I managed to get us a fitting. Chanel will be there, and Tim will drop by the tickets while we’re there as well.
You’re amazing.
I know ??
I’ll send a car to pick you up after work.
As I leave the bathroom, I’m hit with the familiar smell of coffee. I blink, seeing Rosier standing by the coffee pot. “When did you learn to make coffee?”
He snorts. “Is pouring dirt into a cup that difficult? It’s rather straightforward.”
Kind of hard to argue with that. Coffee, water, press button, wait. Maybe I don’t give him enough credit. He reads, he can follow directions–when he wants to. He’s useful, and I’d rather eat wet coffee grounds than admit it out loud.
Oh, he’s also good with his hands, can’t forget that.
I rush back into the bedroom to get dressed: a simple women’s suit and white turtleneck. I return to the kitchen, and Rosier hands me a cup of coffee. I know I’m setting myself up for failure by trying it black, but I’m curious. One sip, and I’m assaulted with a bitter, acidic taste.
“Wow that’s strong,” I choke.
Rosier makes a face, I can’t tell if he’s offended or embarrassed. Either way, I grab a handful of sugar packets, ripping them all open at once and pouring them into my coffee. As I drink it with a piece of toast, I feel Rosier’s eyes on the back of my neck.
“What?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips and mirroring his grumpy face.
“I can’t taste your neck when you’re wearing that ugly thing.” I realize he’s talking about the turtleneck. “You keep covering yourself—it’s maddening.”
I roll my eyes. “I think you’ll survive.”
Then he’s next to me, wrapping an arm around my waist, “I could taste you somewhere else.” He palms at the front of my pants, and it takes me a second to realize he wantsmefor breakfast.
“You’ll survive,” I remind him, peeling his arm away from my waist.
I grab a to-go mug and transfer the strong brew, not wanting to waste his work.
I’m ready to head out, the door halfway open when Rosier slams his hand above my head, effectively shutting the door. My good mood is gone, and I glare at him.
“Are we going to keep doing this?”
“Is this not our goodbye?” His rumbling voice is like an earthquake, making me shiver. He brings his face to my neck despite the turtleneck, the tip of his nose trailing along my jaw. His lips find my ear, “Stay with me.”
I’ll admit, staying here and letting him eat me out on the kitchen counter is way more appealing than sitting at my desk all morning. But I manage to open the door enough to slide out into the hallway and think I’m finally free, just for him to slap my ass as I’m walking out the door. I seriously hope the sound of the door slamming covers my surprised squeak.
Once I’m alone in the hallway, I mutter, “Perv.”
But I smile to myself as I walk to the bus stop.
* * *
I’mat the office before everyone else and start to catch up on yesterday’s work. It’s like there was a company-wide announcement that I was out of commission because I have twice as many emails as usual. Hopefully, it will make the day go by quickly. I’m looking forward to trying on dresses and seeing Rosier pout in his tux. I wonder if Kas will make him wear a bowtie or something to make us match.
Despite all the emails, by the afternoon, I’m left bored with nothing to do. The phone at my desk starts to ring, and I jump like it’s transmuted into a snake. I thought that thing was just for decoration. I pick up the receiver with no idea who could be on the other line.
“H-hello?” I ask nervously.
“Minerva Morris, floor fifteen?”
“Y-yeah…”
“Car downstairs for you.”
