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“Shipping minion.” He chuckles. “Hopefully, you’re serving a worthy cause.”
“We serve one master and one master only.”
He raises his eyebrow and waits.
I crack a smile. “Coffee is king in our department. The roast rules the roost. We bow down. If there’s none in the pot in the break room… total anarchy.”
He gets the smiley-eyed look again. “I see.”
“Oh, and there’s a guy up on the fourth floor who’s sort of a big deal, too.” Where is this coming from? I’m acting like Brock and I are two singles at a bar, chit-chatting over beers.
“I hear he’s a real monster,” Brock teases.
“So said a shipping minion, but I bet she felt bad about that after.”
“Did she?”
I nod. “She did.”
“Well, no need. The guy up on the fourth floor has pretty tough skin.”
His statement makes a warm glow stir inside me. He’s not mad about me calling him a monster. Whew.
As we look at one another, the glowing feeling grows stronger. Butterflies stir to life in my core.
I can’t let this—being here, flirting with Brock—I can’t let it give me butterflies.
We are flirting, though.
And the best part is, he started it.
But then, abruptly, his mood shifts.
His smile fades as he glances around the room. Then he nods. “Good. I see you tidied up. I had to wipe up urine earlier, and that’s as far as I got before I had to take that coaching call with Bailey Marks.”
It’s wild how casual he manages to sound about the fact he was just on a call with a world-famous professional fighter. I’ve only seen Bailey Marks on television—and Brock was just coaching him.
That’s Brock.
So elite, he’s in charge of instructing the upper-crust celebrities and athletes of this world. Me? I’m his shoeless, starry-eyed assistant.
And, speaking of shoes…
I wish I had never kicked mine off.
Now, when I look down at my feet—it’s easier than looking at his handsome face—I see that I’m still in those darn mismatched socks.
Brock must catch me looking at my toes because he says, “Pink. Green. Quite a statement you’re making…” He glances at my left hand, “Miss Temple.”
For lack of something better to do, I wiggle my toes. “The colors are kinda compliments. Warm and cold. Sort of like a pink rose blossom and a green stem.”
I don’t know why I do things like this. I mean, I say dumb things. The fact is, I’m nervous under his gaze.
I’m so far from hiding from Brock, it’s not funny. My old run-and-hide ways will not save me, and I find myself woefully short on other strategies.
Well, besides flirting and babbling, that is. Those seem to be brimming in me. “Pink and green go nicely together, and they’re both cheerful colors. Also, really, not Miss Temple. It’s just Gwen.”
“Ah. Right. You said that at your desk.”
