“I…I work for you,” I remind him. “I’m pretty sure there’s a clause in my employment contract that says if I so much as breathe in your direction outside this building, I’ll be sued so aggressively my grandchildren won’t be able to afford to eat much more than dirt. And not to mention what happened at the club.”
“With a napkin and a flick of my wrist I can make you the exception to all of those rules.”
I tremble, my body suddenly feeling like it’s entered fight-or-flight mode because of a dinner invitation. Why the hell would the richest man on the planet want to go to dinner withme?
He takes a deep breath, softening his voice to something velvety and warm. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since we met.” He twists a finger in one of the loose curls in my hair. “Let me take you to dinner. Please?” After a second, he adds, “I’m not a man who says please often.”
I shake my head. “I can’t go on a date with you. I’m sorry.”
“Not a date.Dinner.”
I try to wiggle out of the hold he has on my waist, but he lets me go only for his hands to cup my cheeks. My breath catches in my throat as he looks down at my lips and then licks his own. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” he asks, and I nod as he presses a light kiss to my mouth. Featherlight and cautious, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt me. It’s over in an instant, and he looks back down at me. “Are you still sure?” he asks again, and I nod, to which he presses his lips against mine again, soft, like the first time. “How about now?”
I nod, and he kisses me again, longer this time, and I suck in a sharp breath as he takes a step and presses my back to the glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. He capitalizes on the gasp that escapes my throat by shoving his tongue in my mouth, exploring the new territory. I can’t help the way my hands tangle in his lapels, pulling him closer. I feel him smirk and his kisses become hungry, ferocious, and needy. A small moan escapes my mouth, and my cheeks heat up in both embarrassment and desire.
He lifts me up like he did at the club and deposits me on top of his glass desk, slotting himself between my legs, all without taking his mouth off mine. I gasp again when I feel the hard length of him straining against his pants as he brushes up against me.
“Stop. Stop!” I gasp between our kiss, and he pulls himself away just enough to look at me. His eyes are lust-blown, his lips swollen, and I’m sure I look the same. I take a deep breath. “I can’t go on a date with you. I’m sorry,” I repeat, jumping off the table and making a break for the elevator, sighing in relief when he doesn’t follow me.
When I get back downstairs to my desk, I find an instant message request from Christian’s work email to my own.
Christian Reeves:If you change your mind,I’ll be waiting in the lobby at 5 PM.
I do not change my mind.
In fact, I’m so committed tonotchanging my mind that I stay glued to my desk chair until 7 PM to avoid him in the lobby.
Regret twists in my gut.
You’d think as a billionaire, he’d be dripping in women wherever he goes. Women that are beautiful and successful, with long legs and big boobs that never have a hair out of place.
But Christian has never been seen with a woman at his side. The paparazzi haven’t even snapped a photo of someone leaving his mansion doing the walk of shame at nine in the morning.
That alone makes it a huge deal that he even asked me in the first place. How many women get to say Christian Reeves invited them to dinner?
He’s the CEO, and I’m an entry-level nobody that’s been here since April. People like him don’t waste their time with people like me. It will only end badly, and I don’t want to put myself through that.
With all the craziness that’s been going on in my life, I decide to reward myself with my favorite pizza for dinner: ham and pineapple. I’m a savage, I know, but I can’t get enough.
After dinner, I shower and start to think about my brother, Travis, and his wedding in December. He’s marrying his longtime boyfriend, Justin, at a beautiful vineyard in California. I run through all the shoes in my closet and think about which ones will look best with my dress. Nude pointed-toe heels are always a good bet, and mine are well broken in from all the love I’ve given them over the years. I wore them to prom, and my high school, college,andlaw school graduations. Nothing better than a good pair of heels.
My dress is sunflower yellow, despite the wedding being in December. Travis proposed to Justin in a field of sunflowers, so they’ve decided to make that their wedding theme. I don’t think I’ve ever even glanced at a yellow dress before, but when I found it hanging on a rack in a thrift store six months ago, I snagged it. It’s pretty damn ugly. Lacking in shape with unflattering fabric. Looks like something my grandmother would wear, but I didn’t have a lot of money to spend at the time. I’m stuck with it now.
Speaking of my ugly dress, I need to hem the bottom so that I’m not scrambling to do it right before the wedding. I take the dress out of my closet and set it on my bed along with my sewing kit. I mark the new hemline and start to sew it by hand, the cool breeze fluttering into my apartment through the cracked window. Every few minutes, I pause to look outside and up at the sky like I’m a princess waiting for Prince Charming.
I used to do this all the time back in Texas. I could see all the stars in the sky from my bedroom window. We lived just far enough from the big city to avoid the light pollution. Here in Meridian City, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a star in the sky. Just police helicopters and reflections of red, white, and blue emergency lights.
I sigh as I stare out the window, and my mind wanders back to Christian. I’m not stupid enough to believe he’s Prince Charming in my story. Whatever his attraction is to me, I have a feeling it will pass soon, and I’ll be back to daydreaming.
My Prince Charming isnot, however, the herculean asshole in a red mask that refuses to leave me alone. His sudden appearance outside my window has me gasping, and I frown at him from behind the windowpane. I shut it before he manages to slide in, making eye contact with him as I lock it. He points at the lock. I shake my head and cross my arms. He has the fucking nerve to wink at me, and then holds up three fingers, and then two. I roll my eyes and unlock the window before he gets to one, because he’s broken into my apartment before, so I wouldn’t put it past him to do it again.
He slides through the narrow frame and closes it behind him. He reaches out to tap my nose with a gloved finger as he settles onto the other end of my bed. “Hey, angel. Miss me?”
“Pft.” I stick my tongue out at him in disgust. “You fucking wish. What the hell do you want?”
He pushes my dress and my sewing supplies to the floor to make room for his massive body. “Hey!” I protest. I use my foot to kick him in the chest to get him off. My bed is not made for two people and I’m certainly not going to extend neighborly hospitality to my stalker. He barely moves as the heel of my foot meets his broad chest wrapped in Kevlar. A vibration murmurs through my bones like I just kicked a hunk of steel.
“Such a sour puss tonight. What’s got you all worked up, angel?”
