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Sweet Jesus.
Before Burns, I never knew a man could send you to heaven or hell with a single look.
“I know I’m right,” he says roughly. “Some loser bought you flowers you don’t like. Also, it’s not Wyatt I have in mind.”
“Oh? So now you’re trying to seduce some poor homeless lady with flowers? Dude. Why don’t you start with a hot cup of tea? I’m sure that’d get you laid a lot faster.”
He smiles darkly.
“Some women are old-fashioned. They don’t date before a man’s given them a real gesture. And for the record, you’re the one who brought up getting laid. Fuck, you make me sound like some comic book villain.”
“Well, when you look the part—”
“Poe, if I didn’t know better, I might think you’re just jealous. You’ve got the most eligible man in Seattle running after you all damn day right now. Why ruin a good thing, right?”
Does he hear himself? I could punch him. Seriously.
“Oh, please. I could care less if you’re sending flowers to Vladimir Putin. Just as long as they’re not mine anymore. Have at them, I guess.”
It comes out pretty harsh. He gives me a hangdog look that melts me right down.
“You said they were for charity, Nevermore. I’m being charitable.”
“They were for me to donate. Not have my boss steal the show,” I say sharply.
“Are Anna and Cheryl still giving you a hard time?” he says, giving the flowers a small shake.“I told her multiple times to back off. If she isn’t listening—”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, not wanting to cause any real trouble for Anna. “Nice way to change the subject when you don’t have a comeback, though. You did that with Wyatt too.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” He glowers. “Are they pushing? I’m serious when I say nobody here has a right to keep clawing at you when I’ve already vetoed the idea.”
“No,” I huff out. “But I’m sure you need people here with a little backbone. I mean, you put up with plenty from me, so why not Anna?”
I try to smile sweetly to distract him and fail.
“You’re such a shit liar,” he grumbles, shaking his head.
“Funny, because I haven’t lied to you. Anna hit me up again, yeah, but I can hold my own. I don’t need teacher to step in,” I say, my tongue flicking between my lips.
It’s kinda involuntary. I don’t mean to razz him. But I guess it does something because he turns abruptly, clutching the flowers to his chest.
“Lincoln? Wait up, I didn’t mean to—”
“I heard the whole thing,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “I saw Anna and Cheryl in front of your desk before I came over here, both of them giggling like eighth-grade girls. They even gave you crap about the flowers. With some attitudes around here, I do need to play teacher.”
Eep. We’re back to scary-hot Lincoln. The Viking Lord in a suit look that turns my tongue to stone.
“It’s honestly no big deal,” I whisper, pleading with my eyes. “Please let it go. Don’t say anything to Anna and Cheryl. They’re good people, even if they’re a little extra sometimes...”
He stares back at me for a long, heady moment.
“Does that mean you like working here then?” he asks gently.
After a long second, I nod. Sincerely.
“We’re the island of misfit toys, right? I belong here. I hope so, anyway.”
I wonder how he’ll take that, but he smiles.
He gives me an honest freaking smile that’s about as rare and gorgeous on him as a sunny day in a Seattle November. God.
“Me too, Nevermore. Thanks for the reminder. This place feels like home for good reason.” With that cryptic comment, he stomps off to his office with my bouquet swinging from his hand.
Overgrown bear. I still never know if I’m getting the short-fused grizzly or the oversized teddy.
But with the flowers out of sight and out of mind, I realize sometime later that I must feel better.
I go back to sorting contracts and printouts, trying not to dwell on how much raw power Lincoln Burns has over my emotions.
After six o’clock, Lincoln comes out of his office with my bouquet in one hand and his laptop bag in the other. He glances over at me.
“Good night, Nevermore.”
I look up, shooting him a look.
“Seriously? You really won’t tell me who you’re giving my flowers to?”
“They’re donations, aren’t they? I told you, they have a home. Unless, of course, they aren’t really for charity and you want to tell me who sent them.” His gaze hardens.
I glare back with arctic defiance.
“They’re for charity. The rest is none of your business.”
If he’s fazed by my challenge, he doesn’t show it. He just turns his back and starts walking.
Ugh.
For some unholy reason, curiosity eats at me like a dog with a bone.
I want to know who he’s giving my flowers to. So as soon as he gets in the elevator, I decide to do something stupid.
