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Archer is at the stove with his back to me. His thick brown locks are still damp from his shower. He’s dressed in a pair of gray slacks that somehow perfectly frame his ass and a white button-down shirt. It’s obvious his clothes are made for him. They are tight enough to enhance his obviously firm physique, but loose enough to allow him movement. He’s taking advantage of that by flipping something on the stove.
I clear my throat before softly saying, “Good Morning.”
Archer spins around as if I’ve caught him off guard. With a heated look in his eyes that will fuel my nighttime fantasies for weeks to come, he looks me over from the top of my head down his own t-shirt and boxers, all the way to my bare toes before landing on my face.
“You’re alive.” His mouth ticks up and forms that smile I just observed on his younger self. On adult Archer, it isn’t just mischievous, it’s downright sinful. He looks like he’s about to devour me whole.
“Thanks to you. Look, I’m so sorry about last night, I’m so embarrassed. Thank you for taking care of me. I can’t even remember anything after we left the bar.”
As he listens to my stuttering thanks and apologies, his face hardens back up. This is better. This is the Archer I’m used to dealing with. I can handle bosshole Archer. I’m not sure what to do with playful Archer.
“You can’t do that again, Hollie. What if I’m not there to save you next time?”
“I know, I never do that, I promise. The night kinda got away from me. Are… are you going to fire me?” I can hear the crack in my voice and make a vow to myself that I’m going to try to be less pathetic.
His features soften a bit and he runs his hand over his face in a gesture I now recognize he uses in frustration. “No, Hollie, I’m not going to fire you. You need to be more careful. You’re a brilliant assistant. I’d hate to have to replace you,” he adds sarcastically.
My face breaks out into a smile. He thinks I’m a brilliant assistant? This is news to me. He never gives me any hint of whether or not I’m doing a good job. I guess if he hasn’t fired me yet, I should take it as a confirmation that he’s happy with my performance.
Plating the eggs he’s been working on, he slides a plate across the counter at me and points at the barstool.
“Sit. Eat.” If the man hadn’t taken care of me last night, I’d have something to say about him ordering me around like a dog. I decide to keep my mouth shut and hop up onto the barstool. I eye the eggs a bit skeptically before taking a small bite, surprised they’re actually edible.
“These are actually pretty good,” I say, before taking another bite.
He lets out a chuckle at that and looks at me while taking a bite of his own eggs. “What? You don’t think I can cook?”
“I assumed you didn’t. Don’t guys like you not cook? I mean, we get takeout for lunch every day.”
“Guys like me?”
“Oh, you know,” I say, gesturing around the large expanse of the kitchen, “rich guys. I’m sure you could have a private chef on retainer or something. I’m lucky if my roommate bakes me a cookie where she doesn’t mistake the salt for sugar.”
He lets out a little cough, choking on the coffee he tried to swallow. “She’s done that? Aren’t sweet cookies like the first rule of baking?”
“You’d think. Just be happy I haven’t brought any of her creations into the office. The entire floor would be out with food poisoning.”
“You have my eternal gratitude.” He lets out another tiny laugh. I’m starting to like that sound. If I wasn’t already sitting down, I think my knees might be weak. “I’m not home enough to have a full-time cook, so I had to learn to make a few things, or I’d starve. Takeout is easier most of the time.” He shrugs those broad shoulders, momentarily stretching the linen of his shirt across his taut muscles.
Dragging my eyes away from him, I shovel more eggs into my mouth. Apparently, my hangover has made me ravenous.
There’s a small ding, and then Archer is putting two pieces of toast on my plate. I grab one and take a huge bite, not caring about looking like a lady right now. Toast is the perfect thing to soak up any alcohol left in my body.
“I can drop you at home before work so you can change.”
“Could you take me to the office instead? I can grab my car there, head home, and come right back. That way, you won’t have to go out of your way.” As I’m chewing, I suddenly remember why I was so upset yesterday.
Biting on my lip briefly, I decide to bring up the topic I’ve been avoiding, even though I really don’t want to. “I hope I didn’t cause any problems with your girlfriend. I’m more than happy to apologize to her face to face. Is she here?” My eyes dart around the room, like it’s possible I just missed her when I walked in and she’s silently sitting in some corner, judging me.
He turns his head and raises his eyebrow at me like he’s not sure if he’s annoyed or amused. I’m hoping the amusement wins out.
“I guess you don’t remember, but I told you last night, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“But—” I try to interrupt, but he continues on like I haven’t said a word.
“In fact, I haven’t had an actual girlfriend since college. Julia and I went out a few times, months ago, and she was under the completely incorrect assumption that we were together. I have corrected her of that assumption. In fact, add her to the ‘straight to voicemail’ list.”
He corrected her of that assumption? That sounds like the worst way to break up with someone ever. It would figure that this man has women all over the city thinking they’re in a relationship with him. I’m sure he sleeps with women and doesn’t want any strings while they want more.
