“I don’t actually have a work project to discuss with you.”
“Oh.” I blink slowly, begging my brain to work properly. “Why did you pull me away, then?”
He shrugs, his grin never wavering. “You just looked like you needed saving.”
“From Corey? CoreyPembrook?” I shake my head with a laugh. “He’s harmless. Annoyingly persistent, but harmless.”
“If you say so.” He fixes me with a piercing stare, those red eyes swirling with an emotion I can’t quite place. “I apologize if I’ve overstepped.”
“No! I mean… no, you didn’t. I appreciate any excuse to get out of a conversation with Corey.”
Mr. Graves’s smile returns, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s the third time you’ve said his name.”
“Is it?” I shrug, trying to ignore the sudden tension hanging in the space between us.
Mr. Graves’s hand flexes at his side. “Yes.”
I roll my lips, not sure what to say as an awkward silence descends over us. “Well, anyway… Thank you. For pulling me away.” I try a small smile. “I much prefer your company.”
This seems to do the trick. In an instant, Mr. Graves’s face relaxes, and his easy grin returns. “My ego appreciates it, Miss Kent.”
He gestures for me to take a seat, and as I pass by, he snags the coffee right out of my hands. I’m taken aback by the bold action, but then he gives me that look that twists my insides, and I’m putty in his crazy large hands.
“I know you don’t drink coffee, Grace. There’s no need to be polite just becausehebought it for you.”
He knows I don’t drink coffee?“How?—?”
“You’re the only person I’ve never caught hanging out by the coffee machine in the break room,” he says. “Also, I went to make myself a cup of tea my first morning here, and a lovely woman named Brenda warned me I’d have hell to pay if I ‘touched Grace’s precious tea bags’.”
He laughs then, an intoxicating sound that fills the air and settles beneath my skin, heating my blood. “Imagine my surprise to find outyouwere the ferocious and mighty Grace Kent—keeper of numbers and destroyer of tea thieves.”
I breathe out a laugh through my nose, my cheeks heating under Mr. Graves’s intense stare. “I didn’t realize I had a whole title.”
He shrugs, his grin never wavering. “I may have added that part for fun.” Turning, he makes his way to the bar cart in the corner of the office. Instead of liquor, the cart is being used as a place to hold Mr. Graves’s kettle and his impressive collection of teas. A few unmarked bottles are shoved way in the back behindthe tins, but I can’t see what’s inside due to the dark coloring of the glass.
“Green tea with coconut?” He reaches for one of the aluminum tins up front. “I also have herbal, white, black, Earl Grey, oolong… anything your heart desires.”
“Green is good.”
“Sugar? Cream?”
“A little milk would be great if you have it,” I say, finally taking a seat in the comfortable leather chair. I keep my eyes pointed at the window behind Mr. Grave’s desk, trying to keep them from moving to ogle my boss as he prepares the tea.
After a few minutes, Mr. Graves returns, smiling as he passes me a porcelain cup filled with steaming green tea. The liquid is slightly cloudy from the cream, but it doesn’t look like Mr. Graves’s could have added more than half a teaspoon. Not wanting to make a fuss, I take the cup from his hands with a smile. “Thank you so much,” I say, bringing it to my lips.
Mr. Graves watches me with rapt attention, the muscle in the side of his jaw ticking as I go to take a sip. “Careful. It’s hot.”
Grateful for the warning, I blow on the tea for several moments before going in for a sip. As soon as the liquid touches my tongue, I fight the urge to recoil.What kind of tea is this?There’s a strange saltiness that overpowers the earthy notes of green tea I’m used to. Also, the water it’s been steeped in has a viscous quality, clinging to my tongue and the roof of my mouth. It’s not necessarilybad, just different.
I take another, larger sip to make sure, and find the taste far more mellow. Hmm. I think it’s growing on me.
“What kind of tea is this?” I ask, going in for a third swallow. “Mmm. I’ve never had anything like it. It’s so… different.”
Mr. Graves stares with an intensity that makes me shiver, his mouth set in a tiny, barely-there smirk. “It’s a special brew I make myself. I’d give you the recipe, but… it’s a secret.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Mr. Graves was looking at me like a wolf looks at a wounded baby deer. But Idoknow better, and my boss is just happy I’m enjoying his tea. “Well, it’s really good. Thank you again.”
“My pleasure.” Mr. Graves walks to the other side of his desk, taking a seat in his enormous leather chair. I can’t help but notice Mr. Graves’s tea looks slightly different from mine. Less cloudy, more milky.
