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And that’s the mind-fuck of it all. She wanted to have dinner with me. She wanted to get to know me. I’ve given her no reason to like me, yet she asked to spend more time with me.
Of course, I wanted to, but it would have been inappropriate. Still, when she scrambled to get away from me as fast as she could, something in me chipped away. I called out for her, but Harlow was already sprinting to the elevator.
Sighing, I try to get in the right headspace for work. I wasn’t sure how to react to seeing Harlow the day after the incident, so I emailed her a list of tasks and said I would be out of the office for the remainder of the day. Then, yesterday, I decided to reschedule a conference call that lasted far longer than it needed to, just so I wouldn’t have to face her. Very mature, I know.
I can’t keep Harlow away for the remainder of the month, so I’m going to have to deal with the awkwardness at some point. I just don’t know how to approach the woman without letting her see just how obsessed with her I’ve become.
It’s not just that I dream about her at night and wake up hard as a fucking baseball bat, though that in and of itself is beyond inappropriate.
There’s something else. Something deeper. When I’m around her, I feel things I have no interest in feeling and think about my life in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I’ve never cared about being alone, never even thought of myself as lonely until Harlow showed up with her silky blouse and bright golden eyes.
I’m not letting myself fantasize about combing my fingers through her soft, inky black hair and cupping my hand around the back of her neck so I can pull her lips closer to mine. I’m definitely not picturing her spread out on my bed, her thick thighs parted, inviting me to devour every inch of her. I would never entertain the thought of more with Harlow. Never think about making her breakfast in bed, cuddling up by the fireplace, or bundling up and building a snowman together.
That would be truly insane. I don’t even know how to build a snowman.
The elevator chimes a second before the doors open. I’m expecting to be the only one here since it’s only a few minutes past six in the morning. However, I stop in my tracks when I see a little desk light on, illuminating Harlow as she types away on her computer.
I take a second to study her silhouette in the soft light, my eyes following the curve of her button nose and round cheeks, down the gentle slope of her neck, before reversing their path.
She’s precious.
Which is preposterous.
Still, my chest grows tight the longer I look at her, my hands squeezing into fists so I don’t do something stupid like lace my fingers through hers and pull her up from her desk so I can finally brush my lips against hers.
“What are you doing here?” I say more harshly than I meant. Another thing I never cared about before I met Harlow.
Just like every other time I’ve grunted at her, she graces me with a sweet yet sassy grin that makes her eyes glow. It does things to me. Crazy things that I’m not sure if I love or hate.
“You always seem surprised to see me working,” she answers easily, that tinkling tone in her voice soothing all the aches and pains written on my heart.
I can’t stop the smirk stretching the corner of my lip. I’m more relieved than I should be that Harlow isn’t skittish around me after I snapped at her the other day.
“It’s early,” I point out, taking a few steps closer to her desk.
“And I broke another one of your rules,” she counters. I lift my eyebrow, loving her flushed cheeks and sparkling lips.
“Is that right?” I move closer to Harlow, drawn to every damn thing about her.
“Yup. I was the first one in the office today.”
I try scowling at her, but when she bursts into giggles, I can’t help but smile. Harlow pauses, her eyes locking on mine.
“What?” I ask, wiping at my mouth and chin in case I have food stuck there. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she breathes out. “Your smile is even better than I imagined.”
Blinking a few times, I can’t quite process what she said. She imagined my smile? I’m not sure how to respond to that.
“Um, anyway,” Harlow says, clearing her throat. Her cheeks are bright red, and she looks down at the planner spread out on her desk so I don’t see her blush. “The real reason I’m here is to get a head start on my work for the day. My father is taking me to the Holiday Gala for the hospital he works at.”
I’m well aware of the Holiday Gala put on by St. Mary’s every year. I always get an invite and never respond. Just like every other party I’ve been invited to. The thought of Harlow coming with me, however…
“It’s supposed to be magical,” Harlow continues, her gaze finally meeting mine again. Her excitement and wonder are contagious, and I find myself wanting to experience the world through her eyes. “And the food! I’m not going to eat all day so I can save my appetite. I can’t wait to see all the gorgeous dresses and sip champagne. I mean, I think I’ll be able to. No one cards at these things, right?”
“How old are you?” I should probably know that. But Jesus, is she not old enough to drink?
“Twenty.”
