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But when I glanced out at her desk, she had her finger caught between her teeth and she was staring at her computer. Her other hand was in her lap.
Did she not want to answer me? Why? What was the big deal about lunch?
I frowned. Maybe she was on a diet. The last few socialite types that I’d dated had always seemed to be on one. But Grace wasn’t like them. And by God, her figure was perfect. My hands had itched to touch those curves again since the moment they’d left them.
Or maybe it was something else. Perhaps she didn’t have money for a meal. Eating out could get expensive for someone on a budget. We paid her well, but she still received an entry-level assistant’s salary.
I hated the idea of her scrambling for money for food—or anything else. She shouldn’t have to pinch pennies.
Ms. Copeland? Have your fingers ceased to work?
My jab caused her gaze to fly to my office. She knew I was watching. I’d revealed my hand intentionally.
I would rather have her annoyed at me than worried for even an instant.
I also wanted the truth and would use any means to extract it.
Come in my office, Ms. Copeland.
After a moment, she rose and tugged down the skirt that crept higher with every moment. It wasn’t indecently short. She never dressed provocatively. Then she strode toward my office and hovered on the threshold, still gripping the doorknob.
“Yes?”
“Shut the door.”
Her nerves intoxicated me, the scent of them as pervasive as the light hint of her floral perfume. She closed it, but came no closer, keeping the mile of glass floor and seating between us. She stared down, her gaze on the harbor.
I wanted it on me.
“If you don’t have money for lunch, that isn’t a problem.”
Her chin lifted and her eyes blazed. “I work for my money. I don’t take charity.”
“So it’s charity if I ensure you don’t starve.” I rose and undid the single button on my jacket, well aware of how her gaze dropped before skittering away.
Nice to know I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t keep from watching.
I walked around my desk and leaned against it, crossing my ankles. “Starting this week, I will be adding a lunch allowance to your wages. Consider it a stipend of sorts.”
She tilted her head and tightened her fingers around the doorknob she still clutched behind her back. “As payment for services rendered?”
My cock stiffened. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. It was like the beat of my heart speeding up at the sound of her voice, or the incline of her chin. It was an involuntary reaction no different than the rush of blood in my veins.
That didn’t mean I had to like it.
I also didn’t alter my stance. If she saw what she’d caused, so be it.
“What services would you like to render, Ms. Copeland?” I asked softly as color rose in her cheeks. She would flush everywhere I knew, beyond the collarbone-bearing top she wore to the curve of her breasts. To the tight little nipples that beaded for me just from the mere question.
“I didn’t buy lunch because I brought my own. I don’t need a stipend.” She glanced again at the harbor beneath us and pressed her lush lips together. I wanted to bite the lower one until it bloomed red like the rest of her. “Besides, you all order out all the time. You must live in the gym to look like…” She waved a hand. “That.”
“I run,” I said simply. “Usually in the mornings, though I’ve skipped a few recently.”
I also didn’t tell her that I’d taken to running at night when I couldn’t sleep. Due to her.
“It’s the holiday season. Time to eat, drink and be merry.” I’d said it to be sarcastic—I didn’t celebrate holidays, and hadn’t since childhood—but the quick flare in her eyes made me grip the edge of the desk. “Do you not celebrate?”
“Celebrate what? Christmas? It’s not Christmas yet. And Thanksgiving—no, I don’t do that anymore either.” Her gaze snapped to mine and I was amazed that sparks didn’t go off between us. She was angry at me again, and I didn’t know why. “I just work, okay? I want this to be about work. No fun lunches, no talk of holidays I can’t celebrate.”
