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“Fine,” I say.
She nods and slips her tablet back into her leather briefcase. I stare at her. Her movements are graceful. Beautiful.
I’m close behind her, and when she turns, it puts her right up against me. Her breath catches in her throat, and her eyes turn from teal to sapphire. I stare down at her. The atmosphere around us changes, and she swallows. I glance down at her lips. Full and perfect. It wouldn’t take anything to close the distance and kiss her. I sway on my feet, almost giving in to the urge. She’s magnetic. The air around us is almost electric, pregnant with the weight of my need to touch her, to explore her. Her breathing is shallow, her lips parted.
Would she let me kiss her? Would she let me fuck her?
Stop it.
I clear my throat. I’m a fucking professional. And she’s just another wardrobe consultant. Young.Tooyoung.
She takes a step back and breaks the spell.
“I’ll let you know if I get stuck,” she says.
I nod. “You know where to reach me.”
She turns and I escort her back to the front door. I open for her and she turns to face me.
“I’ll send your invoice tonight,” she says. “I’m sorry again for being late.”
“It’s alright,” I say.
She nods, looking unsure if she believes me. But I already forgot about that slight. She turns and my mind spins. This can’t be it. One measurement, one meeting—the rest will happen by courier and email. I have to see her again.
“This event,” I say before I can catch myself. “It’s for charity. It’s not a closed guest list.”
She frowns slightly. Even in her confusion, she’s beautiful.
“I have two extra tickets.” I only wantherthere, but no one goes to something like that alone. Two sounds better. “You should go.” I watch her features as her eyes widen in surprise, that frown disappearing.
“Oh. I don’t think—”
“I’ll email them to you,” I cut her off.
“Thank you,” she finally says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
I nod curtly and walk with her to the elevator, pressing the button to summon it. We stand in silence, waiting for the elevator. I want to say something—anything—to hear her voice again. What the fuck am I supposed to say? She renders me dumb.
The doors slide open and Rachel steps in.
“Thank you,” I say to her and hold out my hand. I want to touch her one more time.
She nods and takes it, her touch delicate as before. “You’re very welcome.”
The doors slide closed and a moment later, she’s gone. I stare at the closed elevator doors and flex the hand she touched before I turn to my front door.
Chapter 2
Rachel
“What’s his name?” Samantha asks, opening packets of makeup she just bought at the store.
“Blake Ford,” I say.
“Hot?”
“Delicious,” I admit. “But grumpy. And older. He’s got that silver fox, distinguished thing going for him.”
