Chapter 15
TOMáS
I rush to clean up my makeshift desk area— formerly known as my kitchen island— when I hear the intercom buzz, letting me know that Sarina is on her way up to my penthouse.
I’ve taken full advantage of the lenient work from home policy extended to partners.
I figured it’d be easier to resist temptation this way, since the rules pertaining to co-workers fraternizing are explicit.
No dating, under any circumstances is allowed, unless there is a marriage established prior to employment.
Even then, those who are married, which to my knowledge is only one couple, are put in separate practice groups and work on different floors so they don’t run into each other during business hours.
This is all thanks to one of the co-founders of the firm’s son, who was a senior equity partner, sticking his dick in half the corporate finance department, as well as multiple clients' wives.
If it came out that Sarina and I had a moment, or if it became obvious how affected I am by her, it’d set off a chain reaction that I can’t risk.
I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am.
Not to mention I have people who rely on me.
My mom with her healthcare expenses being at the top of that list of responsibilities.
Once she became unable to work due to her MG diagnosis, and I discovered that the required specialists and medications— which there are many— wouldn’t be covered by her health plan, I took that on for her.
I’m thankful I make enough that I’m able to.
I made a promise to my dad before he passed that I’d step up and take care of my mom and sister with anything they may need, and it’s a promise that I take seriously.
Probably too seriously, but I can’t help it, it’s who I am.
I will do anything for those I love. Including put my needs and wants on the back burner.
I hear the elevator approaching my penthouse entrance and I’m halfway to it when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I forgot to change out of my gym shorts from my workout earlier or put a shirt on. Shit.
To think that I was worried about what would happen if anything was discovered between Sarina and me. Yet here I am, half naked and about to answer the door to my residence, after having a car service drive her here.
I debate changing but it’s too late. The elevator doors swing open and just like that I’m frozen in place. My gaze drawn to the white crisp fabric in the form of a coordinating pantsuit that looks like it was custom-made to fit every curve.
Scanning me up and down, the faintest tug of a grin spreads on her face. “Umm, hi.”
I greet her in return, unable to articulate a thought much past a simple hi myself.
“I feel overdressed.”
“You’re not. You look great.” That’s an understatement. She looks fucking stunning…and jittery. Very jittery.
“Compared to you, I am.” She sucks in a breath. Somewhere caught between a sigh and a scoff. “I can see your V-line.”
I’d ask her what she’s talking about, but the way her stare has trailed down my abdomen to the prominent lines that do in fact form a V downward, I quickly put two and two together.
That, and it’s obvious by the not-so-gentle tapping of her heels and shifting from side to side that she has to use the restroom.
“The bathroom is down the hall.” I point past the living room. “First door on the right.”
“Thank you.”
Now the grin tugs at my lips. “I take it you liked your drink options.”
“Loved them!” she shouts, making her way to the bathroom. No sooner does the door close than it reopens. “You have a leak.”
Logic tells me she’s referring to something in the bathroom, but with the way she’s blatantly staring at my groin, that logic abandons me. Like a complete jackass I peer down at the obvious bulge poking through my gray gym shorts.
Her fingers snap for my attention and within a second —probably less— she has it. “I mean in the bathroom, Tomás.”
The way she says my name is a mix between patronizing and flirtatious, but the effect it has on me would be the same as if she were moaning it. A flutter sparks in my stomach just as the blood flow to my groin teases me, making me really regret not changing before I answered the door.
She waves me closer, and sure enough, there’s a pool of water near the vanity.
This is the last thing I feel like dealing with right now, especially since I have her here.
“Need some help?” she asks.
“No, no, I can fix it.”
“Really?” Shock ignites in her voice enough that I can’t help but stare at her, dumfounded.
“Yes. Why do you sound so surprised?”
“It’s just that…” She pauses, hesitating. “I don’t know, I mean—”
“Go ahead, just say it.”
Just like that, all hesitation and stammering stops, and that bold, cut-to-the-chase way of being that I’ve grown fond of rises to the surface. “It’s just that you don’t seem like the type, is all.”
“To be able to fix a sink?”
She laughs. “Well, yeah.”
Ignoring the leak that isn’t slowing down, I cross my arms, leaning against the doorframe. The shift in my posture almost immediately causes her to bite down on her lip. She kneads it for a second before shaking her head. Her dark hair flowing side to side as she mumbles to herself.
“Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, you. Why do you have to stand like that?”
I stare at the doorframe. Confused, I uncross my arms, and take a step back, draping my arm against the frame.
Sarina is now shielding herself from looking at me, with her palm pressed to her forehead. “That’s not better, you’re making it worse.”
“I’m making what worse?” I can’t help but laugh, partially from nerves, I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel butterflies reminiscent of my fucking teenage years when I’m around her, but also out of genuine confusion. Apparently, I’m not capable of fixing leaks or standing in doorways properly.
“Everything,” she hisses, dropping her hand.
“Everything?”
“Yes. Everything.”
“I’m not following.” The blank stare on my face has her looking exasperated.
“What I’m about to say is going to sound inappropriate but considering how we met, it’s tame.”
Now I’m really dying to hear this.
“For starters, you’re wearing men’s lingerie.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say I’m wearing lingerie?”
She lets out a sigh. “Jesus Christ, Tomás, must I spell it out for you even further?”
“Please. That’d be fucking great.”
Her heels click forward as she tugs at the bottom of my gym shorts. “Gray gym shorts with a short inseam, having all your tattoos on full display, is male lingerie. And then to top it off, you have no shirt on, leaning all nonchalant on that doorframe like you own it.”
“That’s because I do.” I don’t bother hiding the cockiness in my reply. She’s flustered and I like it. “And wait a minute, are you slut-shaming me?” I joke.
“Never. I’m just pointing out that you look very…slutty.”
I should bite my tongue. This conversation has already veered down a path we shouldn’t have let it go. “Is that a bad thing?” Well, so much for trying to steer it in a more appropriate direction.
She swallows, visibly. “No, no, it’s not.”
“Good. As long as you approve, that’s all I care about.”
A laugh is exchanged between us, and it’s almost like for a moment we forget who we are. I’m not her boss. I’m not her best friend’s brother. I’m just Tomás. And more importantly, she’s not off-limits.
“I should go,” she breathes.
I nod my head but neither of us move.
“I mean it.” Her voice is huskier this time, barely above a moan, yet it draws a smile to my lips.
“Tomás,” she whines my name, “seriously, stop.”
“Stop what?”
She tosses up her hands. “This.” Flustered, she shakes her head. “I mean that. I don’t know. All of it, but for real, stop or I’m going to piss myself.”
“You sure you’re from Colorado?” A blank stare shoots its way to me in lieu of a response. “It’s just that for someone who isn’t from New York, you fit right in.”
With arms crossed in front of her, plunging her cleavage forward, temptation intermingles with my willpower, testing it as I persevere to keep my eyes on hers.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I don’t know what possesses my hand to fill the gap between us but before I know it, my palm is resting on her lower back, pulling her in closer.
Realizing what I’ve done, I’m about to let go, but she takes a step forward.
“You were saying?”
The sensation the crisp fabric she’s wearing creates as it’s brushing against me sends a surge of heat up and down my spine. Pushing through, my lips part. “It means you’re feisty, and a little rough around the edges.”
Her tongue clicks. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re calling me crass.”
“No. It means you're bold.”
“That’s a fancy way of telling me what I’ve heard one too many times before.”
“I meant it as a compliment, seriously,” I say, practically pleading my case to her. “It’s a compliment. So take it.”
An unconvinced glare flashes before me. “Is that an order, Mr. Ramos?”
What is she doing to me?
The flirtatious inflection to her voice is pure torture.
“No,” I barely manage.
“Good, because I’m selectively good at taking those, and I’m even worse at taking compliments.”
“Well, take mine.”
A sigh slips past her lips. “Maybe.”
“That’s all I get? Just a maybe?”
Straightening her posture, she creates space between her spine and the doorframe. “You’re kind of bossy, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.
She clears her throat, crossing her legs as she does, and it reminds me of why we are standing in the bathroom in the first place.
I point to the opposite side of the penthouse, toward my room, telling her where the attached en-suite bathroom is.
She thanks me, about to walk past, but she stops herself and we find ourselves in an awkward standoff. At this point, the leak from the vanity is a paid actor with no intention of stopping. The steady drip has picked up speed.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” she asks.