Not that she ever says a word about it. Not that she needs to—I can tell when she’s thinking about it, when she’s replaying my words or replaying that night from her own perspective. Her cheeks take on this pink, rosy hue, and she has this way of looking at me with those clear gray eyes. It’s almost as though she can see right into my dirty soul.
Fuck it, I need to get laid.
“What’s with those?” I make a negligent gesture in her direction. Clearly, I can’t help myself.
“What?” She sits up a little, her gaze sliding to her blouse, then the floor.
“Those. The shoes.” The bright-blue fuck-me heels. “You didn’t have those on earlier.” She wore black flats, not that I usually notice these things.
“Oh yeah.” She holds out her leg, turning her foot this way and that admiringly. I’ve stopped looking. But only because she’s flashing a little thigh. “I’m wearing them in.”
I’d like to wear her—
No. No, I would not.
“They’re pretty, though, right?”
“They’re hardly workplace appropriate.”
“They’re shoes. Enclosed toes. Seem plenty appropriate to me,” she argues.
“Yes, if you want to break your neck.” Or wrap them around mine. “Listen,” I add gruffly, “if there’s a problem with my schedule, I expect you to bring it to fix it, not just my attention.”
Her smile dampens as she lowers her leg, then reaches for her iPad. “You have a meeting with Alexander Beckett scheduled the same day. There’s a chance they might overlap. I thought I should ask which you’d like to reschedule.”
“Postpone the FT interview. Beckett is more important.” He’s the reason I was able to raise the finance for this venture. “Is it just Beckett or Olivia as well?”
“Jody made a note,” she murmurs as her attention dips. My attention remains on her face.By sheer force of will. “Both.” She glances up, seeing right through me again anyway.
“Better order lunch. She likes the sashimi from—”
“Okaish.”
“That’s the one,” I return brusquely. I feel like a complete shit. I bring up her shoes, then turn on her like a dog with a sore tail.
“You’ve got emails from another couple of publications requesting interviews… got it!” she tags on, tapping the screen because I’m already shaking my head. “There’s also a note to remind you that Lavender’s birthday is at the end of the month.”
“Shit.” I rub my hand across the bristles already sprouting on my jaw. “I completely forgot.”
“What can I help you with? Lavender is your sister, right?”
“Yeah, she’ll be turning twenty.”
“Then I can definitely help. I was twenty not too long ago.”
I try not to scowl. When she puts it like that, I feel like an old pervert. But Mimi is nothing like petulant, combative Lavender. I mean, I’m thirty-six, not sixty-six, but that still puts a dozen years between us. A dozen years and the fact that I’m her boss. It sounds like a recipe for disaster. For both of us.
“Is there something wrong?”
Me. I’m wrong. Wrong for wanting to bend her over my desk in nothing but a garter belt and stockings. Wrong and such a cliché. I give my head a quick shake and come up with some bullshit answer. “I was just thinking that Jody wasn’t up for shopping for personal gifts. Corporate was the limit. She said it was too much responsibility.”
“I don’t mind.” Mimi’s shoulders jump along with her words. “Who doesn’t love shopping?”
“Well, me.”
“I bet I could convert you.”
“No, Mimi. You really couldn’t.”
