Chapter Twelve
ADRIAN
Boston
To my surprise, Isobel texted me bright and early Friday morning with her dinner order, along with a very specific list of wines I could bring if I wanted admittance to her apartment. I knew I was treading a dangerous line between professionalism and my attraction to my co-worker, but this was a risk I felt I’d kick myself in the ass later for if I didn’t take it.
The attraction had been building since my first interaction with her when Vivid hired me, and it’d simmered for five years. Five years where I’d thought she was an uptight shrew who couldn’t take a joke and five years where she’d bought my world’s biggest jackass routine.
I had a long route to convince her that my attraction wasn’t just another thing I’d done to mess with her, and I was tired of watching her from afar. Without our brief dalliance at the publisher’s conference, I would have continued to think my attraction was one-sided, but once she flipped the switch on me, I couldn’t turn it off.
She was guarded, no-nonsense, and sexy as fuck in a way that I couldn’t resist. I was tired of the meaningless hookups or younger women hitting on me because I dressed like I had more money than I did. I wanted a real woman. Someone who had worked hard and made something of herself, and Isobel checked all the boxes.
Sam had sent me all his notes on the pages we’d received so far, and I was amazed at how quickly Chase and Evan had been able to restructure the scenes. I thought he’d fight it, and it’d take weeks of drawn-out collaboration, but with Chase’s help, Evan’s writing had a spark behind it I’d never seen before. It reminded me of Evan’s earlier work, not the sex part, but the inspiration behind his writing—before he’d met Simone and she’d driven him into a life of seclusion with her toxic manipulating bullshit.
My mind started racing with possibilities of the two of them continuing their writing collaboration past this book, but I felt Isobel would be dead against it. She guarded her authors like a junkyard dog, and I had no desire to be bitten.
At least not in anger.
Maybe in sexual frustration.
Because I was feeling lots of that since we left Maine.
Isobel’s door was closed when I walked the floor after my weight-lifting session during my lunch hour, but she hadn’t canceled on me yet. I knew I’d fought dirty by goading her into meeting with me outside the office. I needed to see if this pull I felt toward her was only because she didn’t seem to want me and I was rising to the challenge. Or if it was because once she let her hair out of those tight buns and sleek professional ponytails, she was attracted to me too, telling me it was definitely not one-sided.
I debated on changing after leaving the office at 5:00, but I needed to take a trip to a specialty wine shop on the other side of downtown if I was going to fulfill her demands. After fighting rush hour traffic, and barely finding a spot to park on the street, I hurried to pick up our food.
The restaurant had my order packed in an insulated travel container in just enough time for me to make it to Isobel’s apartment. Despite giving her a ride to and from the conference and then home from the gym, I’d never been inside.
Balancing the bags containing our meals, I buzzed the intercom, waiting for it to connect and hoping she would let me in. It’d be a bitch move to let me plan all this and bail, but I couldn’t blame her for punishing me for my past misbehaviors.
I began to worry when the buzzer disengaged and the speaker went silent. Shifting nervously as I scanned the windows above for signs of Isobel peeping out at my discomfort, I steadied the bags again and pressed the button for a second time.
A few long seconds later, the speaker crackled to life. “Keep your pants on. I’m coming.”
Laughing at the way she sounded out of breath; I couldn’t hold in the obvious joke. “I think you’d enjoy it more if my pants were off.”
The intercom went silent, and I wondered if I’d pushed too far, but the lock on the door to my left buzzed loudly, and I heard it disengage as Isobel’s voice floated over the line. “Doubt it, but I’ll let you up anyway. You better have my wine. You know I’ll need it to deal with you. I’m in 306.”
Thankfully, her modest brick building had been updated and had an elevator, so I didn’t have to trek up three floors with my arms full. At least it was leg day, so my arms weren’t tired, but I hadn’t expected to get a second workout for the day with our dinner. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to a third if this working dinner went how I wished it would. While our brief tryst had been quick and slightly frustrating, I could tell Isobel would be a handful in bed. And I wanted to fill both hands.
I took a deep breath before transferring all the bags to one hand and knocked on her apartment door. She kept me waiting once again, my pulse picking up as I waited for the door to swing open. When it did, I wasn’t expecting what I saw.
Isobel was fresh-faced, with her wet hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. A soft-looking turquoise sweater hung to mid-thigh, and her long bare legs peeked out underneath.
“Eyes up here,” she chuckled while I perused her casual outfit, my hand flexing against the handles of the bags so I didn’t do something reckless, like drop to my knees to explore all that smooth bare skin with my lips .
“No big boy this time?”
She rolled her eyes, pulling the door open further as she stepped to the side, my shoulder brushing hers when I stepped into the apartment. “You don’t need your ego inflated any more than it already is.”
It was a stark contrast to her office as far as the color palette, but just as chaotic. A fireplace surrounded with built-in bookcases lined the far wall of her small living room, stuffed full, with no visible order to them. I thought of my bookcases at home, with the titles neatly stacked upright and organized chronologically by release for each author who were placed in order alphabetically. Hutch often teased me for my OCD tendencies, and I typically spent at least an hour combing my shelves for the one book he tried to hide out of order after he’d been over to my place.
As I scanned her modest living space, the only similarities we seemed to hold were the number of books we owned. She’d surrounded herself with creature comforts, cushy-looking furniture, plush pillows, pops of bright color mixed with the warm tone of the exposed brick walls, and several lamps interspersed to give it a homey feeling. It made me glad we’d decided to work in her environment, not mine. I knew she’d never be able to resist giving me shit for my stereotypical bachelor pad filled with leather couches, sleek furniture with clean lines, and stark white walls.
My apartment was a little smaller than hers, but they were day and night, sort of like the two of us. We both had sharp edges, but hers were rounded where mine were jagged.
“Quit being weird. You can run a full stalker analysis on my living room later. My food better still be warm.”
“I would tell you to keep your pants on, but I can’t tell if you’re wearing any,” I smirked, nodding toward the long hem of her sweater.
“I’m wearing shorts, you ass.” She swatted at my arm before she turned and moved toward the kitchen while my eyes studied the creamy expanse of skin exposed on the back of her thighs .
Every exchange of words between us lately seemed to be laced with sexual tension.
“Did you get my—?” she trailed off as she looked back at the table, and I pulled out the bottle of wine at the top of her list. It wasn’t a fancy blend, but I was glad I’d stopped at the specialty shop because it wasn’t something I could have picked up at the street market near our office.
“Yes, I got your wine. Where are your glasses?”
Isobel pulled open the container with her meal and inhaled, a satisfied smile crossing her face as she let out a tiny moan. I could appreciate a woman who liked food as much as she did.
“Do I need to leave you two alone?” I teased as she reluctantly returned the container to the table and walked toward me.
“While I’d love to have the satisfaction of kicking you out of my apartment, you brought my favorite wine, and you got me carbs, so I’ll let you stay…for now. But I reserve the right to push you out the door if you start that arrogant bullshit you get away with at the office.”
“Fair enough,” I chuckled, stepping to the side as she passed me. I followed a few steps behind, watching while she pulled cutlery from a drawer next to her tiny dishwasher. She opened an upper cabinet, pushing up onto her tiptoes, the muscles in her calves drawing my eyes as they flexed. “I’ll make sure not to tell you how much I’m enjoying your shorts. If you could call them that.”
My eyes slowly trailed up the back of her legs, lingering on the swell of her ass as it peeked out from beneath the hem of her shorts. She may have joked about not being in shape like she was in back in high school but combined with the curves of her hips and the long lines of her legs, she was hotter than she realized. The clothes she wore at work hinted at some insane curves, and the glimpses I’d gotten of her while we were in Maine were enough to want more, but I wasn’t sure where we were now.
“Are you still staring at my ass?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder with the stem of a wine glass balanced between her fingers .
“Are you surprised? We’ve had this conversation before. You know I’m fond of the scenery.”
Isobel rolled her eyes as she pulled down a second glass, gently setting both on the counter. I knew being around me bothered her now. We hadn’t talked about what had happened at the conference. Not really. Just me teasing her and pissing her off. I didn’t like that there was this tension between us. I wanted to get to know her better. While I may not have been in touch with all my emotions, I knew that the feelings she stirred up in me weren’t just physical attraction. That was currently a large part of it, but she was kind—to everyone but me—and she was funny.
“Keep it in your pants, Casanova. We’re here to work. You just insisted on inviting yourself over. Try not to look so needy.”
Taking another step forward, I placed my hand on the counter next to her, careful not to touch her, but close enough that she could touch me if she wanted to. And damn, I hoped she wanted to. “You could have said no to me. It wouldn’t be the first time. I think you want to talk about what’s happening between us. Or maybe the problem is you don’t just want to talk.”
“There is no us, Adrian. I was temporarily shown a different side of you, and I had a lapse in judgment. It won’t happen again.”
Testing her boundaries, I traced a lone curl at the back of her neck, my fingers lingering at the collar of her sweater. “You keep saying that, but I’ve seen how you look at me. It was more than just a lapse in judgment.”
Her shoulders heaved as she took a deep breath and turned to face me, her expression guarded as she looked up into my eyes. “Being attracted to someone doesn’t mean I like who they are as a person. And you haven’t convinced me that the bizarro world Adrian was real. As soon as we got back to the office, you were back to the arrogant comments. ”
“Was I?” I asked, knowing I’d been tamer lately besides our confrontation in the stairwell. “Or have you convinced yourself that I was?”
Her palm settled into the center of my chest, causing me to pull in a surprised breath, my hands clenching at my side with the urge to touch her.
“You called my authors mommy porn writers . Not exactly on your best behavior.”
Narrowing my eyes and clenching my jaw to hold in my gut reaction, I took another deep breath and tried to relax. “And you were implying my author was going to sexually harass yours. Was that you being on your best behavior?”
It was her turn to clench her jaw as she reached behind her and grasped the wine glasses, brushing past me to put them on the table beside the bottle of wine.
“Not going to admit you sometimes say things in poor taste just as I do?”
Her movements were agitated as she grabbed an electric wine opener from the counter, centering it on the bottle and pressing the button to remove the cork from the bottle.
“Don’t even try to compare me to you. When I met you, the first words out of your mouth would be considered sexual harassment by most people. I didn’t even know you.”
Thinking back to when I’d first met Isobel, I frowned while I tried to remember what she was talking about. I know I’d noticed her before she noticed me, but what could I have said that caused her to hate me this much?
“Fine. Since you don’t even remember what you say to people,” she huffed while she poured wine into one of the glasses, then turned toward me using the half full glass to gesture in my direction. “You told me you could handle fixing the copy machine by yourself, because you weren’t sure my sexy skirt would allow it.”
Fuck .
I remembered her walking in on me berating the copy machine my first week at work. I chuckled as I recalled the look on her face when she’d caught me, slightly amused, a bit arrogant and a lot knowing.
“And you’re laughing about your shitty behavior. Real attractive, Adrian.”
“That’s why you hate me?” I laughed, shaking my head.
“You were a dick from the moment you met me.”
Stepping forward and grabbing the wine bottle from the table, I poured myself half a glass, earning narrowed eyes from Isobel.
Too bad. I paid for it. I could at least have a small glass.
“Did you look at my hands?”
“Why the fuck would I have been looking at your hands? You were simultaneously hitting on me and being a douchey jerk,” she scoffed.
“I won’t apologize for calling you sexy, because you are sexy. I may not have a filter, but I know when I turned around and found you watching me from the doorway, I was stunned by you.”
“Are you trying to flatter me to get me to overlook your behavior? That may work on the administrative assistants you fuck, but it won’t work on me.”
I tipped my glass back, taking a generous sip of the red wine, my eyes widening as I let it sit in my mouth. It was surprisingly tart, but had a full-bodied flavor and hints of cherries and something smoky I couldn’t place. It was good.
“And do you remember the skirt you were wearing? What color was it? Because I remember. It was white. And I had toner all over my hands. I accidentally jostled the cartridge while I was trying to dislodge a piece of paper that was stuck. I didn’t want you to help me because I was afraid it would ruin your skirt. And that would have been a travesty.”
Reaching behind me, I grabbed a fork from the counter where she’d left them and the bag my meal was in, walking past her to the large plushy couch.
“And I have never once fucked an administrative intern. I think someone has been listening to the office rumors. If you actually paid attention, you’d see I’m usually very nice to the assistants and the interns.“ She narrowed her eyes at me, and I knew what she was getting at. “Except for Kristine. But she usually starts it.”
“And you could end it without baiting her,” she growled.
“I can try better next time. Now can we eat dinner and then get through proofing these pages? Or would you rather continue to hash out a miscommunication from over five years ago?”
Placing my takeout container on the table, I unbuttoned the front of my suit jacket and sat down, sinking into the cushion immediately. Yeah, my leather couch was not this comfortable.
As I settled my meal in my lap, I could see Isobel hovering in my periphery, her wineglass in one hand and her takeout container in the other.
“Sit.”
“I’m sorry.” She spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear her, but when I glanced in her direction, I could see the remorse painted across her features. I didn’t want an apology. She probably wasn’t even wrong to think I was a dick, but I hadn’t meant to offend her with my comments either.
“Don’t be. I have just as much to apologize for. We both know I’ve been a dick around the office more than I should be. Your dislike of me probably isn’t far off the mark, but I genuinely didn’t know that’s why you don’t like me.”
The couch dipped slightly as she sat down next to me, almost an entire cushion between us.
“We’ve seen each other half naked. You don’t need to act so awkward around me,” I teased, and watched a blush creep up her neck.
“That’s exactly why I’m awkward around you. I know my avoidance of you hasn’t exactly been subtle. But I don’t know how to act around you anymore. ”
“Just keep teasing me and putting me in my place. I know my big mouth is one of my worst traits. Trust me, I’ve tried to turn it off, but it just keeps popping out things I regret saying later.”
“Well, maybe you should work on that.”
“Well,” I started, watching her tentatively taking small bites of her food while keeping her eyes on me. “Maybe you should work on not jumping to conclusions when I say stupid shit.”
“I can try,” she conceded. It was progress.
“That’s all I ask.”