Chapter 5
AADEN
I stare at my monitor, my finger rubbing slowly across my chin as I read the report for Benson I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
I casually lean against the side of the elevator, my hands in my pockets as I study her features.
She doesn’t look at me, but I can see the nervousness in her posture.
The way her back and shoulders are stiff.
The way her fingers tighten over her purse.
Her heavier breaths. It seems I have an effect on her just as much as she does on me.
After a few moments of awkward silence, the doors slide open.
With a quick smile, she rushes out of the elevator and makes her way to the large windows at the front of the building. I fall back into step at her side.
“Thank you,” she says as I hold the door open for us to exit the building.
Besides my black convertible BMW Z-4, her car is the only other car in the lot. “My pleasure.”
She opens her purse and digs for her keys as we approach the lot, and once again, I’m hit with the feeling of not wanting to let her go. “Well, good ni—”
“Have you eaten?” Her eyes are the size of saucers as they connect with mine. “I mean, since you stayed late, I figured you might have skipped dinner.”
She swallows hard. “I, um, I was just going to grab something on the way home.”
“Would you like to join me? I hate fast food.”
She blinks a few times as I stare at her, waiting for her to respond. I’m nervous she’ll turn me down. Come on, sweetheart, just say yes.
She looks around the parking lot like she’s expecting me to be talking to someone else. Finding no one, her eyes return to me. “Umm, sure, I’d love to.”
Fuck yeah! “Great, we can take my car.” I nod toward my BMW.
Excitement rushes through me like a drug.
Christ, I don’t remember ever getting this anxious over a woman before.
I open the door for her, and she climbs inside, her scent drifting past me again.
I fight the urge not to groan out loud and close her door, hurrying around to mine.
“What are you in the mood for?” I ask as I climb into the driver’s seat and start the car.
“I’m not picky.” She’s twisting the strap of her purse in her hands. I almost reach over and take her hand in mine, but that’s too much too soon.
“You like sushi?” I ask.
“I love it.”
With a grin, I pull out of the parking lot.
It should feel awkward sitting this close to her, but somehow it feels right.
I chance a peek in her direction, and it hits me how good she looks sitting in my car like she belongs there.
She bites down on her lip, and I can’t help but chuckle. “Why are you nervous?”
She releases her lip and looks over at me. “I’m not.”
I glance down at her hands, where they’re gripping her purse tightly. “Really?”
She releases her grip as she takes a deep breath. “You’re my boss,” she whispers.
I stare out the window, disappointment settling in my chest. The fact that she works for me could be a problem, but is there more to it? Is she not attracted to me at all? I decide to push because I need to know I’m not the only one feeling something here. “Is that the only reason?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel, waiting for her response. When it finally comes, it’s soft and uncertain, “No.”
Relief washes over me, and the tension in my neck loosens. She shifts to look out her window, so I decide not to push anymore. After a few awkward minutes, we pull into Saki’s Café, and I watch her face light up. “This is my favorite place.”
“Well, score one for me.” I throw in a wink because I’m trying to get out of the boss-employee zone. I hop out and make my way to her side, holding open the door and offering her my hand—my mother raised a gentleman.
We make our way inside, grab a table in the corner, and place our order.
As soon as the waitress walks away, I bring up the conversation we were having in the car.
“What other ways do I make you nervous?” She plays with the corner of her napkin, heat coloring her cheeks.
“You’re adorable when you blush,” I tell her.
Her mouth drops open when she looks up at me.
I study her, this time taking in more of her features since she’s staring right at me.
I knew she was beautiful, but shit, she is beyond any beauty I’ve ever seen.
Smooth, creamy skin, full lips, high cheekbones, and those eyes—pools of wonder and intrigue.
I want this woman, and I’m not just talking about her body.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table, needing to get closer.
“Don’t be shy, Leah. I’d like to get to know you. ”
She blinks several times, her body going rigid. “Why?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “I find it hard to believe you have to ask that question.” When she doesn’t respond, I lean in closer. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since you walked out of my elevator with that box, Miss Ward.”
Her eyebrows rise toward her hairline, and her breath catches in her throat. Fuck, I pushed too hard. I sit back, my expression falling as I take in her reaction, and a feeling of heaviness sinks into my chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” she squeaks. She shifts in her seat, trying to regain her composure. “I’m just…shocked.”
Confused, my brows draw together. “Why?” Her heart is pounding so hard, I can see her pulse at the base of her throat. She shakes her head and looks down at the table. Her fingers are twisting nervously together. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m just not used to—”
“Being told how beautiful you are?”
She looks at me, and her expression says it all.
There’s doubt and confusion swimming in her eyes.
My smile falls away. My face becomes serious as I lean forward again.
“Are you kidding me?” She shakes her head, and I stare at her in disbelief.
How is that possible? “Leah, you’re absolutely gorgeous.
You must have guys throwing themselves at you all the time. ”
She snickers. “I’m not what you call a social butterfly. I’m a bit awkward.”
I can’t take it anymore. I reach across the table and close my hand over hers.
The moment we touch, a bolt of electricity shoots up my arm and slams into my chest before racing down my spine.
Somehow, I manage to keep from jerking my hand away.
Jesus Christ, what the hell was that? I swallow, forcing myself to remain calm and brush my thumb across her knuckles. “They have to be idiots.”
Her eyes soften. “Thank you.”
I change the subject once our food arrives, hoping to make her more comfortable.
We talk about movies we like and places we’ve been, where we went to college, what classes we loved and hated.
Halfway through the meal, we’re laughing easily, and I feel more relaxed than I have in weeks.
More like myself. Eventually, the conversation turns to our families, and when I ask about hers, a heaviness falls over the table.
“My dad passed away four years ago.” She frowns and bites the inside of her cheek as she looks down at her half-empty plate.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“What about your mother?”
She flinches as soon as the question leaves my mouth. She closes her eyes and swallows hard. “My mother,” she practically whispers, “was diagnosed with terminal cancer a few months ago.”
I scoot my chair a little closer and take her hand in mine. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”