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“Morning,” she muttered, tugging at the hem of his shirt and tucking a crazy curl behind her ear. “I, um…left my clothes downstairs, so…”
He gestured to the dresser, where her clothes lay in a perfect pile. Of course.
Sophie blanched. “You folded my thong?”
“At least I didn’t iron it,” he said, handing her one of the coffee mugs in his hand, which she accepted gratefully.
“Thanks. I’ll be out of your way just as soon as this caffeine kicks in. Mornings aren’t really my thing.”
“I know,” he replied, mouth hitching up in his trademark half smile. “I’ve seen your morning self, remember?”
“Like I could forget. I work for you.”
Gray winced, and she regretted the sharpness of her tone, if not the words. It had to be addressed, for both their sakes. He couldn’t like the stigma of sleeping with his subordinate any more than she enjoyed the skeeviness of having sex with the person who determined her salary.
It was almost disturbingly ironic—she was far closer to prostitution now than she’d ever been in her slutty Vegas boots.
“Why do you do that?” he asked quietly.
“It can’t just go left unsaid. What happens tomorrow? Do we pretend this didn’t happen? Do I ride you on your desk and dare anyone to question the CEO’s personal choices in mistresses?”
“Stop it.”
She took a sip of coffee and stayed quiet, but inside she was seething. It was easy for him to ignore the issue away. He had a six-figure salary and everyone’s unwavering respect. He could bang a transsexual pole dancer, and people would just quietly murmur that he deserved his privacy.
But not someone like her—if news like this got out, she would be that girl. The one who was sleeping with her boss to get ahead. The cocktail-waitress-turned-secretary who’d seduced the CEO. The slut.
“Sorry,” she said finally. “I think it’s better if I just go.”
He nodded slowly, and she stifled the wave of hurt that he’d agreed so readily. She handed him the coffee mug and grabbed her pile of clothes.
“May I use your bathroom?” The idea of putting on dirty underwear didn’t exactly appeal, but she could hardly go skipping back to her apartment wearing nothing but a man’s business shirt. She also wasn’t sure how she was going to get her car, which she’d left at the park. But she wasn’t about to ask him for a ride. She’d have to spend the upcoming week’s Starbucks money on a cab.
More reason to be mad at Gray. He was depriving her of skinny vanilla lattes and her self-respect.
Ten minutes later, she’d done the best she could with the wrinkled clothes and raccoon eyes and ventured quietly into his kitchen. Her inner five-year-old wanted to make a dash for the front door, but that would only make Monday morning more awkward, so she opted for a quick and painless farewell.
She should be used to the sight of Gray behind the stove by now, but seeing him cook some sort of elaborate-looking egg dish had her shaking her head. Really, how was a rich and handsome chef not married by now?
Sophie cleared her throat in the doorway, feeling more awkward in front of him this morning than she had in that elevator months ago. “I left your shirt on the bed. I figured you’d probably want to dry-clean it or something.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t you wear it for less than two minutes?
“Well, yeah, but…it probably smells like girl.”
“There are worse things.” His gray eyes crinkled slowly around the corners and it was almost enough to have her falling into his arms and begging him to love her just a little bit.
“Well, I’ll be going, then,” she said with a smile she didn’t feel, jerking her thumb toward the front door, feeling like a fool. Like he didn’t know where the exit was.
His face went flat again. “At least have some eggs. I’ve made enough for two.”
Whatever he was making smelled amazing, but she couldn’t handle sitting next to him, sharing a meal as though they were in a relationship of some kind. This had been a mistake, pure and simple. The sooner they ended it, the better they’d both feel.
“You don’t have to do that, Gray. I appreciate the gentlemanly approach this morning. Most guys would have made up some excuse about having their mother stop by to get me out of the house, but we both know that last night was…”
Wonderful, intense, the best sex of my life.
“A mistake,” she finished.
