Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROYCE
Saw this and thought of you.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” I mutter to myself as I stare at my phone screen.
It’s not at all what I expected to get from Kenneth. I’m not even sure if he meant to send it to me—but the outfit is very obviously a style I’d wear. I guess I’ll have to ask him about it next time I see him.
Okay, so I’m a big old baby because I don’t bring it up to Kenneth. Not the next morning when I see him, and definitely not over the next two days. I’ve had plenty of chances. We’re often alone—or even in a group—but we’re always off to the side, observing and making note of things together.
There’s no good reason why I haven’t asked about the Pinterest link he sent me. No reason except that I can’t bring myself to be honest. Because if I were honest, I’d have to admit that my feelings for Kenneth are blooming at a terrifying rate.
I’m supposed to hate this man. Supposed to want revenge for the ways he and his buddy taunted me when we were kids.
I’m supposed to be here to keep the team in line and take over the helm of responsibility—not to get my dick wet, or to taste his lips, or to hold him in my arms the way I’ve been dreaming of.
None of that is on the agenda.
Yet somehow, it’s all I can think about.
When we head into the office Friday morning, we’re stopped at the gate by security. The big guy, Bruce, rubs a hand across his chest like he’s got heartburn as his eyes dart around. I lean in, stepping closer to Kenneth—though I’m not sure if it’s to protect him or myself.
While Kenny’s bigger than me, I have a tenacity that usually keeps people in line.
“What’s wrong, Bruce?” Kenny asks, his voice full of concern.
“Well, it’s the AC,” Bruce says, grimacing. “Your office had a bit of a snafu. It’s real hot in there—whole building, actually. They’ve got a crew working on it, but it’s not looking like an easy fix.”
Kenny nods, his face softening into a tender smile. I’m irrationally jealous that this man gets even a piece of that affection. Yet another red flag in this clusterfuck.
“It’s fine,” Kenny says, patting Bruce on the shoulder.
The other man practically melts under the touch, his posture relaxing instantly. “Really? I was worried this might cause you some problems,” he admits with a chuckle.
People always talk more freely around Kenny—at least when I’m not nearby. When I'm around, they’re different. Guarded. On edge.
“I’m sure we can make do, Bruce,” I say, drawing his attention my way. “We were outside earlier this week. A little heat won’t kill us.”
My tone is confident—too confident, probably—but it earns me a small smile from Kenny. He nods and waves to Bruce as we move on.
The walk inside is quiet. We’re both lost in thought, though I doubt it’s about the same thing. I’m still wrestling with why I can’t shake these feelings for him. I have an inkling Kenny’s more concerned about the AC—a problem I should care about, but don’t.
The second we step onto our floor, the heat hits us like a wall. Downstairs wasn’t nearly this oppressive.
“Jeeesh,” Kenny says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Is it just me, or is it hotter in here than outside?”
I hum. “Yeah, seems that way. Let’s drop our stuff, then check out what they’re working on.”
Kenny giggles. “Good idea. Better to see for ourselves, right?”
We leave our bags—his briefcase, my satchel—in the office and head down the hall to find the maintenance crew.
It takes a few minutes, but we spot them: three men in jeans and sweat-stained shirts huddled over blueprints. I clear my throat as we approach, careful not to startle them.
“Excuse us,” I say. “We were hoping to get an update on the AC situation. I’m Royce. This is Kenneth.”
The smallest of the three hands off the papers and turns, offering a handshake. “Nice to meet you both. We’re just trying to locate the main problem. Hard to tell in a building this size.”
“Understandable,” I reply. “Any idea what caused it?”
Another man hums. “Yeah, probably maintenance. Units like this don’t get serviced as often as they should. One fails, and the others have to overwork to compensate. Could be that or a simple fix. We’ll know once we find it.”
I nod and step back beside Kenny. “What do you need from us?”
The leftmost guy shakes his head. “Nothing, boss. Just some patience. It’s gonna get hot as hell in here until we can get this sorted.”
I smirk. “We’re fine with a little heat, aren’t we, Kenny?”
I don’t even look at him, but I catch his small nod from the corner of my eye.
“If you need anything,” I add, “come down to the office. We’ll be there all day.”
They agree and wave us off.
By the time we get back, I’m sweating hard enough to want a shower. I ignore it, drop into my chair, and get to work. Kenny does the same, sliding into the seat behind the desk.
Hours pass before there’s a knock at the door. One of the construction guys steps in, wincing at the heat.
“Gotta grab a part,” he says. “Once we’ve got it, we should have you up and running today.”
“That’s great,” Kenny says quickly, eyes wide. “We really appreciate it.”
The man smiles. “You’ve both been real understanding, considering how hot it is.”
“You didn’t sabotage it,” I say. “And honestly, the heat’s been a bit of a motivator. We’ve gotten a lot done today.”
He laughs. “Whatever works. We’ll have it fixed in a jiffy. Be sure to stay hydrated,” he warns, then leaves.
The moment the door shuts, I grab us each a bottle of water. I down half of mine in one go and start to feel the first flicker of relief. Still, it’s not enough.
Unbuttoning the top of my shirt helps. The air hits my skin and cools it slightly. I know without a doubt that I need more of this. I don't need to have a fucking heat stroke in this office simply because we're both too stubborn to go anywhere else.
I keep going, unfastening the rest until I can shrug it off and drape it over my chair. I’m left in my white tank—soft, fitted, and breathable.
That’s when I realize Kenneth hasn’t moved. His water bottle sits unopened on the desk, his gaze locked on me—or, more precisely, on my bare skin.
“Earth to Kenneth,” I say, snapping my fingers.
He jolts, grabs the bottle, opens it, and chugs it down. I watch his Adam’s apple bob with each swallow and picture it moving for an entirely different reason.
My body reacts instantly.
My length hardens, desperate for some sort of relief in this trying time, but I can't. Number one: we’re at work, and number two: I told myself I wasn't going to do that anymore. Never mind that I've given in twice since that first time, both of which were when I was too weak to resist.
I force myself to drop into my chair like a sack of potatoes. The thud of my body landing startles Kenny.
“It’s just a shirt,” I say, eyes fixed on the papers instead of him.
I don't think he's uncomfortable. If anything, I would suspect he's aroused, but the thought still angers me because I can't do anything about it.
He hums. “That’s true. It is just a shirt.” A pause. Then: “You know what? I’m taking mine off too.”
Before I can tell him to do whatever he wants, he’s already stripping.
And unlike me, he doesn’t stop at the undershirt. He takes it all off.
Now I’m the one staring, because holy hell—Kenneth Meyer is a work of art. Every muscle perfectly sculpted, every inch of skin begging to be touched.
My pulse spikes. My cock presses painfully against the zipper of my slacks.
“We should really get to work,” I manage, voice cracking.
He meets my gaze. The tension between us hums, electric. One breath, one heartbeat—and we’re moving toward each other. I’m not sure who moves first, only that there’s no stopping it.
I’m going to kiss Kenneth Meyer. Kenneth Meyer is going to kiss me. Our lips are about to—
The door bangs open.
“Holy shit, you guys, it’s hot in here!” Gil bursts in, fanning his face. “Bet you could fry an egg if you had a skillet. Maybe some butter.”
He glances between us, brows knitting as he takes in how close we are.
I’m sure it looks bad. Hell, it feels bad. But he doesn’t comment. Instead, he flops into a chair and kicks his feet up on the desk.
“Any idea when the AC’s getting fixed?” he asks.
From the way he’s sitting, it’s clear he plans to stay a while.
I need a breather. “I’ll go check. It’s been a while since we got an update.”
It’s a lie. Kenny knows it. Gil probably does too. But no one says a damn word.
They just let me leave.
I slip out, down the hall, and into a quiet corridor where I can finally breathe.
Fuck, that was close.
My resolve is crumbling, and I’m not sure if I’m angry… or ready to give in.