In a whisper, she tells me to text her. “I’m going to want every salacious detail tomorrow.”
Blackwell is watching us both closely.
If he has his way with me, there will definitely be wicked things to tell her at the next happy hour.
After we end the hug, he sees her to her car, closing her in securely. Then she’s gone.
Which leaves us—me and him—standing by the elevator bank. The air feels different now, thicker, weighted, expectant. And my pulse turns thready. I know what he’s thinking. And the problem is, I’m thinking the same thing.
I look at him. He looks at me.
“Your car is at your old apartment.”
On the drive back here, I thought of that. Coming in one car with Lila had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, with all the logistics to consider, not as much. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“Or I can take you now.”
“Honestly? I’m exhausted, and the mattress in my bedroom is so tempting that I want to spend the night here.”
“And the AC works better here. Makes it easier to sleep. And be comfortable.”
For a moment, neither of us speak, and I shift my weight from foot to foot.
“There’s a bottle of champagne in your refrigerator.”
“There is?” He thought of everything. And it’s surprising that he managed to pull everything off without me knowing a thing about. After all, as his assistant, I’m now managing the day-to-day details of most of his life. All this means is that he cleverly and thoughtfully arranged for the movers, flowers, food, security installation, and buying the champagne on his own. As I said earlier, everything was overkill. But it also means a lot to me.
He made a day that was overwhelming flow so much more smoothly.
“Would you like me to open it for you, Ms. Hollis?”
My heart is racing so fast that I’m afraid it will thunder out of my chest.
“I can help you celebrate your new apartment…”
Chapter Eleven
Seraphina
I hurry off the elevator as fast as my wobbly legs will carry me. The second the doors slide open, I’m gone, needing distance from Blackwell, needing to actually take a breath.
Being so close to him in the car, knees touching, and then standing near him in the confined space as we were whisked to my floor? His scent is still wrapped around me like an expensive invitation. To save myself, I have to put as much space between us as I can.
To his credit, he steps aside while I work the security system. Despite my training, I’m not as comfortable as I would like to be. But he doesn’t try to step in and do it for me.
“It will get easier.”
It better; otherwise I’ll stop using it.
He follows me inside, and he closes the door. There’s a soft click as he slides the lock into place. The sound shouldn’t make my heart skip, but it does.
Then he prompts me to set the alarm.
“We don’t really need it.”
“Not the point. You need to make it a habit. Those happen by disciplined execution of tasks.”
Maybe that explains his physique. Working out and watching every bite is obviously a habit.
