Chapter 11 Fertility and Its Control #2
I backed up a half step. “Sure,” I ground out. “I can send a draft tonight.”
He smiled even wider. “Good. I know you have a lot on your plate, but this is something you should’ve proposed to me, not the other way around. I need you to be more proactive if this is going to work.”
I stared at him, my anger suddenly sharper than the cold.
“In that case, if this is going to work, you’ll need to give me more of a heads-up before assigning major tasks like this.
I would’ve thought, as the lead for the poster, you would’ve already created a first draft of your section.
Especially since mine is done and it’s due for everyone else on Monday. ”
He shrugged, all faux casual. “Things change. You can work on it tonight, or wake up early and do it. I don’t care. But it has to be done by tomorrow.”
I opened my mouth to tell him where he could put his poster, but in that exact moment, approaching movement caught my eye at the curb.
Andreas walked toward us, long strides, hands in the pockets of his camel-colored cashmere coat. Underneath, he wore a blue sweater and dark gray pants. His hair was perfectly styled, his jaw shaven, and his skin much more hydrated than I would expect for someone who’d just flown in from England.
Currently, Andreas wasn’t looking at me. The entire weight and force of his glare was on James. He wore the same flat, predatory stare that he’d employed during the chess matches I’d been stalk—er, watching online from the London tournament.
He’d won, by the way.
He’d won the tournament. He’d barely smiled when he’d been presented with the ￡750K check, and his short interview afterward had made me laugh.
Because when the interviewer had asked, “Are you relieved that you won?”
He’d said, matter-of-factly, “No. It was expected.”
Drawing even with us, Andreas stopped beside me and his gaze shifted to mine, suffusing with warmth. “Are you ready, Samantha?”
Dear. Lort. His voice was deep and smooth and gentle and just magic.
Not waiting for a response, Andreas reached out, took my backpack off my shoulder, and slung it easily over his arm, the side of his mouth tugging adorably to one side. “Where are the mittens I got you? Your hands must be cold.”
I felt my eyes narrow with confusion because—as far as I knew—Andreas had never bought me mittens.
Regardless, using his teeth, he tugged off his left glove and fitted it over my fingers, his thumb giving the ring on my third finger a little twist as he did so, his smile growing more obvious the moment he spotted it.
I couldn’t speak for a second. Despite being irrationally angry mere seconds prior, my brain was now busy rerouting all available blood to the part of me that was in charge of appreciating how utterly, dangerously hot Andreas looked and how overwhelmingly happy I was to see him.
I finally managed a weak, “I am ready to go.”
Giving me one last warm almost smile, Andreas turned his attention back to James, who was now blinking rapidly and trying to recover his composure.
Andreas extended his gloved right hand. “Andreas Kristiansen,” he said, in a tone so incredibly flat and unfriendly. After a beat, he added, “Samantha’s fiancé.”
James stared at him, face slack. “Kristiansen?” he repeated, the word a croak.
Andreas’s handshake was brief but obviously punishing; I saw James’s knuckles blanch, and when Andreas let go, James cradled his hand for a second before hiding it in his pocket.
I cleared my throat. “This is James Nieminen. My new PI.”
James was still looking at Andreas, and his skin had lost all its color despite the cold. “Are you—uh—by any chance, are you related to the Genetix Kristiansens?”
“I am.”
There was a moment of silence so thick it felt like the world had been soundproofed. I didn’t want to laugh and ruin it, so I rolled my lips between my teeth and bit down lightly, wishing I could snap a photo of James’s face.
Nieminen licked his lips, eyes wide. “Nice to meet you. I—” He broke off and cleared his throat, likely needing another minute to collect himself. At length, he repeated, “Nice to meet you.”
Andreas’s lips curled at the edge, but not in a way that suggested humor. “I could not help but overhear that you want Samantha to finish a task by tomorrow morning? Assigning work on a Friday night, after hours? Seems like poor planning.” Every word was cut with ice.
James’s face went red, then white. “I was just—” he said, then caught himself. “I was joking. Obviously, she can do it on Monday.”
Andreas stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded, as if dismissing him from the conversation.
James stood there for another heartbeat, looked at me, then at Andreas, and then said, “Have a good evening, Samantha. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kristiansen.”
He turned and left, shoulders hunched and pace just shy of a jog.
The moment he was out of earshot, I said, “That was . . . I’m not sure what that was.”
Andreas didn’t look at me, just watched James’s retreating figure. “He is your new PI?”
“That’s right.”
“Does that man bother you at work?”
I hesitated, then shrugged, not really wanting to talk about James Nieminen, not when Andreas was finally home. “I should be able to handle it.”
Andreas said nothing, but I saw his jaw clench. Then, finally, he looked at me, eyes scanning my face. “If you want, I can get rid of him.”
The way he said it, so calm and practical, made me laugh out loud. “That’s not necessary. Besides, I think you just inadvertently solved my problem for me. He’s terrified of you.”
He seemed to consider my words, then nodded. “Good.”
I felt like laughing again, but this time with frustration. No matter how competent I was, no matter how good of a job I did, all my efforts were nothing compared to the power of the Kristiansen last name. Sigh.
“Shall we?” Using his left hand, Andreas reached for my right one and entwined our bare fingers together, bringing them both into the pocket of his coat, the movement smooth and natural.
I couldn’t believe he was here, and so the question slipped out of me. “When did you get back?”
Andreas didn’t break stride. “I took an earlier flight. I came here from the airport. Are you hungry?”
“A little.” I caught myself staring at his profile and grinning, thus I rapidly tore my gaze away.
“We will go on a date.”
“A date?”
“Yes. You agreed last week. We should go on dates, as an engaged couple. I saw you are wearing the ring.”
“Aren’t you tired? The time zone shift must be brutal.”
“I want to go and I already made a reservation.” Andreas stopped short and turned to me, his forehead wrinkling. “Wait. Are you tired? We can go home if you are tired.”
Shaking my head, I gave his hand a little reassuring squeeze. “I’m not too tired. We can go on a date.”
He seemed to study me, as though to ascertain whether I told the truth. His forehead clearing, he turned back to the car and we walked the last few feet. Tara stood at the hood and sent me a small smile, but I noticed when her gaze shifted to Andreas the smile evaporated.
He opened the back door for me, and I slid inside. Instead of following me in immediately, he leaned down in the open door. “Give me a moment please, I need to speak with Tara.”
Wondering what he wanted to discuss that either couldn’t wait or had to be discussed without me, I nodded and settled back against the bench seat. I’ll ask him during our date.
With a quick smile and a promise to be fast, Andreas shut the door, leaving me in the quiet car with my own thoughts, which consisted mostly of replaying the incident with James over and over in my head.
Most especially, I enjoyed the look on James’s face when Andreas had introduced himself, and the particular shade of white—ghostly white—when James confirmed Andreas was one of the Genetix Kristiansens.
But then my mind snagged on a particular detail of the interaction and I frowned.
Andreas had given me his left glove, leaving my right hand and his left hand without any protection from the weather. And then Andreas had used his right hand—which was still gloved—to shake James’s hand.
Hmm.
The glove musical chairs hadn’t all been a calculated maneuver so Andreas could hold my bare hand, but avoid touching James, had it?
. . . Nah.
Who thinks so many steps ahead? Just to ensure we held hands but also to avoid touching James?
That would be truly diabolical.