Chapter Twenty-Two Gemma
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gemma
I polish off my Danish while I complete the short walk from Lance’s kiosk to the office.
My coffee’s still warm in my hand, and I roll my shoulders as I step into the elevator, telling myself to get a bloody grip.
But by the time I press the button, I’m worried about how Max will behave after last night.
Will he be pissed? Will he get even?
Bloody hell. I can’t escape my emotions this morning.
I count slowly as the lift ascends, taking the moment to compose myself. Professionalism. Maturity. Poise.
Right, Gemma. Lance will be okay. He’s a big boy—he has Everly. And you can handle Max. You run through men like it’s a sport. You’ve got this. He’s just a man. No big deal.
The office is already running at full speed, humming with thank God it’s Friday energy, and I must admit, I couldn’t be more relieved.
People laugh loudly, the scent of coffee wafting through the kitchenette.
And then I spot him. Max is leaning against the kitchenette counter, listening intently to something Louise is saying.
I’m certain Max is simply being polite, because her conversation’s about as dry as a nun’s vagina.
He’s wearing a charcoal suit today—tailored within an inch of its life—and I don’t mean to stare, but my eyes drop, anyway.
Straight to those veiny, strong, capable hands cradling a mug.
My body remembers those hands. The wicked things they did to me last night.
The way he touched me like he’d branded me.
And damn if my body doesn’t want him to.
You’ve got this, Gemma.
Scratch that—you don’t have this at all.
I watch, completely dazed, as he lifts his mug to his lips. His thick throat bobs with the swallow, and then, Christ, his tongue darts out to lick his full bottom lip.
As if he senses me, his gaze slides across the room to meet mine. I freeze mid-step. And while I should turn and march straight down the corridor, my feet have fused to the traffic-worn carpet.
Louise continues babbling, but he pays her no mind.
Because his sinful eyes spark like cinders as he regards me, brimming with lust. By the time I take a cautious step forward, his gaze flicks back to Louise, who throws her head back in laughter.
I cringe at the sound. Max smiles. A full-on, teeth-baring, panty-destroying smile.
A pang of something almost territorial hits me, which is ridiculous. We didn’t even sleep together.
I straighten my spine and force myself to move.
“Morning,” I say brightly, slipping out of my coat and tossing it over a free chair next to Henry.
I approach Louise and Max, stepping between them.
Louise scoffs as she’s forced to move back and I reach for the biscuit tin in the top cupboard.
I arch my spine slightly as I do, knowing full well Max has a perfect view of my arse.
I’m in high-waisted trousers that accentuate every curve, my sheer blouse tucked in, the white lace of my bodysuit peeking out subtly from underneath.
I’ve perfected my corporate attire, maintaining professionalism with just enough sexy to not be overt.
Beside me, Max’s sentence trails off. He clears his throat as my arm brushes against his shoulder, the warmth of his gaze following the line of my body. When I turn around, biscuit tin in hand, Max’s eyes shift straight to my lips.
“Gemma,” he says, my name dripping like honey. “How was your evening?”
Louise’s expression morphs from insufferable friendliness to something more hostile. She’s pissed she’s lost her audience, and I couldn’t be more pleased. I pretend she isn’t there and refocus on Max.
“Great, thanks. Nothing exciting to report, unfortunately. But I slept like the dead,” I lie, popping the biscuit in my mouth and chewing slowly. “You?”
He smirks.
“Can’t complain,” he replies, shrugging coolly. But his jaw ticks—just for a second—and I catch it. He didn’t sleep well, either. Good.
Louise, ever the desperate opportunist, leans in. “Mine was good too.”
I blink at her. “I’m thrilled for you.”
“Max was just telling me all about New York. Weren’t you, Max?” Louise bats her lashes at him, and my biscuit threatens to resurface.
“Yes,” Max says, his eyes never leaving mine. “Louise was asking about the New York office.”
“I bet she was,” I mutter.
Louise shifts closer to Max, pressing herself against his arm. “I’ve always wanted to see New York. The Empire State Building, Central Park…”
I wrinkle my nose in pure disdain as the beige conversation dribbles on. I knew the woman was awful, but her flirting is akin to watching someone trying to lick their own elbow.
Fine. If giving Louise attention is his way of retaliating for my walking out last night, then I already know I’ve won. Does he think flirting with Louise will make me beg for it? Let him try. Two can play this game. If this man thinks he’s capable of making me envious, he has another think coming.
This is my game. I own this game. Hell, I invented the bloody rules.
Before Max can respond, I saunter toward the long dining table where Henry sits, wholly focused on his phone. I drop into the seat beside him, scooting a little closer and crossing one leg over the other. Max can see us perfectly here.
Henry lifts his gaze from the screen, eyes darting between Max, Louise, and me, and narrowing when he realizes I’m dragging him into whatever this is.
Louise has more or less molded herself to Max’s side with one manicured hand resting on his forearm, the other toying with her ebony hair. My stomach clenches when Max’s lips curve into a smile at something she says.
“Hi, Henry,” I say, my voice sweet and loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. I touch his shoulder briefly. “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”
“Ew. What are you doing?” he whispers, recoiling slightly.
“Just go with it,” I murmur through my smile, flicking my eyes back to Louise and Max.
Max is watching us now, his interest split between Louise’s incessant chattering and whatever I’m saying to Henry. Our gazes collide for a split second and the heat in his glare sears through me like a brand.
He deliberately turns his body toward Louise.
Henry looks in Max’s direction before shifting his gaze back to me, horror dawning on his face. “Absolutely not. Don’t use me as a pawn in your little game.”
I ignore him and place my hand on his arm, letting it linger as I laugh at something he hasn’t said. I toss my hair back, making sure to angle my body so Max has a perfect view of my tits and waist.
Over Henry’s shoulder, I see Louise lean in closer to Max, whispering something in his ear. My blood boils when his lips move and she barks out another laugh.
I press my breasts into Henry’s biceps, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Wow, you’re really going for it, huh?” he asks. “Should I give you the Oscar now or wait until you’ve finished this riveting performance?”
“Shut up. Do me a solid and make him jealous,” I say through gritted teeth.
Louise’s hand is on Max’s chest now. Is this bitch serious? That has to violate workplace policy. Where is Chadwick Fuck-Face when I need him?
Henry releases a long exhale. “Gemma, I’m your boss. This is beyond petty and unprofessional.”
“I’ll buy you coffee for a week.”
He groans. “Goddammit, you know I’m a slut for Lance’s coffee.”
“Is that a yes?” I wiggle my eyebrows.
He sighs. “Fine, whatever.”
“Thank you,” I say, shifting even closer.
Henry’s eyes pierce through my soul and his brow twitches, just slightly. He looks like he might actually throw up. I would be offended if it weren’t for Max occupying every part of me that cares.
“Sorry, I can’t do this,” Henry says, trying to pull away. “My body is physically rejecting you.”
“Yes, you can!” I whisper-shout, pulling him back in. “Pretend I’m Nate.”
“Are you serious? Christ—I am so gay.”
“Henry! Be a team player,” I say, smacking his chest.
He rolls his eyes dramatically before wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leaning in, pretending to whisper in my ear without getting too close.
I risk another glance and lock eyes with Max again, and this time, his smile evaporates.
“Is he looking yet?” Henry mutters quietly.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Now, care to tell me what this is all about? What happened last night after I left the bar?”
“Everything but penetration.”
Henry gags. “Please, for the sake of our friendship, don’t ever say the word penetration again.”
Louise laughs way too loudly at something Max says, but I can see it written all over his face—he isn’t into her. Not in the slightest. His spine’s gone rigid, his chin’s tilted. He’s on high alert, uncomfortable, awkward. Good.
I pump my eyebrows. “It’s working, Henry. I think he’s going to come over here.”
“Finally. Can I get up now?” Henry asks, his tone exasperated.
I quickly assess the situation.
Max places his mug on the countertop and shoots Louise a tight, polite smile before subtly edging away from her touch.
Ugh, his bone structure is impossibly perfect.
He gives Louise a dismissive nod and his entire demeanor shifts into something predatory, and I know exactly who he’s hunting. That lazy charm he was pretending to have with her vanishes as his attention on me sharpens.
For a second, time forgets how to move.
“Bingo.” I smirk.
“Oh, screw this—I’m out,” Henry says, standing and retreating before I can say another word.
Behind Max, Louise scowls at me. It’s delightful.
“A word, Gemma,” Max says.
“Here?” I ask, my voice innocent.
“In private,” he says through gritted teeth.
I rise from my chair slowly, feeling Louise’s eyes stalk me as I do.
“Now,” Max barks, and I roll my lips to hide a wry smile.
“After you,” I say, gesturing to the doorway.
His nostrils flare as he runs a hand over his stubble. The very stubble that chafed my most sensitive areas last night, leaving a delicious burn.
Max storms out, and I don’t miss the venomous look Louise sends me before I follow him into the elevator.