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"You're gorgeous," he whispers only for me to hear just as Frank pushes the door to the building open and we step onto the bustling street.
Pulling myself out of Christopher's grasp, I square my shoulders and hold out my hand to Frank, who turned around to face us.
"Thank you for letting us in." I shake his hand, and then Christopher does the same.
"We took inappropriate to a whole new level," Christopher comments the moment we're alone. Swirling around, I take in his body language. Feet planted wide, arms hanging at his side, shit-eating grin stretching on his handsome face. He couldn't be happier if I told him Christmas is coming earlier.
"If it had been any more inappropriate, I would have climbed you."
"I believe you straddling my leg counts as climbing. Let's talk—"
A loud ringing interrupts him, and it takes a second for both of us to realize it's coming from his phone, which is tucked in a chest pocket on the inside of his suit. Pulling it out, he frowns at the screen.
"Have to take this."
I nod, stepping away to give him space, but he speaks so loud that it's impossible not to listen.
"That's a serious situation."
He's not shouting, but his tone is so cutting he might as well do it. Whoever is at the other end of the line has my sympathy.
"It's not going to cut it," Christopher thunders. "We need to solve the packaging issues in two weeks maximum if we want to be in good shape for the Christmas season."
Wow. It's barely mid-October, and they’re already preparing for Christmas. As Christopher spells out strategies and potential problem-solving activities, his voice grows calmer. I take note of the use of “we.” Bosses tend to do this, but what they usually mean is you do the job, I take all the credit, and we will call it teamwork. Christopher's intent is the opposite, taking responsibility for all the mishaps. I like this very much about him.
"Okay. Here's what’s going to happen," Christopher continues. "I will fly out to Seattle and stay there for two weeks, or however long it takes for everything to run smoothly."
And just like that, I lose all sympathy for the person he’s talking to. The news that Christopher will be gone for who knows how many weeks hits me like a punch in the gut. I already miss him. How silly is that?
"Call my assistant and have her sort out the flight and accommodation details," he instructs before hanging up. Rubbing his forehead, he tilts his head to one side and then the other, as if wanting to shake off tension.
"‘The Fixer's’ problem-solving skills are needed," I say lightly, attempting to cheer him up.
"Yeah. It'll be best if I'm on location to see things through."
"When do you leave?"
"I'll fly out today."
"Oh!" I try to hide my disappointment, but I'm not fooling him. Stepping right in front of me, he pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, resting his fingers on a spot at the base of my neck.
"I didn't plan what happened today," he says softly.
My skin prickles at the point of contact, and I lean in like a kitten searching for affection. I feel more vulnerable and exposed than I have in a long time. With no idea how to handle this, I try to cover it up with humor.
"So all that talk about seduction techniques was just that? Talk?"
Christopher chuckles lightly. "I think we have different ideas about what seduction means, Victoria."
"Enlighten me."
"I meant flowers and gifts and dates. All of that culminating with a night in which I take my time to explore you for hours."
With every word he utters, blood rushes to my cheeks. "You can't say those things to me out on the street."
"Why?"
"I'll start swooning." Not to mention there's a real danger I might spontaneously combust.
