Page 9 of Protecting Love

“Doesn’t seem to me like you should worry about your calorie intake.”

The damn woman could have been a runway model with the way she was built. She and her twin.

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You’re not supposed to mention those things to a woman.”

He looked around. “There is no one here but you and me. Not this early. And it’s not like I insulted you, did I?”

Lorraine would have loved if he’d made a comment like that.

And using his ex-wife as a measuring stick was even more pathetic.

“Nope. Just saying, I would have figured with your past, you’d know those things.”

He closed one eye at her. “And what do you know about my past?”

The elevator was still climbing and not moving fast enough for him to get to the top floor. At least Paris would be off before him.

“That you’re ex-FBI,” she whispered.

He let out a laugh. A sound he hadn’t had in so long he was surprised it came out of his mouth. “It’s not a secret.”

“Sorry. Anyway. Commenting on people’s appearance, even as a compliment is a no-no.”

He barely contained the urge to roll his eyes. Just held her stare. “So noted.”

She laughed. That sound again.

He wished she’d stop that so he could figure out what the fuck was going on with him.

“Don’t be so grouchy,” she said. “Unless you’re not a morning person.”

“I’m used to working all hours of the day and night.”

Though his son wasn’t used to getting his ass up this early, but that was the price Ian paid when he asked to come live with him and not move with his mother.

He couldn’t blame the kid, but thought that would have caused another court battle.

That it hadn’t only proved how cold his ex had become.

“That seems to be my life right now. But today is a new day and I’m going to start it with a smile on my face. You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. The elevator finally stopped. “Your floor.”

“It is. Have a great day, Fletcher.”

“You too,” he said, thankful when the door shut him in alone again.

It climbed to his floor, he got off, swiped his badge to enter the main offices of The Carlisle Group, then again to get past the front desk, that was unoccupied, to get to the executive suite.

He went to his office first since he had a few minutes, dropped off his bag, opened his laptop and finished his coffee.

Paris was wrong. He didn’t drink it all day long, but no one needed to know those silly details of his life, like what he drank.

So he washed out his black travel mug, then filled it with water, looked at his watch, and made his way toward his boss’s office knowing that West was already there.

The door was open, but he still knocked on the frame, West lifting his head. “Hey, Fletcher, come in and shut the door.”

Nothing different there. No worries that he was getting let go.