Chapter 10
“I’ll get it.” Bree jumps up too quickly and loses her footing, nearly tripping over the ottoman. I reach out to steady her with a hold on her elbow. Electricity spreads up my arm from the contact. Her eyes track the connection before flashing up to mine.
The tension in here is suffocating.
I can tell she’s fighting the attraction between us the same way I am.
She may say she wants to keep things professional, but the way she’s been looking at me—and the way it just felt to touch her—there’s nothing professional about that.
I’ve tried to respect her boundaries. Well, most of them.
Showing up at her house in the middle of the night isn’t the best example of my commitment.
“Thank you,” she whispers. After greeting the delivery driver and accepting our bag of food, she hurries into the kitchen.
“Bree,” I say softly, coming up behind her. She startles like she didn’t hear me follow her.
“You can’t call me that.”
I brace my hands on the countertop in front of her. The smell of bagels and muffins compete with the light smell of her perfume.
“Why?” Stepping closer, my chest brushes against her back. Her arms break out in gooseflesh at the contact.
Tell me again you don’t feel this, Bree. Your body says otherwise.
“Don’t tell me it’s because that person doesn’t exist. She does.”
“No, she doesn’t.” She closes her eyes. Does she want to be Bree? The carefree woman from St. John who carelessly kissed a stranger in a bar and slept with him. Or does that woman not exist here in Nashville? Maybe she’s buried deep down inside and needs to be set free. I could be that for her.
“You’re wrong. She’s right here in front of me.” My hands ghost against her sides and over her shoulders. I barely suppress a moan at how good it feels to touch her again even if I’m barely touching her at all.
“Chase,” she pleads. For what, I don’t know. For more? For space? For me to keep pushing until she can’t say no anymore?
“What is it, Princess?” Massaging her shoulders, I try to get her to admit she wants me too, but then her stomach growls and breaks the spell.
“Please let me go.” Her tone is sharp, so I immediately release her and step to the other side of the kitchen to give her space.
“Do you want more coffee?” I ask. She stares at me for a minute. I tip my head in silent question and wait for her brain to catch up.
She clears her throat, shakes her head, and says, “That would be great.”
We work in companionable silence. She unpacks the food and arranges it on the kitchen island while I get our drinks and place settings like this is a normal occurrence. It hits me how natural everything feels with her.
Looking over at Bree as we eat side by side at the counter, I can’t help but stare. I know what she looks like dressed up after a wedding or for a formal event like she was last night. What she looks like after several drinks. When she’s drunk on pleasure. With my cock in her mouth. Underneath me.
Shit, down boy.
I also know what she looks like in lawyer mode at the office. That’s Gabrielle. Prim. Proper. No nonsense. But seeing her here, in her own home, she looks like Bree, and it’s my favorite look on her. She’s gorgeous.
“I like you like this.” My words are out before my brain can tell my mouth to shut up.
“Like what?” She swallows and takes another sip of coffee to help wash down the massive bite of cinnamon sugar bagel she just shoved into her mouth. I smile, knowing she doesn’t care about devouring her breakfast in front of me.
Waving my hand, I gesture to her body. “Like this. Dressed down. You’re so put together at the office. It’s the first time I’ve seen you in jeans I think.”
She looks down at her jeans and loose-fitting shirt. Sure, she fixed her hair and put on a face of makeup designed to look like she wasn’t trying too hard before she came downstairs this morning, but overall, she’s relaxed.
“I wear jeans. You’ve seen me in jeans.”
“Not at the office.” I take a sip of water.
“There’s a dress code. We can’t all wear workout clothes to the stadium,” she argues, defensively.
“You work in sports, Bree. Not some stuffy corporate job.” Placing the glass back down, I turn to face her for this conversation.
“Not everyone can wear golf shirts and get away with it.” Ah, okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
“Why not?”
She sighs heavily like she’s trying to figure out how to explain this to a toddler.
“I’m just asking.” I raise my hands, palms out, in a sign of surrender to diffuse her rising frustration.
It’s clearly a sensitive subject where she’s concerned.
“I’ve never seen any of the men in the front office wear suits, except maybe Grant, but he owns the team so that’s understandable.
Why are you always in skirts and dresses? ”
“Women are expected to dress a certain way in an office environment.” She deflects again, but I won’t let her get away with not answering me. Something else is going on here.
“What are you not saying?” I don’t have a pulse on the office dynamics as the new guy, but I get the sense she struggles with the men in the front office if her reaction is anything to go by.
“If I want anyone to take me seriously, I have to dress the part, okay?” Her hands slap her thighs when she drops them.
“Well, that’s stupid.”
“Great, thanks.” She pushes her chair back from the counter, annoyed.
“Hey.” Grabbing her hand, I stop her from getting up.
“I wasn’t calling you stupid. I meant that they’re stupid if what you’re wearing is a consideration in whether you’re qualified at your job.
You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.
I don’t see how what you wear has anything to do with what you’re capable of. ”
Her shoulders deflate as she takes a deep breath. “Thanks for saying that. Unfortunately, that’s not how it is for women in male dominated fields. I can’t afford to be seen as anything less than professional. Any chink in my armor and it could all crumble down around me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not, but it’s how it is. I’m used to it.” She stares at our hands, turning mine over to trace the lines on my palm. The push and pull between us is confusing, but I’m starting to understand her.
“Is that why you don’t want me to call you Bree?”
She nods, refusing to make eye contact. “Part of it. No one can know that we hooked up. It’s not only against the fraternization policy…”
“I didn’t sign that,” I give her a cheeky smile when she looks at me. Her lips twitch before a soft smile graces her face.
“It would put my job in jeopardy. I can’t let what happened on vacation allow them to call into question my professionalism and ability to do my job. They do it enough with my relationship with Preston and Miller.”
“What do you mean?” My hackles rise at what she’s implying. If she’s being harassed in that office, I will personally end whoever makes her life hell.
“You know, they’re always making comments about us being together and insinuating that something more is going on between us.
This is why women struggle in male spaces.
There’s a double standard. No one bats an eye when a CEO falls for his secretary, but a woman does it and suddenly they’re a slut. ”
“That’s harassment, Gabrielle.” Seeing her with Miller was nothing compared to what I’m feeling now. How dare those assholes manipulate her friendships into something they aren’t. “Names. I need names.” Heads are going to roll.
She laces our fingers together, tugging slightly until my vision clears and I look at her. “No, you don’t. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I’m only telling you so you understand why this can never happen. We had fun on vacation. It was fantastic, but it absolutely cannot happen again. Okay?”
I hate it. If this conversation and the morning we’ve spent together shows me anything, it’s that I may have real feelings for this woman. But I won’t be another asshole to cause her problems. If this is what she needs, I’ll make more of an effort to respect our new roles.
“Friends?” Untangling our hands, I hold mine up for a handshake. She nods her head and accepts my hand in hers with a smile.
“Friends.”