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What is going on with him?
In the nine months we've worked together, Kyler Riggs has been the epitome of professionalism. He's excellent at his job, intuitive, fast-thinking, and a great problem solver. He's lively and talkative in the office, but around me, he goes quiet. Never once have we veered into anything personal.
Kyler spends his lunch breaks at his desk drawing in a red sketch pad. Every time I walk by, he angles the book away from me. I'm keen to discover what he's sketching, maybe even see some of his illustrations if he feels comfortable enough to show me.
He's a closed book. Pun intended.
I'd been hoping this five-day conference would afford us an opportunity to get to know each other on a personal level. Maybe over a late-night dinner at the end of a long day, or breakfast together at the hotel before we set off for another round of endless meetings and networking.
But no, Kyler, in his typical perfect PA fashion, saw to it that my days were perfectly structured, leaving no time for anything other than business.
But then we got in the car, and it started raining.
I scrape my hand over my beard. He's not over it. Whatever triggered him in the car is still affecting him now.
How am I supposed to navigate this?
It's clear that professional boundaries are important to Kyler. I have every intention of respecting that. He's got no interest in me beyond work. This trip has spelled that out loud and clear.
Not that I can say I blame the guy. I'm double his age…and double his weight. Why would a smart, good-looking, young guy like Kyler give an old bastard like me a second thought anyway?
The door opens and a gust of steam whooshes out. "Bathroom's free," he announces.
I barely hear what he says, my gaze drawn to his smooth, glistening chest. We're roughly the same height, but our body types couldn't be any more different. Whereas I'm chunky, filled out, and hairy, Kyler has a swimmer's build. An upside-down triangle body, broad shoulders that taper down to a trim waist.
He's drying off his thick mop of jet-black hair so he's oblivious to his boss totally perving on him.
What is the matter with me?
I lift my gaze to meet his hazel eyes. "Are you okay?"
His lower lip quivers. "Fine. Yeah. Sorry…sorry about—" He starts crying before he can get the words out.
Mindful I'm still wet—and still his boss—I reach out and rub his back. His skin is warm and still damp from the shower.
He's covering his face with both hands. "I am so embarrassed."
"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," I assure him, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades.
He lifts a few fingers off his face, the rest remaining glued in place, and if he weren't crying, it'd be the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life. His puppy dog eyes blink a few times, before he looks me up and down. My skin tingles under his gaze.
"You're wet," he announces. "You should have a shower."
"I'm not going anywhere until I know you're okay."
He gives a sad, defeated smile. "I'll be fine."
Damn straight he will be. I'll do everything in my power over the few days we're stuck here to make sure of it.
"All right, then."
I slip into the bathroom and take the world's fastest shower. I grab a white robe that's hanging on the back of the door and throw it on. I'm still fiddling with the cords as I step out into the room.
It's a nice space, modern, well-appointed, and open plan. A small kitchen, dining table, and living area take up most of the space. At the far end, by the floor-to-ceiling windows, which I assume have a wonderful view when it's not pelting down, is a king-size bed.
Looks like I'll be sleeping on the sofa, then.
Kyler's sitting on the couch I plan on using as a bed, facing away from me. I spot our luggage by the door. The attendant must've dropped it off while I was showering. "Want anything to drink?" I call out so as to not startle him.
