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“If I waited for your permission to enter, I have a feeling I’d be waiting a long time, sir,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice.
Sir.Jesus, I like that. I like it coming from my perky, precious little assistant far more than is appropriate. I don’t respond, partially because she’s right and partially because her sweater is the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever seen.
“What are you wearing?” I grunt.
Harlow gives me her full, megawatt smile, complete with a goddamn twinkle in her eyes.
“It’s the ugly sweater party today at lunch,” she responds, looking down at her red and green checkered sweater with mini ornaments hanging off it. The sleeves are lined with silver garland around the cuffs, and her shoes look like red velvet elf slippers, complete with little bells on her toes. Jesus, how is she adorable and sexy and everything I’m not looking for yet crave every minute of every day? “Did you get my memo?”
My eyes snap back up to hers. She raises an eyebrow at me, almost like she’s scolding me for not paying attention. If anyone else gave me that look, I’d yell at them to get out of my office. Apparently, I can’t do the same to Harlow.
I also can’t give in to what my body is telling me to do. Namely, tug her closer to me so I can finally taste those cherry lips. I’d kiss that reprimanding look right off her face, then spread her out over my desk and taste her other set of lips.
“Sir?” Harlow asks, pulling me from my inappropriate thoughts only to give me fuel for more later on.
“I received the memo, but I assumed these…festivitieswere just for employees.”
“Nope!” she replies, her lips pulling into an easy smile. “That’s the great thing about holiday parties - everyone can mingle and be on the same level, at least for a little bit.”
“Mingle?”
Harlow nods. “Yeah, you know, talking about your interests, asking people about their holiday plans, that kind of stuff.”
I sigh, frowning at the thought of small talk, though Harlow never loses her bright smile.
“I know what mingling is; I just don’t do it with employees.”
“Why not?”
Harlow takes a few more steps inside my office, her hands clasped behind her back as those amber eyes pick me apart. She tilts her head to the side in the most adorable way, and I scoff at myself for having such flowery thoughts.
“I live my life by a set of rules,” I explain. “Near the top of that list is no interpersonal relationships.”
“With employees, you mean?”
“Sure, that, too.”
The enchanting woman furrows her brow. It’s the first time I’ve seen her with a hint of sadness. Harlow is always bright and bubbly. Despite my efforts not to listen to the office gossip, some of it inevitably gets back to me. Word around the office is that everyone adores her and loves her decor and holiday spirit.
The only other time I’ve seen her smile slip was my first encounter with her and her father. He glared at her, and she folded in on herself, the light in her golden eyes snuffed out in an instant. I had the overwhelming urge to comfort her, which is ridiculous. When Allen grabbed his daughter by the elbow and dragged her off to the elevator, I almost ran after him and pried his fat fingers off her arm. If I see him touch her like that again, I definitely will.
“Isn’t that lonely?” Harlow says softly. I blink at her, not sure I heard her right. “I mean, surely you have someone in your life who knows you, right?”
“Yes, I… Well, there’s…” I clear my throat, not sure why there’s a lump clogging my airway. I haven’t thought about it that way, but it doesn’t matter. “I don’t need anyone,” I tell her.
Those magical eyes sink right into my very soul. I can tell she wants to say something, but she thinks better of it. Instead, Harlow switches gears, which I’m thankful for. I feel raw and vulnerable around her, and I can’t understand why.
“What other rules do you have besides no interpersonal relationships? We’ll circle back to that one, by the way.”
My lips twitch in what I think is an attempt at a smirk. I don’t mean to answer her, but this woman has me under some spell. “I’m the first one in the office and the last to leave. I only drink whiskey, and only on the weekends. I have exactly a dozen suits, and I retire each one when I’ve worn it two hundred times. I limit myself to one shot of espresso in the morning, and…” I trail off, not sure why I told her all of that.
Harlow grins like she just won some sort of prize. Because I shared information about myself? No, that can’t be it.
“That sounds very… systematic. Well calculated.” I nod, glad she appreciates my schedule. “And boring,” she adds, her eyes sparkling with a challenge.
“Excuse me?” I narrow my eyes at her, but it’s so damn hard to be mad at the ball of Christmas cheer and sunshine beaming up at me.
“I can respect having a routine, but you have to switch it up every once in a while.”
