Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
[Love is…] sharing things, loving people, giving people things, making people things, doing things for people.
“When you get a moment, can you come into the office?” Gil asked. “I had a quick question.”
“Sure thing.” I nodded and went right back to clearing off a table, humming softly.
Iris slid up next to me. “Hey, boss, it seems to me that man has an awful lot of questions lately.”
“We are business partners. It’s logical we’d have things to discuss.”
“I hear you. It’s just that most business partners don’t come out of their meeting with their hair looking like someone has shoved their hands in it.”
I blushed. “I don’t look like that.”
“Hey, no judgement here.” Iris grinned. “I will absolutely make fun of you, though.”
“Go away.”
After I finished cleaning up a second table, I made myself wait an appropriate amount of time so as not to seem eager—five minutes seemed long enough—before I dashed back to the office. Gil had left the door cracked open. He was at the desk, frowning at whatever he was looking at on the computer.
I knocked softly. “You had a question.”
“Ah, yes.” Good grief, those glasses of his had to be illegal in forty-seven countries. “Come over here.”
After shutting the door, I rounded the desk. “I’m here to serve.”
He snickered and pulled me onto his lap. I landed with a squeal and looped my arms around his neck.
“Hi.” He buried his face in my neck.
I giggled as he kissed me there. “Iris is on to us.”
He was busy; he didn’t answer.
“You should come up with a good question to throw her off the trail. Something about overhead or this month’s P he smiled back. We stared at each other with silly, sloppy smiles. His eyes shone with an emotion neither of us was willing to name.
Instead of words, he answered me with a kiss exactly where it belonged.
“Nailed it,” I said when we came up for air.
He trailed a hand down my hair. Here was another surprising thing about Gilbert Dalton: He liked to touch. Small, sweet touches—a soft caress to my cheek in passing, the brush his fingers on the small of my back, nuzzling that spot where my neck met my shoulder when Oliver wasn’t looking.
“I’ll probably have another question in forty-five minutes or so,” he said, a serious expression on his face.
“Of course you will.”
I looked over at the computer. “What are you working on?”
“The budget.”
“Sounds fun.” My eyes skipped over the desk and landed on a glossy folder half hidden under a stack of receipts I knew hadn’t been in here yesterday. I eased it out and read the cover: Forsham Development Group. “What’s this?”
Gil gave me a wary look. “It’s from a real estate development group. Peter Stone dropped it off.”
I stood, my eyes darting between the folder and the man. “Oh.”
I took a deep breath, my heart sinking as I realized my mistake. I laid the folder down slowly and walked to the door. No matter how many stolen kisses we shared, nothing had changed.
“I’m looking at options,” he said. “Putting feelers out to see who might be interested in buying.”
“I don’t want to sell,” I said. “That hasn’t changed.”
“And I have my brother to take care of. That hasn’t changed,” he said, his voice gentle.
“I have responsibilities, too.” I took a step closer. “Maybe we could figure this out…together?”
He rubbed his forehead. “We’ve been living in a bubble, haven’t we?”
It had been such a nice bubble, where I could forget about the future. “What are we going to do?”