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Stay here. We need to talk.
Cade
With note in hand and dread in her stomach, Abby sank to the oversize couch. The buttery soft leather groaned beneath her, mimicking her own emotions.
Was he planning on scolding her again? True, he may be her boss, but he most certainly was not her keeper. Anger began to override nerves as she realized Cade had no right to drag her away from Bulls ’N Beers last night. For once in her life she’d been doing something without thinking it through—and she’d been having a blast.
This morning, though, was not so fun. The hangover, the fact that she was to assist Cade’s fiancée in planning the wedding of the year and the fact she couldn’t turn the job down because she was still paying off her mother’s medical bills all made for a day-downing combo.
She swallowed the lump of tears that threatened to overtake her already miserable morning. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted her to dwell on her death, nor would her mother have wanted her to take a job that she’d hate. But, being buried in debt was not an option, either. Once the wedding was over and done, Abby would move on, no matter what Cade said.
On a sigh, Abby sank back against the cushions, welcoming the comfort they provided. Too bad the comfort she so desperately needed, craved, came in the form of a couch costing thousands instead of a six-foot-two-inch CEO billionaire with charcoal eyes, a slight dimple in his chin and shoulders that filled out his tailor-made Italian suits.
Yeah. Too bad.
Cade had wagered multi-billion-dollar deals. He’d gone skydiving with a daredevil associate just for the hell and the thrill of it. He’d even ventured to ask a woman he was not in love with to marry him—all for the sake of launching his business into other countries.
He’d loved every minute of those moments. But right now, standing outside his penthouse door, Cade could only stare at the dark wood finish and the gold plated P. All because he was scared to death to face the curvy, petite blonde.
The image of Abby riding that damn mechanical bull had kept him up all night. He wished he’d never gone down to that bar to haul her pretty little self home.
No, that’s not true. Even though the erotic image of her hips gyrating back and forth, her hair clinging to her damp face, had embedded itself so deep in his mind he’d never forget, he wouldn’t change a thing. He’d never known her to be so spontaneous, carefree and…sexy. At least, he assumed her trip to the popular bar in San Francisco had been a last minute decision—the bartender had told him Abby had come alone. This was one of those times he was thankful that people knew who he was and who worked for him.
He had to get that damn image out of his head. She was his assistant for pity’s sake. She aided him with everything from conducting business transactions to traveling with him to reviewing potential properties he wanted to purchase. Never once had he associated her with sex. But now, with last night’s events embedded in his head, that’s all he could think of.
With a bakery bag under his arm, Cade finally let himself into his apartment and forced himself to act like a man and not a teenager with prom-night hormones.
Abby’s pale, golden hair was the first thing he saw. The second was her bare, shapely legs propped up on his coffee table.
She turned to meet his gaze and jumped to her feet.
Angry with himself for allowing her to get to him at the most inopportune time, he let the door slam. She jumped once again, her eyes squeezing shut at the boom.
Good. A hangover. Just what he needed to deal with.
“Recovered from your night?” he asked, stepping down into the living area.
She sat back down on the sofa, but only on the edge. “I’m fine. Why am I here?”
Ignoring her question, he tossed the bag onto the table. “Here’s your favorite artery-clogging breakfast. Eat up, so I can yell at you again.”
Her perfectly arched brow lifted. “If my cherry cheese Danish with an extra side of cream cheese comes with stipulations, I don’t want it.”
Remaining on his feet, Cade rested his hands on his hips. “Do you really want to have this out on an empty stomach with a raging headache? Your choice.”
She eyed him for about ten seconds, then dove into the bag. As she devoured the flaky pastry, he took in her pink sleeveless, button-up blouse and white dress shorts. Even though her clothing was a wrinkled mess and her long, thick blond hair disheveled, Abby didn’t look like she’d slept off a night of drinking.
She looked as if she’d spent the night with her lover.
No. No, no, no. Throwing another kink into his chaotic life right now was simply not an option. And Abby Morrison would most definitely be a kink. Something he’d never considered until last night.
