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It seemed as though that morning personality didn’t extend to the weekends.
Neither did the clothing on his upper body.
And, honestly, it was the purest definition of being between a rock and a hard place.
Theodore Black had the kind of perfectly toned body that wouldn’t be out of place on a poster attached to the wall of a teenage girl’s bedroom. It was the body of someone who ate a good diet and worked out regularly but didn’t live and die by the gym. His shoulders were broad, and his back was toned, and there was just enough visible vein in his forearm to make a girl really stop and think about her life choices until now.
It was me.
I was the girl stopping and thinking about her life choices until now.
Mostly about how the heck I’d ended up here.
Theodore turned on the coffee machine and leant back against the opposite counter, reaching down to scratch his groin.
All right.
I had to make my presence known now.
“Good morning.”
He jerked, jumping away from the counter and turning in my direction. “Jesus Christ, what are you doing over there all quietly?”
“Writing the report on the Sango project,” I replied, hitting the shortcut to save it once more. “What else would I be doing this early on a Saturday morning?”
“I told you that you could leave that for next week.” He pulled a mug down from the cupboard. “Coffee?”
“I have tea.” I pointed to my cup. “And yes, you did, but I wouldn’t be able to rest this weekend with it looming over me.”
“Didn’t you make a point about not working on a weekend?”
“Yes, but I finished early yesterday thanks to you being on your deathbed due to hunger, so I just worked that time instead.”
“Very efficient of you.” He put the mug under the machine and pressed the button to make it brew. “Although you didn’t take my complaints very seriously, given that you did yoga and had a bath before cooking.”
“With your permission,” I reminded him. “And you should buckle up because I’m going to start teaching you how to cook. Starting tonight.”
Theodore froze. “You really don’t need to do that.”
“I really do. Then you can cook for yourself the next time you starve to death.” I reached for my mug and sipped, cradling the still-hot cup in my hands. “It seems too cold for April, don’t you think?”
“Mm, it’s a bit chilly.” He pulled his mug from under the machine and walked over to the table. “Have you finished the report?”
“Yes. Want me to email it to you?”
“No, I’ll just be tempted to work, and I’m trying to find some balance.” He sipped. “Have you seen the lettings office in person yet?”
I peered up at him. “That doesn’t sound like a question someone trying to find some work-life balance should be asking.”
He pressed his lips together. “You’re right.”
“You should also put on a t-shirt.”
“I’m good.”
“I’m not.”
“Am I that bad to look at?” There was an almost playful glint in his eye.
