Chapter 7
Penny
Miles shutting me down has been living rent-free in my head for the past three days. I mean, what the hell did I do to that man? I was just trying to be friendly, especially since we hadn’t really seen each other at work all week.
After mulling over it longer than I care to admit, I decided to be the bigger person and bring him coffee this morning.
He usually carries one of those insulated cups around, but it’s the thought that counts… right?
At least I hope so.
I got the coffee back in Charlotte before getting on the highway. The moment I grab the cup, I realize it’s ice cold.
Shit. So much for a nice gesture.
Well, it is what it is. The thought will have to count.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, tighten my scarf around my neck, and grab both coffees—his and mine.
Then I square my shoulders, give my hair a quick shake down my back, and head inside.
“I’m ready to make this Monday my bitch,” I murmur to myself as I start walking from my car to Miles’s office.
I knock on the door gently, trying not to slosh the coffee around. When there’s no answer, I push it open and step inside, planning to leave the cup on his desk.
To my surprise, Miles is there, typing furiously on his computer. He looks so wound up, I’m half-convinced he’s going to break the keyboard.
“Good morning,” I say, a genuine smile on my lips.
He stops typing, looks up at me, exhales through his nose, then goes right back to typing.
What the hell?
“Hey, Miles. I’m not sure what animal crawled up your ass, but I don’t think I deserve this kind of treatment. All I’ve been trying to do is keep things amicable at work, and you seem determined to be a complete ass to me. So here. It’s cold, but whatever. Have a good day.”
I drop the coffee on his desk with more force than I mean to, and can only watch as the lid pops off and coffee goes everywhere.
“Fuck,” he says at the same time I say, “Mierda.”
I can’t help laughing at the mess I made of his desk. The blueprints he had spread out are now drenched in a pool of caramel-colored coffee.
“I’m sorry, Miles,” I say as I glance around his office, trying to find a place to set my stuff down to help clean up.
As I lower my bag to the floor, I hear him laugh.
“I’m sorry, too. I know I’ve been acting like a child who’s butthurt because you didn’t text me back.”
My spine stiffens. “You texted me? When?” I ask, almost in shock. I’m sure if I had seen a text from Miles, I would have been swooning like a Hallmark heroine.
“That Monday, you didn’t show up for work. I wanted to check on you, since I’m also committed to having an amicable work relationship,” he says, tossing my words back at me.
“I swear, I didn’t get any text from you.”
He rolls his eyes, and I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing.
He grabs his phone, taps the screen a few times, then hands it over to me.
Miles: I’m sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Rest up, boss lady.
A smile forms before I can stop it. “That was sweet, Miles. Thank you,” I tell him honestly as I hand his phone back.
“But I didn’t get it.” I rummage through my bag, digging for my phone. When I find it, I wiggle my eyebrows in victory.
A low laugh rumbles out of him, and little by little, the tension between us eases.
After pulling up my message app, I pass my phone to him.
He scrolls up and down, looking for his text. But his eyebrows knit together in the most adorable way when he realizes I wasn’t lying.
“I don’t understand,” he says, puzzled.
“I don’t think I ever got your number. And I don’t receive text messages from numbers that aren’t in my contacts,” I explain.
His frown deepens. “I didn’t even know that was a thing,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess that’s a security measure only the rich and famous have,” he murmurs to himself—but I still catch it.
“Anyway, I’d be happy to save your number in my contacts if that’s something you’d like,” I offer, extending a small olive branch.
He looks at me for a beat, the wheels in his brain likely working on his next move.
I hold my breath, waiting.
“I think it’d be smart,” he says, already reaching for my phone. “I mean, since we’re coworkers we should be able to communicate.”
I nod, pretending that doesn’t sound way more official than it needs to be.
My gaze drifts to the mess I made on his desk. “Yikes. I should probably help you clean this up. Do you have paper towels or—”
I glance around his office, finally taking in how bare it is. Desk. Two chairs. File cabinet. That’s basically it.
“No, I don’t have anything,” he says, handing my phone back. “But I’ll figure it out.”
Our fingers brush as I take it from him, and a sharp jolt runs through me, catching me completely off guard.
“Ugh, I hate the static this time of the year,” I say quickly, grabbing my bag and coffee, suddenly needing to put some space between us.
I’m talking out of my ass. There’s no way that was static energy. The sensation lingers longer than it should, spreading in a way that has nothing to do with dry air or the weather and everything to do with him.
Him—the one I can’t have because that's what we agreed on.
One time.
And that was supposed to be it.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Miles says as I reach the door.
I turn back and give him a tight smile before stepping out, leaving him—and the inconvenient pull I still feel toward him—behind.
“What do you mean the accounts are frozen?” I ask, tapping my pen rapidly against the desk.
I’ve been trying to run payroll all afternoon, but every bank account I manage is locked. Millions of dollars just sitting there, untouchable—and I can’t access seventy thousand to pay people? I’m about to lose my mind.
“Yes, Ms. Levine. There has been a worldwide cyberattack. At this time, all assets—across all institutions—are temporarily inaccessible.”
I close my eyes and release a slow breath through my nose. How is this still happening? With all this technology—every safeguard, every system—at our disposal, how are we still at the mercy of people who know how to break them?
“Okay. Okay,” I say, steadying my voice. “So none of my accounts are available. Correct?”
If needed, I can front the money myself and reimburse it once this is resolved.
“No, ma’am. I’m really sorry. There’s nothing we can do at the moment. But rest assured, our IT team is working diligently to restore access.”
Of course they are.
“I will personally notify you as soon as the issue has been resolved,” Peter, my assistant, says on the other end.
“Thanks, Peter. I appreciate it.”
I end the call and let my head fall back against the chair, staring at the ceiling.
“Do you have a minute?”
Miles’ voice startles me, and I nearly jump out of my seat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, flashing me a gorgeous smile that does absolutely nothing to help my fried nerves. The red and blue flannel he had on this morning is gone, leaving him in a white undershirt that clings a little too well to his abs.
My gaze roams his body—completely against my will—from his stomach to his forearms. When I catch sight of veins running along them, I press my lips together, forcing my attention back where it belongs.
“Is it a bad time?” he asks. “I’d say I can come back later, but this is something that needs immediate attention.”
That pulls me out of my lust-induced thoughts. Fast.
“What happened?” I ask, straightening in my chair and pulling myself back into work mode, even if my brain is still playing catch-up.
Miles’s expression shifts, concern flickering across his features. “Are you okay? I can handle this by myself. I just thought you’d want to be looped in.”
Of course he did.
He might be a cocky, smooth talker, but damn, he takes his work seriously—and I can’t fault him for that.
“No, I’m fine,” I say, waving him in. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on.”
He takes the chair across from me and leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. A whiff of his cologne mixed with something distinctly him hits me.
No, scratch that. Slaps me, like a shot on goal.
I feel my clit throbbing.
Focus, Penny.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there’s a snowstorm coming our way. The first one of the season.”
My back presses into the chair, like I just got a punch to the gut. “What? Already?” I glance at my screen. “But it’s only November. The fall festival was just a few days ago.”
“It’s rare, but it happens up here in the mountains,” he says, calm and matter-of-fact.
Before I can respond, he continues. “The company delivering our supplies just called. They couldn’t fulfill this week’s order since their trucks don’t have the proper tires.”
Suddenly, the exhaustion I noticed when he walked in makes sense. I’ve seen him work ten, twelve hours a day for months now, and he always has a smile on his face. For something to rattle him like this—it matters.
“Are there any local construction companies we can get the supplies from until after the storm passes? I don’t want to delay work if we can avoid it.”
His eyebrows shoot up, his eyes darting to the side as something clearly clicks into place.
“You gave me an idea. Thank you, sugar,” he says before pushing out of his chair and disappearing just as quickly as he came in.
I blink, staring at the empty doorway for a second.
Did he just call me sugar?
The last time he used that word, I had my back pressed against a palm tree, his body pressed hard against mine, his voice low and rough in my ear. Heat creeps up my neck at the memory, and I shake my head, refusing to go down that road again.
Before my mind can spiral, I grab my phone and call Gio.
“Hey, you. Are you looking for a place to weather the storm?” he says instead of hello.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. My car is all-wheel drive. I got this,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
Gio makes a noise that tells me he absolutely does not believe me.