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"Mom, Knox wasn't being rude. He's explaining we can't delay this meeting. Please understand."
She sighs, ticking hertongueagainst her teeth.
"You call me as soon as you're finished with work today, Emma. I mean it." She closes in on me, making me fully aware she's pissed off. "Don't even think of dating him." She mutters under her breath.And then she's gone, her scent still lingering. I collapse in my chair, exhaustion taking hold.
Knox whistles low and my eyes jerk up, my face flushing red. Yep, she's a piece of work and a huge reason why I'm still single.
Heavy air fills the room, and compresses the awkwardness between us. What can I say? My mother shows herself without me needing to say a thing. I wait for Knox to say something, my mind racing. He's going to hightail it out of here. Who would want to date a girl with a psycho mother?
"Are you ready to go to lunch?" He asks, his voice soft. My breath hitches and I tilt my head to the side. Did I really hear him ask me to go to lunch?
"Ex... excuse... me?" I stammer, my flush deepening. My ears burn and I'm sure I look like a tomato.
Knox steps closer, his presence suddenly more known. The room grows smaller and I lose sight of everything around us, my brain is able to focus on only him. "I asked if you were ready for lunch. We're going to go to lunch, you being my mentor, correct?"
A smug grin plays on his lips, a hint of his cockiness returning. I don't know whether it annoys me or turns me on. I choke out a small laugh, glancing down as I fiddle with the pens on my desk. This isn't a good idea, Emma. He's a coworker, he only started working today, it's asking for trouble.
"I'm not too sure Knox..." Before I can finish, he's in front of my desk, his hands spread palm down, his muscular arms flexing as he leans down. His face moves inches away from mine. My breath hitches and my eyelids flutter. I can't move; I'm frozen in place.
His sweet breath caresses my face, tickling my skin. Oh, my God, oh, my God, say something, anything.
"I saved you. You owe me, Emma Russe."
I blink rapidly, my brain trying to process his words. I can't focus with him this close. His eyes drop down to my lips, his tongue slowly wetting his own. Desire pulses through me, heat flooding between my legs.
Oh, what sweet temptation he is. At this point, I don't care that he breaks the number one rule. Hell, I don't care if he breaks all the rules. His attention fully on me has my mind racing, full of nasty things I've only read about...
"So," his voice startles me, and I jerk, my attention snapping back, "Are you ready for lunch?"
Am I? I do sort of owe him for successfully getting my mother out of here, no easy feat, I must admit. Why not, Emma? Is one lunch going to hurt anyone?
~K~
What are you doing, man? You can't date her. She's a new coworker for one, and for two, it's a bad idea. I shouldn't be asking this woman to lunch. I should be staying here, organizing my office, and trying to get ready to begin the transfer of my patients here.
After doing some community mental health work, I worked at a clinic for a while, until I was ready to start my own practice. A lot of my patients from the clinic are following me here and I want to make it the smoothest transition possible. I'm working hard to make this business of mine successful.
I'm waiting for Emma's answer, as I study her face, memorizing her features. I desperately want to taste her, her lavender scent filling my nose. Memories of my childhood rush back, the many lavender plants surrounding our home making their aroma known. I close my eyes briefly, flashes of Ethan, Jane, my youngest sister, and me as we run through the fields, free and innocent.
"I guess one lunch won't hurt." Emma's voice breaks my thought, her face lighting up from her adorable smile. She moves away, rising to grab her purse and phone. "I was ready to go before my mother showed up unannounced."
I stand, gesturing for her to go ahead of me. "Damn, I would hate to have my mother show up without even asking. I mean, granted, we get along great, but surprise visits? Nah, I'm all set." I chuckle, hoping to keep the mood light. It has to be hard dealing with an overbearing parent, especially one who seems quite bitchy.
I follow Emma out as I do my best to keep my eyes off her ass as we head to our cars. "I'll drive," I offer, steering her towards my truck. My baby. A gorgeous F150, low to the ground and completely black and tinted. I've worked hard to have her and plan on keeping her around for a long time.
"Nice truck," Emma says, her eyes scan the frame. I open the door for her, watching her face as she registers the pristine interior. I'm a tad obsessed with keeping it clean. "Damn, do you spit shine this thing?" She laughs as she slides inside, her long legs fold up underneath her.
God, she's stunning. She's thicker than some but to me, it adds to her sexiness. Plus, more to grab onto. "Well, spit, no, but I do shine her every day. This truck is my baby, my pride and joy." I grin. "Please, be careful." I shut the door, as I hurry to the other side. A woman hasn't been inside this truck yet, and I find it ironic it's her. Someone untouchable, out of reach, as I'm certainly not one to mix business with pleasure. Been there, done that.
Sliding in, I shut the door and glance at Emma. Her back is as straight as a rod and she fidgets with her fingers in her lap. She looks uncomfortable and I hope it's not because of me. She sneaks a glance at me from the corner of her eye and her shoulders slightly relax, but she continues to fidget, looking back straight ahead.
I start the truck, the engine smoothly comes to life. "What's your stomach craving today? Pizza? Subs?" I ask, keeping my voice light in hopes she relaxes more. A technique I've learned with anxious patients is to project calm and they usually follow suit. Most of the time, all they need is comfort. I've tried not to be too overconfident; I don't want her thinking I'm a complete asshole. It's a defense mechanism, but I'm working on it. There is no reason we can't be friends as coworkers. We work in the same field; we're bound to have things in common. Often, therapists meet to discuss ideas and treatment ideas for patients. Advice and feedback are key in our type of work.
"There's a delicious sandwich shop right up the street, want to go there?" She asks, fishing her phone out of her pocket, the screen lighting up with messages. Probably has a boyfriend already, Knox. Doesn't matter anyway.
Her face falls as she reads the messages but she flicks the screen off, stuffing it back in her pocket. "Fine by me. Everything okay?" I nod at her and she nods back, her gaze drifting out the window.
Pulling out onto the road, we make it to the small strip mall in less than five minutes. I want to ask her who was messaging her and why she looked upset over it, but it's not my place. My damned therapist brain won't shut up. I can read people's faces like a book. Growing up, my mom always said I would be in a profession helping others. And here I am, trying to solve all their problems. Forget my own, though, that's a whole other story.
