Chapter 3
Tilly: How soon is too soon for me to show up at your work unannounced and hit on your boss?
Chloe: I’m going to say anytime between now and the day I hand in my resignation.
Tilly: I still think you should fuck him.
Mom: You girls do realize this is the family chat?
Tilly: Hi Mom, did you google him yet?
Mom: Just did. Definitely fuck him.
Cade: I’m straight and I’d probably fuck him.
Grandma: Who are we fucking?
Dad has left the chat
CHLOE
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, slipping my phone back into my purse. I think I turned out the sanest one of my family, and that’s really saying something.
“Ready to go?” Casey chirps from behind my shoulder.
As one of my fellow developers, and an absolute trooper when it comes to throwing back tequila shots, Casey Swanson has become a fast friend.
I’ve been working at Guerra Enterprises for four weeks and have loved every minute of it—even more so since I haven’t seen heads nor tails of Mr. Guerra himself.
“Boy am I.” I grin, swiping my laptop shut with a flourish.
It’s the end of a busy week, and I can almost taste the vodka soda that will be in my hand in approximately fifteen minutes.
It’s a ritual with the dev team to go to Riley’s every Friday after work—a dingy little Irish bar on the corner of 35th street.
It’s dark and the floor is a little sticky, but I’ve come to love it.
The owner Gerry is a total babe who lines up a free Baby Guinness shot to anyone who can nail the middle of the dart board.
I’ve got one arm in my jacket when a deep voice has me freezing in place.
“Hold up. Ops has identified a major bug in the Alpha program that launches on Monday.” I turn to see Zeke Guerra looking every inch as edible in his sharply tailored three-piece suit as he did that first day I walked into his office.
“Anyone who can’t stay, go now. Anyone who can gets triple time until it’s fixed.
” Stern chocolate eyes surveille the staff in various states of leaving.
He’s a good head above even the tallest, so it’s no great shock his eyes home right in on me where I’m frozen at the back.
A shiver of awareness creeps down my spine, heating my skin.
His gaze only lingers for a moment, but it’s enough to put me right back into sexual overload.
I left his office that day feeling dazed, and a whole lot shaken at how my body had come alive under his watchful stare.
It was unnerving. He unnerved me. And I was glad to have avoided him until now.
I glance around as everyone begins to unpack belongings from bags and remove coats.
Laptops are pulled out of their cases and leather chairs creak as people retake their seats.
More than a couple pull out their phones to notify families they will be home late, including Casey, who has a two-year-old baby boy being looked after by her mother at home.
“Good, I’ll have food delivered within the hour,” Mr. Guerra snaps, dragging a broad hand through his hair as he turns. He looks pissed.
True to his word, forty minutes later, a positive mountain of Thai food arrives. Some of the guys rush to unburden the rosy cheeked old lady buried under a deluge of take-out bags.
I’m just nibbling on the end of my second spring roll when I hear him. “Blake, I want an hourly status update until this thing is fixed.”
My eyes snap sideways just as the click of a laptop being placed onto smooth wood reaches me. I’m horrified to see Mr. Guerra himself lowering into the office chair at the empty desk beside mine. I get a hit of something intensely masculine, like pine and musk. It makes my mouth literally water.
“Yes sir,” Blake replies curtly before turning his attention back to his screen.
“And come to think of it, where the fuck is Smith?” Zeke grates, swiveling to face Blake.
“Erm, he’s out today, sir.” Blake almost stumbles over himself to answer quickly, all but giving himself whiplash when he spins back around to face the six-foot-whatever of angry Columbian man next to me.
Yes, I may have unearthed some more details while Google stalking.
Purely for professional reasons, of course.
My boss is a second generation American Columbian, graduated summa cum laude from M.I.T, is thirty-six years old, and perpetually single.
The string of different women on his arms at various functions over the years was enough to turn my stomach.
Still not sure why. I shake my head, pushing away the thought and fighting back a smile at the scowl currently on his face.
“Something funny, Miss Devlin?” he growls, turning to face me.
“Nope!” I pop the P and subtly push a tray of spring rolls in his direction. He lifts one brow mockingly and I shrug. “In my experience, grumpy men get a little less grumpy with a full stomach.”
He glares at me, but unless I’m sorely mistaken, his muscled jawline twitches ever so slightly like he’s holding back a smile. “I don’t like Thai food,” he deadpans, turning to his laptop and punching in his password hard enough to dent the keys.
“I could try and rustle up some fava beans and a nice Chianti, but it might be a stretch at this time of night,” I quip, narrowing my eyes at a line of code that is suddenly making zero sense to me.
“Did you just…compare me to Hannibal Lecter?” His tone is incredulous.
“Why did you order Thai food if you don’t like it?” I volley back, turning to meet his steady gaze. Also, who the fuck doesn’t like Thai food?
“I ordered it because I know it’s a hit with most people—don’t avoid my question, Clarice, he drawls, hiking one brow back up.
Wow. Even I have to admit, this guy is unbelievably good looking.
All that tawny, tanned skin, glittering eyes, and hard chiseled edges…
Not to mention how well he fills out a designer suit.
My fingers itch, as though wanting to take a leisurely wander and find out if he’s just as well built as he appears to be under all that tailored Italian fabric.
I offer him a wry smile before turning back to my screen.
“Of all the things I’ve called him, this is the one he decides to question,” I muse aloud.
It’s not lost on me that it’s risky to rib my boss like this, but something about him just makes me want to push his buttons.
I want to get under that cool, unshakable exterior and prod.
Besides, if he gave me the job after I called him a man-whore sex addict, he can likely take this.
I zone in on a few lines of code that could be reworked, and tap out a fix, fingertips gliding against keys that feel like an extension of my hand.
“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her and feel nourishment in the very sight of her? I think so,” he mutters so quietly I barely catch it. My eyes go wide, jerking sideways, but he’s apparently already engrossed in whatever he’s looking at on his own screen.
***
“Okay, that’s enough for tonight.” Zeke sighs, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes, elbows braced on the desk.
We’ve identified the problem and Blake and Casey are in the middle of weighing the best fix.
Well, more like bickering about it loudly like school kids.
Blake’s face is so red I thought his head might pop off five minutes ago, and Casey has her hands braced on her hips.
She leans back like she’s been snapped back into the room and remembers her boss is sitting a handful of feet away.
The tips of her ears turn pink as she tucks her blonde hair behind them.
As imposing as he is, Zeke Guerra has sat quietly for the last three hours and worked away like the rest of us to get this bug fixed.
It’s been a herculean effort to focus on my work, especially when he removed his suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie, and rolled up the sleeves on his crisp white shirt.
His biceps strain invitingly against the fabric as he leans back and clasps his hands behind his head, staring up at the drop ceiling tiles.
A symphony of shuffling fills the air as the rest of the team start to pack away.
I tap my forefinger on my laptop twice, waiting for him to make a move. He doesn’t.
“Want me to walk you to the subway, Chloe?” I turn to see Steve hovering behind me, his hazel eyes brimming with hope.
Time to kick a puppy. I sigh internally.
“Thanks for the offer, but my boyfriend is picking me up.” I smile as kindly as I can.
He’s made it clear that he wouldn’t complain if I paid him a little extra attention since I started.
Steve is cute, all chestnut curls and quiet grace, but I’ve learned my lesson not to shit where I eat.
Besides, it’s kind of hard to find the sweet, slightly dorky guy appealing when he’s in the orbit of someone as painfully masculine as Zeke Guerra.
The comparison is almost comical. Despite having no interest in crossing that line with my boss, he eclipses every man in this place. And then some.
“Oh…oh, sure. No problem.” Steve gives me that tight-lipped smile I find myself doing when I feel uncomfortable.
Casey quirks her brow up behind him, as if to say boyfriend? She knows as well as I do that the only thing I’m dating these days is my expansive vibrator collection. I don’t acknowledge it, because the side of my face is burning. And that can only mean one thing. Zeke Guerra is staring at me.
“See you tomorrow, though?” I smile brightly because Steve is looking like a fat kid just stole a slice of cake he really wanted to eat.
A pretty girl named Lucy who works in our team is lingering behind, taking her time packing up her things.
Her wheat-colored skin is flushed pink at the apples of her cheeks, her sharply cut black hair falling to cover her face.
She looks crestfallen and I want to grab stupid Steve by his stupid head and shake him for not realizing she’s totally into him.
“Lucy, are you walking alone? Steve is headed that way, you two should go together,” I call out, feeling a stab of pity as the woman jerks like she’s been caught fingering a Fabergé egg.
“Oh, um…yeah!” she squeaks, glancing up from beneath her dark lashes at Steve. Steve glances back and nods, offering her a polite smile. They filter out with the rest of the team as I start to close programs, offering Casey a quick wave as she rushes out.
“Why are men so fucking dumb sometimes?” I ask, unplugging my headset and wrapping the wire around the frame to pack it away.
I’m very aware I’m still being stared at; I can practically feel his gaze scraping over my skin like a point.
Like he might pierce me if he continues.
We’re alone now, so I turn to look at him.
The corners of his decadent mouth are downturned.
He’s practically scowling at me. Deciding to meet him head on, I lean back in my chair to mirror him, tilting my chin up.
The air crackles between us as his eyes narrow, scanning my face.
“Boyfriend?” He avoids my question, rumbling the word through teeth that sound suspiciously gritted.
A thrill runs through me. Is he…jealous?
Fiery eyes, long fingers curled into a fist on one thigh…
His stance is casual enough, one ankle slung over his knee.
But his shoulders are definitely a little tight.
I’m not oblivious to the effects a woman can have on a man. I decide to prod. Because of course.
“Mhmm.” I nod, crossing my arms and tapping my lips with a finger. “Military man, big guy, buns so tight you could bounce a quarter—”
“Watch your mouth,” he growls, moving so fast in his seat I barely register before he’s leaning toward me.
His fingers clamp down around my wrist, dragging my finger down slowly from my lips.
My stomach clenches as his glistening eyes follow the movement.
They flare with heat, some of the light winking out into deep pools of onyx.
My lower lip drags down, baring my teeth as his jaw clenches.
My skin burns under his touch, sending sparks of electricity dancing to the tips of my fingers as he settles my hand on my thigh, pinning it there.
“Or what?” I challenge, my heart thundering an erratic tattoo against my ribs.
He stands, towering over me so high that I have to crane my neck all the way up to maintain eye contact.
I swallow at the suggestiveness of it, my chin level with the zipper of his suit pants.
I want to look. God, I want to look. But I don’t.
He lifts his hand and drags a broad thumb across my lips, pressing them to the side and watching them pop back into place.
Darkness flashes through those devilish irises.
“Or I’ll stuff it full for you, mi fuego.
” His voice is like rough silk being dragged across my skin.
Thick, abrasive, but somehow soft too. My answering intake of sharp breath slices the tense air between us.
With that, he turns, scooping up his laptop and stalking away without another word.
Practically panting, I watch his broad frame retreat, all coiled muscle and bunched tension. I blow out a deep breath.
Okay Guerra, you win that one.