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I’m about to pull my phone out and send out a very embarrassing text asking him to push dinner by an hour when there’s a knock behind me. Spinning around, I force a smile in Marco’s direction.
“I know, I know. I said I would be leaving early, and I’m still here looking far from ready to leave,” I huff.
The scrubs he’s wearing today are covered in mini Mickey Mouses wearing sunhats and swim shorts, but despite how much I might want to, I don’t ask where he got them. One thing we both bonded over when we first met was our love for different patterned scrubs. As far as I’m concerned, if I have the option to wear scrubs without a lame, bland colour, I’m going to. Holiday prints are my favourite, but—
“You look frustrated. What’s up?” Marco asks, coming into my office with his hands in his pockets and a furrow between his brows.
I hold the dress up. “Velvet wrinkles easy, and I kept it shoved in a ball in my bag all day.”
“Oh, that’s an easy fix. I have a travel steamer in my office.”
“You do?” Surprise is thick in my tone, and my cheeks flush. “I mean, that’s great. I don’t, but maybe I should think of getting one.”
He flashes me a grin and nods to his office across the hall. “I go out a lot after work to meet my parents for dinner. They’re the fancy type. Dress shirt and slacks without a wrinkle in sight.”
I follow him out to the hall and into his office, taking in the identical layout and similar furniture. It’s clear he’s taken more time to get situated than I have over these past few weeks. With picture frames and a jar full of Werther’s candies on his desk and even a couple of throw pillows on the small brown loveseat, he’s gotten comfortable. I’ve only just managed to hang my credentials on the walls.
Marco shifts behind his desk and pulls out a small handheld clothes steamer and a fabric hanger. Impressed and relieved, I smile.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I say.
He winks. “I’ll take that title any day. Now, hand me that dress.”
I do, and he slides it over the hanger before walking toward the window and hanging the dress off the curtain rod. It takes him a few minutes to get the wrinkles out of the dress, and by the time he’s done, I’m antsy.
Glancing at my watch again, I inwardly curse when I see I should have been out front waiting for Maddox five minutes ago.
“Here you go. Wrinkle-free,” Marco sings, handing it over.
The deep green velvet material is what drew me to it in the first place, and no, that’s not because I know Maddox’s favourite colour is green. Or maybe it is. At this point, I don’t know if I trust myself as much as I should.
The dress is form-fitting, with a deep V between my breasts and the material tight over my hips and ass. There’s a slit up the left leg, from hem to just above my knee, and it shows just enough skin to be both sexy yet elegant. Paired with black heels, the outfit will look perfect.
I trail my index finger over the thin gold decalled straps—another selling point. “Thank you, Marco. I appreciate this so much.”
“Anytime. Feel free to use my steamer anytime you want.”
“Braxton,” a deep voice says, my name sounding growly and far too sexy.
A shiver travels up my spine as I slowly look up and over at my date for the night. I stare at Maddox and the crisp, black suit pants and matching long-sleeve dress shirt that are wrapped around his tall, muscled frame.
Thick thighs stretch the material of his slacks, and I wonder how tight his pants must pull across his ass, knowing exactly just how nice of an ass it is. The black pants also cinch tight at his waist under an expensive-looking leather belt with a silver buckle that gleams in the dull office light. He has the top button of his shirt undone, exposing a sliver of the black ink that must be scrawled across his chest, and he’s rolled the sleeves up once, or maybe twice, leaving his roped forearms open to greedy eyes like mine.
I gulp, and it’s louder than I anticipated, but even the prospect of embarrassment isn’t enough to tear my eyes away from this man. A pulse grows between my legs when our eyes meet, and his nostrils flare, an almost angry look crossing his face. But it’s not angry. It’s something dirty and intense, something that isn’t appropriate for work and definitely not when my co-worker is right here, watching like he has no idea what’s happening.
So, why haven’t I looked away and excused myself to get ready?
Why do I continue to stare across the room at him as if he might come storming toward me and take me in his arms?
I blink. Once, twice, and a third time as I finally break eye contact and take a physical and mental step backward.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Marco. I work with Braxton,” Marco says, words directed at Maddox.
“Yeah, great,” Maddox replies bluntly. I feel his eyes beating into my warm face. “We need to leave soon, or we’ll miss our reservation, baby.”
Parting my lips in surprise at the pet name, I find him watching me with an unwavering stare. He lifts his hand toward me, and with two slow steps toward him, I let it wrap around mine, hiding the zap that singes my skin when we touch.
Baby sounds so good coming from his mouth that I want to command he say it again. Fuck the consequences. But Marco doesn’t seem to want to let us leave without talking to the scowling giant beside me.
