“I do. And you can stop blotting my chest, now. I have another shirt upstairs.” I glance down at myself once, then back at her. “Not like you’re going to get a coffee stain out in the lobby, anyways."
“I—” She swallows. “You’re sure?”
No. I’m late, I smell like the entire building’s coffee order, and I had a very different morning in mind. But she looks like a wounded animal backed into a corner with her mouth parted and her breath coming too fast.
There’s a haunted look in her eyes I don’t remember from the board meeting, and I don’t like it.
“I’m sure,” I say. “Come upstairs with me.”
Her eyes widen all over again. “Withyou?”
“To my office.” I nod toward the elevator. “You can walk with me.”
“You want me to come withyou,” she repeats faintly. “Toyouroffice.”
I blink at her. Why is this so hard to comprehend? “Yes,” I confirm.
I can practically see the firing squad forming in her head.She nods jerkily. “O-okay.”
We file into the elevator and I hit the button for the executive floor. The doors slide shut, sealing us in a small box that suddenly feels even smaller.
Carly presses herself into the far corner like she’s trying to merge with the wall. She wraps her arms over her chest in a way that is both self-protective and, unfortunately for me, hard to ignore with the way her breasts press together at the V of her neckline.
I force myself to look at the numbers ticking upward instead.
“Rough morning?” I ask. My voice comes out more neutral than kind, but it’s the best I can do with my day already off-script.
She gives me a breathy, humorless laugh in return. “You could say that.”She bites her lip, eyes gluing themselves back to the stain on my shirt. “I swear I don’t usually assault people with coffee. This is… a first.”
The elevator dings. Executive floor. I don’t bother to respond to her joke. “Come on,” I say, stepping out.
She follows, eyes flicking around like she expects someone to jump out and tell her this is all a test. My name is on the glass door at the end of the hallway,SPARKKSin big block letters,CEOin smaller ones underneath. I feel her stiffen when she sees it.
I lead Carly into my office and close the door behind us.
The city spreads out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, snow clinging to the Flatirons in the distance. My office smells faintly of leather and the citrus cleaner the night crew uses.
And now coffee.
There are framed jerseys on one wall, photos on another — me catching passes, me holding Penelope as a baby on the fifty-yard line of the college stadium, Penelope clutching a football to her chest.
Carly stands just inside the door, clutching her coffee-less cup like a talisman. “I am so, so sorry,” she says again, voice cracking. She stares at me like I’m about to lift a gun to her head. “Please don’t fire me.”
I blink at her, realizing just how bad she thought this was. Probably my fault. “No one’s getting fired over a spill,” I reassure her, shrugging out of my ruined coat and draping it over the back of a chair. The shirt underneath is a lost cause. “That isn’t how I run this place.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Carly.” I undo the first couple of buttons on my shirt, fingers working automatically. Hot fabric peels away from my skin. “You’re not in trouble.”
Her gaze drops to my hands.
Then my chest.
She goes very still.
And color floods her cheeks.
Chapter 5
