Chapter 8 #2
She touched the screen before holding it up for me to unlock, but I rattled off the passcode instead. She tapped it in and swiped through the few screens of apps to bring up the calendar. “There’s nothing here.”
“Check my email and my texts with Alex.”
She loaded the texts first and scrolled. “You don’t use a calendar.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Production sends one out.”
“But what about for everything else? Your appointments and events and whatever?”
“Texts.” I shook a sticky note that said something about beers. Or beets. Beans? I wasn’t sure. Alex had shit handwriting. “And notes.”
For the first time since I’d woken to her standing over me, she looked fucking horrified. “How… Why… How do you…?”
“Warned you my shit was a mess,” I reminded her.
She tried—and failed—to blank out her features as pink tinged her cheeks. “No, it’s fine. If this system works for you, we can adjust it to be more efficient.”
Her blush.
Her wide eyes blinking up at me.
The way she looked on the floor.
I quickly sat to hide the evidence of my rapidly hardening dick.
I thought coming would take the edge off.
I looked at her again.
At least for fifteen minutes.
Forcing myself to stay focused, I gave her the truth. “I’ve literally never thought or cared about the system, but it’s obviously a shit one since the thing for Intrepid isn’t the first appointment I’ve missed. As long as it’s easy for me, change what you want.”
“Are you sure?”
If it makes you look at me with that kind of unbridled excitement, you can torch this house around me for all I care.
I lifted my chin.
She opened her notebook, unlocked her phone and mine, and spread the sticky notes across the table—crumbling the old ones into a little pile to the side. Then she pulled out multiple pens in various colors and lined them up. “Do you have your schedule for next week?”
I snagged my phone long enough to bring up the Summer emails. “If there’s anything, it’s in there.”
Her look of horrified disgust mixed with her excitement, and there was a forced brightness in her tone. “Perfect. Once I get this organized, I’ll call Intrepid and get that squared away, too.” She kept her gaze on the table in front of her. “You don’t have to hang out in here.”
“I’m good.”
She finally lifted her focus to me like she was going to argue but changed her mind. Gesturing over her shoulder to the TV, she said, “At least turn that on.”
“It won’t distract you?”
“Nope.”
I grabbed the remote and turned on the first shitty movie I came across. It could’ve been an early preview of the best movie ever made, and I still wouldn’t have been able to pull my attention from Greer as she worked.
Especially when she kept bouncing the top of her pen against her fuckable bottom lip.
I held off as long as I could, but there was only so much a man could take.
I need a fucking break, or I’m going to pass out from lack of blood flow to my brain.
“Can I see my phone?” When she passed it over, I opened a delivery app. “I need coffee and food.”
She pushed away from the table. “Give me your order, and I’ll go pick it up.”
“No.”
“Coffee and food runs are within the job description of an assistant,” she pointed out.
But not part of your job.
Technically, she was right. I’d had no problem asking my other assistants to handle the errands I hated because I paid them damn well to do it. They rarely followed through, but that was beside the point. The idea of Greer doing shit like that didn’t sit right with me.
Partially because I didn’t want her to leave.
“Next time,” I lied. “But you’ve got enough to do right now, so we’ll do delivery. What’re you in the mood for?”
“I’m good,” she muttered.
“I’m ordering you something regardless, so you might as well pick it out. Otherwise, I’m getting you tofu.”
“I like tofu,” she said, and that must’ve been a lie because no one liked that shit.
“Unseasoned, steamed tofu,” I amended.
She gave a long-suffering sigh. It would’ve been more impactful if it wasn’t accompanied by her stomach growling.
“Burgers? Pizza? Mexican?” I took in the way her eyes lit before declaring, “Mexican it is.”
Intimately acquainted with the options in my area since I’d yet to use my fancy-ass kitchen, I brought up the menu for the best Mexican place that delivered. I held out my phone to Greer, and when she reached for it, I gripped her hand across the table.
Fuck, touching her is a mistake.
I fought to keep my voice and words neutral since she wasn’t a pretty sub I could order around. “If you’re working, I’m feeding you.” I tried to fight against it, too, but I couldn’t stop my hold from tightening. “Without an argument every time.”
“I don’t remember that being in the contract,” she whispered.
“Then I’ll have my lawyer add an addendum.”
She rolled her eyes, and I grudgingly let her hand go so she could order.
When she returned my phone to me, I doubled her order of veggie street tacos before editing mine to add three kinds of meat and extra cheese.
It would be one of the last good meals I could have before I needed to crack down for filming.
Damn water retention.
I placed that order and started a second one for caffeine. That time, Greer didn’t argue about adding her drink.
Once it was set, I handed her back my phone so she could continue working.
And I could continue staring at her.