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Not tonight, though.
Because I keep staring at my watch, at the minutes and hours ticking by.
I keep thinking about her barging in to confiscate my coffee and replace it with vanilla flavored green tea. In her words, tea is better for my health and she can’t have me getting sick.
“I’m, like, the protector of W&S right now. Imagine if the mighty Nate Weaver gets sick? Nuh-uh, that can’t happen,” she said the other night when she put the tea on my desk. She was wearing one of her countless pairs of tiny denim shorts and a tank top that fell off her pale shoulders, and her damp hair covered the small of her back. Due to being too impatient, she never properly dries her hair.
“For the thousandth time, I prefer coffee, Gwyneth.”
“Coffee doesn’t let you sleep at night. Trust me, tea is better.”
“And I should take your word for it?”
“Yup. As your personal caregiver, I know what I’m doing.”
“Personal caregiver, huh?”
She grinned, flipped her hair, then cleared her throat. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“I don’t remember giving you the title.”
“I volunteered. It’s not about you, Nate. It’s about W&S’s and Dad’s legacy.”
“I see.”
“Yeah, so you kind of have to roll with it.”
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tell me something, is my personal caregiver supposed to be wearing that?” I tipped my chin to her top that said “Good Fucking Girl” in capital letters.
Without breaking eye contact, she grabbed it by the hem, pulling it down until it molded against her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, because one of her rosy nipples peaked and showed through. My dick strained against my pants at the tease.
“Aren’t I?”
“Aren’t you what?”
“A good girl.”
“You’re fucking distracting, that’s what you are.” I tapped my desk. “Come here.”
“Why?” She stretched her tank top until I could see the peak of her other nipple. “Are you going to make me a good girl?”
“It’ll be the exact opposite. Come here. Now.”
She did and I showed her just how bad she was while she was only wearing that tank top. And then she fell asleep on the couch in my office, and I was even more distracted all night long.
But that doesn’t compare to how distracted I am right now. It’s late and she hasn’t come home yet, not to mention that she’s still not answering her phone.
Just when I’m thinking about going back to the firm to get Christoph’s number from HR, my phone vibrates in my hand.
My hopes crush when I find Knox’s name flashing on the screen.
I answer with a, “What do you want?”
There’s a low humming of music from his end, like he’s outside somewhere loud. “Hello to you, too, Nate.”
