in the aftermath. You deserve it, Laird.”
“You think there’s hope for a bastard like me?”
“There’s hope for you yet.” Although I could tick off a list just as long, I want him to know I’ve noticed what he’s done for me. “I mean, you didn’t leave me for the bears. You made sure I was safe last night by inviting me in. You even set out a mug for me this morning.” I give him a lackadaisical shrug. “You can’t be all bad if you’re so worried about others.”
“Not others,” he corrects, not loud and showy but thoughtful and just for me. “You give me too much credit.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, then.”
“That’s a deal but on one condition.”
I hope he doesn’t make me regret giving him all those compliments. “Which is?”
“Stay, Poppy.” I remain right where I am, my head still swimming in how he exposed so much of himself. His voice's dulcet tone and smooth sound make me willing to do anything. That and his scent. It’s not lost on me that he smells like the sex I’ve been dreaming about. “Please.”
And then he goes and says that. I don’t think he’s as bad as I first assessed. His manners indicate the opposite. Please always goes a long way with me. He’s a big guy, that dark hair. He has those blue eyes I stare into any chance I get. Like now. He’s hard to ignore.
I also still want to address the topic of that tattoo that matches mine. It’s not the right time after what we’ve already been through this morning, but it’s still on my mind.
Playing the offer off might not be the best strategy, but I’m not sure what to say. It was a great conversation, and the barriers between us were torn down, but in the end, does it matter when I’m going my own way and he’s going his? “It’s snowing outside.” I keep it light, not wanting to make it a big deal. “I’m not going anywhere. I mean, my car is literally broken down in a snowstorm.” The situation hits me in the funny bone, causing me to laugh. “It’s like we’re living in a rom-com.” I glance at him. “You know, if the heroine was drop-dead gorgeous, had the wittiest sense of humor, and had never been in an accident.”
“Two out of three isn’t bad.” He just says it, tossing that praise into the universe like there’s no tomorrow. I catch it, metaphorically tucking it into my pocket so I can mentally frame it later in my mind.
“That was quite charming.”
A rogue smile punctures the dimples in his cheeks, making him even more attractive. “It’s true.” And now I’m blushing . . .
“I want you to stay, Poppy.”
I fidget with a barstool, swiveling it with my fingertips as a distraction to how insanely attractive I find this man, especially right now. “Technically, I already quit.” I toss out my only defense when I can’t think of any good reason to leave. Not because I want to leave but because I like hearing that he wants me to stay.
“I never got it in writing.” It’s the little things with him, like the cocksure lift of the eyebrow on the right side of his perfectly annoying face, that gets me. He comes around to the other side of the island from me, trying for innocence, but I recognize the bad boy has returned, and by how determined he looks with his sternly furrowed brow, he’s on a mission.
Slipping onto the stool, I sit straight, ready for the negotiation he’s about to go into and steeple my fingers.
He’s a behemoth of a man, eye level with me even when he’s bent down. “Since you’re stuck here anyway, you might as well get paid.”
“Good point. I’ll think about it.”
Pushing off the counter, he reaches his full height, making me work harder to stare into his gorgeous eyes. I’d stand, but this conversation doesn’t feel quite over, so I stay put. When he moves to the fridge, he says, “I blame myself for us getting off on the wrong foot.”
“We didn’t get off or on.” Watching his tongue drag over his bottom lip, I briefly get distracted. When his breathing deepens as he stares at me, I keep talking but avert my eyes. I’ve never had a boss who looked like him.
“I wasn’t expecting you. Not that it’s an excuse for how I reacted—”
“It’s okay. We were both startled. I get it.” I hop off the barstool, hoping to head him off from opening the fridge. It’s my job to make sure this man eats, even if I did kind of, sort of quit. I’m here, so cooking for him is the least I can do. “Though that knife.” I use my finger to graze across my neck. “That was a close call.”
“I apologize for that as well.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, these sorries are making me uncomfortable.” Grabbing the fridge handle, I add, “It’s normal to part ways if it’s not a good fit. I made one dish. It didn’t work out, so we called it quits. No harm, no foul.”
He’s staring at me like I’ve gone off the rails, so I add, “Get it? Foul. Fowl ?” I roll my eyes because I thought that was hilarious. Him, not so much. “Guess you’re not into chicken jokes.”
“You have an odd sense of humor, you know that? Bear snark yesterday. Chicken humor today. I can’t wait to see what animal we’re roasting tomorrow. ”
With jazz hands on full display, I reply, “Spoiler alert: it’s pork.” His smile splits his cheeks. Thank God I didn’t blow it on the pork.
“That was actually impressive. I didn’t know I was getting dinner and a show.”
“Now that’s funny.” I tug the door open. “I’m going to have to use that in the future.”
“The future? Already making plans on how to get out of here? Tomorrow is it for us?”
I nudge him with my socked foot. “I was planning my escape last night, but you’re doing a good job of tempting me.”
“You were?” he asks, hovering in my vicinity. I only just turn my head to catch a brief glimpse of him through the corners of my eyes before turning my attention to the veggies in the fridge. “How far did you get in your planning?”
“Not very since you’re doubling my pay.” I wait with a grin I won’t be able to restrain more than a few seconds.
Three.
Two.
“What was that about your pay?”
With grapes in my hand, I casually turn to put them on the counter. “You wanted me to stay earlier, so I accept since you’ve doubled my pay, effectively putting your money where your mouth is. But I also have a condition.” Bobbing my head, I laugh. “Other than amnesia.”
“And when did I supposedly do this?” Scratching the back of his neck, he clenches his jaw. It’s a habit of his that I’m not upset at all about.
My full attention deviates to the two lines between his brows when he clears his throat, though. How does he manage to make confusion look sexy? And is it weird to want to lick that spot until it’s relaxed again? Probably.
Forcing myself to look away, I laugh, feeling better than I have in days. “I’m only here until my car gets fixed, remember?”
“I don’t love it, but that’s fair.” He plucks a grape and pops it in his mouth before leaning back on a nearby counter, his smile traveling to mine. “Revisiting the earlier on-and-off comment, some consider banter a form of foreplay.”
I burst out laughing but then realize I could do anything I want with him under this NDA, and it will remain a secret. Why am I so devious? I can’t. I shouldn’t. I need to shut this down before it gets out of hand, and I end up in his bed breaking my golden rule of no sleeping with clients.
Waggling my hand between us, I add, “I think you’ve forgotten about the contract. I’m not supposed to talk to you, much less joke around like this. Throw in the fact that there’s an ironclad NDA in place, and we’re toast.”
“You signed an NDA to work with me? What did they think I would say to you?” he asks, his palms pressed to the countertop.
“I signed an NDA to work for you. And I’m pretty sure they were more worried about what I would do or say about you. It’s standard procedure.”
We’ve come a long way. This feels so normal between us. I like it. He makes the job a lot more interesting. “I’m no notary, but we can always add clauses and exceptions.”
When his grin grows, he chuckles and says, “Sounds like you’re staying.”
Throwing my arm toward the lake, I reply, “Judging by the amount of snowfall, it doesn’t look like I have a choice. But only until I can get my car fixed. ”
“Got it. You’re leaving as soon as you can. Not even the double pay could talk you into staying.” He turns to gaze outside, giving me a chance to study his profile. A confident smile remains, but a boyish charm has taken over his demeanor.
It’s then that I realize if I’m not careful with Laird, I’ll be breaking more than a contract. I’ll be breaking my golden rule.