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I turned to stare at her fully, my heart clenching something in my chest. “Are you propositioning me?” I gripped my steering wheel, the way she clutched shed keys.
Never mind the fact I had nearly done the same thing back at the car when we left the soup kitchen. That had been an experience, showing me a bit more about Juniper and what her sense of normality looked like when she wasn't working for me.
“Juniper?” I prompted none too gently.
“No!” She shook her head, but still wouldn't look at me “No.” She murmured more softly, unwinding her fingers and pulling the door open. “Not at all. Thank you for the ride I'll see you—” Glance to me and her cheeks coloured. The flush started in the middle of her cheeks and spread outwards, creeping down her neck into her cage.
I wanted to know how deep that flush would go.
My cock twitched at that, and I wished suddenly that I offered to take her home. Not that I expected she would've accepted the offer, and it would've made the next two days before Christmas hellishly uncomfortable, as well as opening myself up to a lawsuit. I didn't want to have to deal with that at this time of year or any other.
I reached across to graze my knuckles down her arm, heat blazing through the sick puffer coat she wore over everything else. "Good night, Juniper."
"Good night, Mr. Klauss." She scrambled out of my car in a flailing of limbs and Christmas stripes, but it was the look she sent me over her shoulder that froze me where I sat. Wide with fear and audacity – that she’d spoken out to me or offered what she had? Had she actually offered anything at all, or had she just asked me up for a cup of dodgy coffee? My mind spiraled as I watched her, but it was the edge of that gaze that caught my attention. The cheeky little brat knew she made a move on me and had scared herself doing it.
It also looked like she was enjoying herself.
Mhmm. I could work with that.
I opened my mouth to say something else, but she closed the door quickly and moved away.
Juniper Blackthorne was proving to be very interesting indeed.
***
Isat at my desk workingfor the next two days straight from the moment I got out of bed before the sun even thought of entering my side of the world while San Diego was still asleep. But New York wasn't, and I used that time to work on my portfolios on the east coast before anyone else jumped in on me.
Half of the rest of the world was awake at the same time, which left me with plenty of hours in the day to deal with my own country and assets.
I run my fingers over the touchpad, a flat desk designed for me by some genius out of MIT. I bought the patent from the kid, gave him a job and he redesigned the offices in all my businesses to create a more relaxing, ergonomic workspace.
Productivity increased by thirty percent overall across my businesses.
I gave him a raise and a promotion.
The single decoration on top of my glassed desk was a photo frame tipped forward. I ran my thumb over its cheap wooden frame, a gift purchased and given well before I made my first billion.
"It's almost Christmas day, you know." I spoke to the open air, the pad of my thumb still pressed to the smooth surface that had once been rough. "I ordered some of that gingerbread syrup stuff you seem to like. I only do it for Christmas. Can't abide sweetness in my coffee, but you know that. For this time of year, I'll make an exception.” I smiled, thinking of that cuppa, and closed off my screen. "Actually, I might go do that now." I pushed back in my chair as Juniper entered my office without knocking. My hands quickly rose and I flexed my fingers, bringing them back to the document I was working on. "I'm not doing any public engagements today, or any other day."
The words came out brusquely, and I realized I'd barely spoken to her over the past few days.
She sat outside my office in the small waiting room, perched in the corner of a cream, leather lounge, tapping away on her own laptop and sending me information as I needed it.
Other than that, we had little contact at all.
And now here she was, standing in the middle of my office, stunning in a soft blue skirt suit with an off white blouse beneath her jacket while I yabbered on to my dead wife.
"Oh, did I interrupt a phone call? I'm sorry." She looked aghast and slightly crestfallen. "I should've knocked. I'm sorry."
"You're here now." I stared at her, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. How much had I hurt her, first with my assumptions the other night and now?
"Oh, nothing. Except something about maybe a coffee. Did you want one?" She clutched a laptop the way she had her keys the other night.
I swallowed hard. “I was about to go make one. And I don't employ you to do menial tasks, not when I'm paying you hundreds of dollars an hour just to go and make me a coffee."
“No, you don't." She shook her head, the corner of her mouth pulling up. "But you're certainly worth more than a few hundred dollars an hour, which makes me your coffee bitch."
The air stilled between us as I realized she was right. "Fine. Suppose it does." I jammed my hands into my pockets and squeezed my thighs, pinching them to and use the pain to relocate my attention to that. Slowly, the pressure in my lungs eased, and I managed to inhale a full breath.
