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He barked a laugh. “I’m not surprised. I always knew we could be good together.” He winked and my mouth went dry.We could be good together. Suddenly I pictured all that laser focus used for my pleasure, his large frame pressing me into the mattress.
Heat flared under my skin. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my computer. He couldn’t know.
* * *
As we were nearing dinner,I felt his eyes on me. I was hyper attuned to his movements and was desperately trying to accomplish just one thing today.
“Yes?” I drawled, making the word into 3 syllables, and not looking up from the document I was marking up.
“Don’t you think you would work better in a clean environment?” He asked innocently. “I see nothing has changed in the last seven years.”
“The messiness of my desk is a sign of my brilliant mind. Nice try.” I knew he was angling for me to clean up my side of the office. Not going to happen. I loved my jars of pens, commemorative mugs, college sweatshirt, various shoes and stacks of empty notebooks just waiting for me to fill them. I didn’t have much in the way of decorations in the new office but I needed the comforts of home.
“I don’t know about that,” he said, skeptically. “I think I read somewhere that people are more productive in an ordered space.”
“Noyouare.” I pointed my red pen at him, still not looking up. “I am happy as a clam in here. In fact, I only have…” I checked my document briefly. “…5 more pages left to review. I’m a reviewing machine and don’t you forget it.”
He snorted. “Don’t be surprised if you come in one day and find I’ve rearranged things.”
That got my attention. I looked up and finally met his eyes. A shiver went through me at the way he focused on me.
“Don’t. Even. Think. About it.” I punctuated each word with a stab of my pen in his direction. You can keep your side of the office the way you like but stay away from mine. I’ll sleep in here if I have to, just to prevent it.” I looked pointedly at his pristine desk.
“Ok, but I don’t want the mess going any further than halfway. It looks like you’re running a yard sale from that desk.” His eyes narrowed. “I think I see some old chips buried under your sweatshirt. Are you sure that’s not a health code violation?”
“Very sure. You just need to stay on your side of the office and then we won’t have any issues,” I said sweetly.
He raised a brow and inched his chair closer.
In response, I grabbed an index card and wrote “Andrew’s Side.” I placed it just slightly over the 50% line.
He toed it forward to halfway. “This note card is the only thing keeping my sanity intact.” He smirked.
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have any. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made it this far. You could have retired long ago with the Markman fortune to a Caribbean island.”
His eyes went hard at my words and my stomach dipped.
“The Markman fortune, eh? What do you think? That I do this just for fun?” His mouth had a cruel twist to it and I waffled. How to respond? He steepled his fingers and crossed one ankle over his knee as he waited for my response. He was the picture of elegance even in his anger.
Frankly, I had never really been sure why Andrew wanted to be a lawyer. He was incredibly driven but he definitely didn’t need the money. I was self-aware enough to admit that I wanted it in good part because of the wealth it brought.
“Nothing to say?” He mocked. “I’ve heard you and Cynthia calling me a trust fund brat. I know you think I don’tdeservethis like you do.” There was a world of derision in that one word and I ground my teeth.
“That’s not true,” I said hotly.
“Isn’t it though?” Another cruel smile.
“I just have a hard time seeing why you need this when you have all that.” I spoke carefully, knowing I was being too honest.
“So you think I shouldn’t care? Or perhaps that I shouldn’t work hard and I should just roll over and let you win?” The twist of his lips and his cold tone made my heart race.
“No, Andrew. I think you’ve been given every advantage and you still feel sorry for yourself.” As the words left my lips, I knew they were a mistake.
His eyes shuttered even more. “You don’t understand why I could possibly want to do this job since I have family money. I think that says more about me than it does about you.” He spat the words.
“So explain it to me then!” I burst out. I had no good answers for him, other than unkind assumptions I didn’t want to air.
He regarded me with cool eyes and a set jaw. He cocked his head. “No, Margo. I don’t think I will. You don’t deserve that from me. Just know that I haven’t taken a dime from my parents in eight years.”
