Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Oliver
The door shuts behind her.
“How has your day been so far?” I ask, circling around the corner of my desk. I set my keys on top of a legal pad. They rattle as they come to a rest. “Thank you for the text about legal, by the way.”
“Oh, of course. No problem.”
I plant both hands on the edge of my desk and, hoping I have enough self-restraint to do it, I look up at her.
Damn, she’s gorgeous.
Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her body outfitted in a black fabric that gathers at the side. It skims her curves, hugging her frame without encasing it. The look is capped off with a pair of heels that have a strap over her narrow ankles.
How are ankles sexy?
The only piece of her that isn’t perfect is my doing—the glimmer of uncertainty she’s desperately trying to hide in her pretty doe eyes.
I blow out a breath.
“Wade needs to cancel your three o’clock,” she says, her fingers laced together in front of her.
“Holt would like to see you as soon as you’re available in regards to the Jewell update from legal, and someone named Anjelica called.
She said that there’s a contract for Hollis Hudson in your email, and she would like it reviewed as soon as desperately possible. ” She grins. “Her words, not mine.”
She flips a switch from hesitation to confidence.
“I confirmed your attendance at the Landry Gala. Apparently, the original RSVP didn’t get returned.
There is a stack of invoices that accounting would like you to look at on my desk, and I filed the box full of papers sitting beside the sofa.
” She motions toward the spot on the floor that housed an overflow of filing for the past month. “I hope that’s okay.”
My chest rumbles with a disbelieving chuckle. “That’s amazing, actually.”
She lifts her chin. “Great. I just got back from lunch, so if you’ll let me grab a few things from my office, we can go over the report from legal.”
I hang my head, my hands still planted on my desk. “Just … hold on a second.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I close my eyes and sigh.
We need to go over the report. It’s important. But what’s more imperative at this precise moment in time is the undercurrent of precariousness between us. It’s the wobble in her gaze, the tightness in her smile that’s barely there today but didn’t exist last night.
It’s my fault. One hundred percent.
I kissed her.
I meant it when I said I wasn’t sorry, and I also meant it when I said I’d been wanting to do it since I first saw her.
But what I didn’t mean to do was make things between us uncomfortable.
Or awkward. Or anything less than the brilliant easiness that we’ve experienced every other time we’ve been together.
Until now.
I open my eyes. “I told you last night that I want us to be open and honest with each other.”
She nods, biting her bottom lip.
“And I need you to be honest with me right now,” I say.
“Of course. About what?”
I cock my head to the side and look at her. We both know what I mean.
She takes a deep breath and walks to the chair facing my desk. “May I?” she asks, motioning toward the seat.
“Yes. Please do.” I sit in my chair and watch her gracefully unfold herself onto the chair across from me.
She settles herself before her eyes reach mine. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to be clear about what you’d like to discuss.”
Her professionalism throws me off. This wasn’t the kind of conversation I was prepared—or wanted—to have with her. I wanted the banter, the back and forth that I look forward to with Shaye. The laughter and rambling and smiles that stick with me for hours after she leaves.
I sit back and run a hand along my tie.
But this is where we are. Now I have to figure out how in the hell to get out of it.
“I kissed you last night.” I sit upright and let the statement hang in the air. “How do you feel about that today?”
She swallows. “Well, I would feel a little better if I knew how you were feeling.”
Her words are measured, chosen carefully to guard herself from … what? Me? Disappointment? I’m not sure.
The idea that she’d want to protect herself from me does something I don’t expect—it hurts. A physical pain rips at my chest as I take in her resolution not to let me do any harm.
What did her ex do to her to make her so guarded?
I have so many questions. There are so many things I’d like to know about the woman who sits in front of me without any idea how hard it is not to touch her.
I don’t want to rip her clothes off. Well, I do. But it’s more than that. It’s strangely so much more than that.
What’s going on inside her head is just as interesting to me as what’s going on under her dress. I want to know her past, what makes her laugh, and why she’s so scared of getting involved with me.
Is it just me? Or is it everyone? Does she let anyone in?
“Truthfully? I’m sitting here wondering if all of our interactions will be as awkward as this one,” I say.
She smiles as her shoulders sag. “Me too.”
“I don’t want it to be.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
I nod. “Sure.”
“Have you been avoiding me today?”
“What? No.” I halt the rest of my sentence before I lie to her. Instead, I take a deep breath. “Yes. I have.”
Her smile wobbles, and I instantly regret saying that. But it is the truth.
I clear my throat. “You’ve got me in a bit of a bind, Shaye.”
“How’s that?”
She has no clue what she does to me—how she twists me up and hijacks my thoughts.
I clear my throat again as I contemplate how to progress this conversation.
I could tell her how interested I am in her, which would be the easy, mature thing to do.
And the honest one. But if I do that, will it make things muddier?
Will it put the two of us in this same space days, weeks, months from now—or worse?
I’m not sure. And I’m not entirely sure it matters.
My mom’s advice trickles through my mind. Sometimes you have to go with your gut, Oliver.
My gut, so to speak, is contrary. It’s all mixed up about what I should do, and I’m certain, very certain, that I could sit in this chair all afternoon and not be confident about the right way to handle this. To handle her.
“I’m going to be frank with you,” I tell her.
She nods in agreement.
“I’m insanely attracted to you.” I watch as a myriad of thoughts dance across her pretty face. “If you were a random woman, I’d beg for you to let me take you to dinner.”
The smile that slips across her face is priceless. It’s pride and shock and excitement all wrapped in one. It’s a humility that’s touched with joy. It’s not having a freaking clue. It’s guileless, and that is rare. Welcome.
“I’ll be honest with you too,” she tells me as her voice waves in the slightest way. “I’m attracted to you. But I’m sure you know that.”
Her chin dips as she looks at me through her lashes. It’s not a move, a trick to make her seem more innocent. It’s a glimpse into her vulnerability, and it’s so damn hot.
She shifts in her seat before raising her chin again. When she does, I can see a marked difference in her eyes, a look of resolution.
“I’m not sure what you meant by that kiss, if anything at all,” she says. “I can’t imagine that you go around kissing your employees. That should make things easier to understand, maybe, but all it does is confuse me more.”
“I assure you that I’ve never kissed, touched, even winked at another employee in my entire life.”
She nods and swallows hard. I’m not sure if my response helped or hurt the conversation, so I decide to answer her question—the one she didn’t outright ask.
“I didn’t kiss you with an intention in mind,” I say. “There is no plan. There was no plan. It wasn’t a step on a critical path schedule to get from here to there.”
She watches me but doesn’t say anything.
“It just happened,” I admit, filling the space between us. “It was just a natural course of events—at least to me.”
Shaye looks around my office. It’s clear that she’s thinking. She doesn’t look bothered or scared … or regretful, which is good. I sit quietly, my stomach in a tight knot, and try not to get ahead of myself.
I’m not sure how this will end or how I even want it to end. But if she’s not in my life somehow in a week’s time, I’ll blame myself.
And be pissed about it.
Finally, Shaye looks at me again and smiles.
“My best friend tells me to be open to the gifts of the world,” she says, amused by her own statement.
I smirk. “Are you calling me a gift?”
She laughs. The sound is music to my ears.
“Not in so many words,” she says, leaning against the armrest. “I guess I’ve … closed myself off since Luca, my husband, died. I probably did it before that if you can believe Lisbeth.”
“Lisbeth?”
“My friend. The one with the line about—”
“Me being a gift,” I say. “I like Lisbeth.”
She giggles. “She’d like you too, I think.”
“What’s not to like?”
She pretends to consider the question, making me laugh. After my laughter fades and the two of us find ourselves staring at one another, she sighs.
“I liked your kiss, Oliver,” she whispers.
My body heats as if a fire was stoked in my core. I smooth my tie down the ridge of my chest to keep my hands busy—so I don’t shove away from my desk and wrap her in my arms.
“But,” she says, dampening the moment, “I think it’s probably pointless to do it again.”
“Why is that? Because we have options. I’m the CEO, you know. I can have you transferred to work for Boone.”
She snorts. “No offense, but I’d rather work for Wade. And he’s already offered me a job, if you’ll recall.”
I was joking. There’s no way in hell I’d let her work for one of my brothers. The idea of her being in the building—or next door, in Wade’s case—and not available for me to drop in, talk to, check in on at a moment’s notice would be a nightmare.
“I like you working for me,” I say.
“Then kissing is definitely not something we should probably do again.”
My temperature increases … but not from lust. This time, it’s from aggravation.