“It’s not working,” I say with a glower.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s wrong with it is that it’s not working.” I know I’m being a prick, but now that I’ve called her in here and the door is closed, I need her to leave before I do something very fucking inappropriate.
“Can’t you fix it?” she asks.
“If I could, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But you’re the man who brought modern banking to the hands of the masses.” I feel even more ridiculous as she holds out her hand as though waiting for an explanation to drop into it. “Via their phones.”
“I didn’t create interface.” My voice betrays my frustration. Frustration that makes her glower as she presses that hand to her hip. “I’m a banker, not a coder or a software engineer. And even if I could do all those things, it doesn’t mean I’d be able to fix a bloody laser printer.”
“A laser printer doesn’t work by ‘laser beams.’” She has the audacity—the fucking temerity—to make air quotes around those two words. “Fine.” Before I can properly protest, she makes her way from the other side of the desk, her hip brushing my shoulder as she leans to examine my laptop. “Let me check the settings.” She begins to busily tap the keys, and I don’t even protest.
Why does she smell so amazing? Would she notice if I sat back in my chair right now? Would she be able to feel my eyes roaming over her delectable arse? I’d never considered myself an arse man, but hers is the kind I could stare at for days.And I probably have.But it’s not just her arse that makes me feel like a pervert. I watch her plump lips as she speaks just waiting for a flash of that tiny gap between her front teeth. I’ve probably spent hours wondering what it would be like to kiss her, and my imaginings don’t stop there. I curl my fingers into my palm when the notion to slide my hand over her rear flits into my head. Over the firm roundness, I’d run my hand down the back of her thigh before slipping it under her skirt and travelling back the other way. Her stockings are holdups, I’m sure. I haven’t seen the outline of a garter belt, though I look again, just to be sure.
I’m such a fucking pervert. I glance at my balled fists, wondering how stupid I’d look if I just sat on them. It would serve me right if she turned her head and caught me staring. It’s with gut-twisting comprehension that I realize she already has.
“See anything you like?”
“What?” I resist the urge to shake my head.
“I said, what are you like. You know, Brit speak.” Shetsksand rolls her eyes, affecting what I think is supposed to be an English accent. “What are you like, you total plonker?”
“I don’t know…” What this moment is about.
“I thought it was meant to be rhetorical.” She turns back again.
“Does that mean you’ve found the file?”
“No.” She stands straight suddenly. “I just thought I’d make myself feel better. I know I sent it. It’s weird that it’s not there.”
And now? Now I’m staring at her tits. It’s hard not to because they’rethere—right in front of me. Maybe I should stand, then my eyes wouldn’t be at tit level. But then she might notice this massive hard-on.
“Like I said…” I clear my throat, the words rusty. “I’ve been using email longer than you’ve had adult teeth.”
“I doubt that.”
“You saw yourself.” I gesture to my laptop. “The email wasn’t there.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she says softly. “You’re trying to remind me how much older you are. I was just disputing that fact.”
I don’t have an answer because the top button of her blouse has slipped free to reveal the smooth valley of her cleavage and the scalloped edge of her bra. A hot prickle runs the length of my spine. Since when has a little lace been so titillating?
“Why are you here?” I find myself asking.
“Because you called for me.”
“No, Mimi. Why are you here in London?” Is it to torment me? Because it’s pure torment having her here and that’s without the inadvertent flash of her cleavage, her inappropriate questions, the sight of her stellar arse, and the way I’m tempted to touch it constantly.
She doesn’t answer for a beat but turns her attention back to my laptop again. And I go back to contemplating her arse.
“Found it!” I startle at the announcement. “It was in your spam. Do you want me to print it out for you?” She glances toward the cabinet that houses my laser printer.
“That one’s not working, remember? Just… have it on my desk first thing Monday. Now, I want you to answer my question.” Reaching out, I take her hand in a brotherly fashion. “Tell me why London? Why now?”
“Because I needed a change.” When it becomes obvious that isn’t going to cut it, she inhales and starts again. “Look, when Connor died, my parents’ lives fell apart. They became so fearful, Whit. They saw danger around every corner for me. I understood why and I really wanted to help them, so I chose to live the kind of life they wanted. I went to college nearby in the kind of setting they wanted.”
