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Her hands come to my tie and she straightens the knot at my throat. “Glad to help.” She bends and kisses me, sweeter than usual. “Your place or mine tonight? I’ll cook.”
I should take tonight to myself. Lock myself in my home office and spend every waking minute scouring the Barron investments for discrepancies. Sift through spreadsheets with a fine-tooth comb. I should. But staring at endless lines of numbers on a computer screen for twelve hours straight fucks with your head. Before you know it, none of it makes sense.
My hands settle on her hips as I lift my lips to meet hers again. “Mine. I’ll let you know when I head out.”
Another kiss, then she steps around the desk, shoulders her purse, and walks to the door. “Later, Mr. Howell.” She waves her fingers at me as she twists the knob and exits the office.
My dick twitches as she says Mr. Howell and I bite my bottom lip. Now is not the time or place. I have more pressing issues to deal with. Like how ten grand disappeared and where the hell it went.
I flip open the laptop and dive back in, determined to get results. If I don’t make headway, IT is my next call. The sooner I get answers, the better.
A glitch. It has to be a glitch. I refuse to believe otherwise.
Chapter Nine
SKYLAR
The house goes dark as I plate the steaks.
“Shit,” I bite out as I stumble back to the stove with a hot pan in my hand.
Light shines from the living room as Lawrence steps into the kitchen with his phone flashlight on. “You okay?”
I shift the pan to the left, setting it on the burner, then bring my pinkie to my mouth. My skin hit the metal grate a split second, but it was long enough to sting the skin.
“Yeah. Just bumped the stove a second.”
Lawrence tugs at my hand and examines the pink angry mark on my finger before kissing it. “Run it under water. I’ll get the first aid kit in a minute.” He guides me to the sink as if walking the few steps alone will injure me further. “Where’s your phone?” he asks once the water cools my skin.
“On the counter.” I jerk my chin toward the breakfast bar.
Fetching my phone, Lawrence taps on the flashlight and sets the phone beside me on the counter. He kisses my lips, then steps back.
“Be right back. Checking to see if the neighborhood is out too. Then I’ll grab the kit.”
“’Kay.”
He wanders off and I dry my hand on a dish towel. The burn didn’t break the skin, but it will sting a few days. I finish plating the rest of dinner—at least it finished cooking—and set the plates on the bar. Lawrence comes back to the kitchen, a scowl firmly planted on his face, a small box in his hand.
“We’re the only one without power. Checked the breakers and everything’s fine.” He waves his phone. “Reported the outage, so hopefully it’ll come back on soon.”
I pat the barstool to my right. “While we wait, let’s eat.”
Before either of us takes a bite, Lawrence gently rubs a dab of ointment on the wound, secures it with a bandage, then kisses the minor injury. This tender side of Lawrence… I really like it when he gets rough, but damn, I like his caretaker side too.
The steak, potatoes, and honey carrots disappear from our plates as we talk about the rest of our days. Lawrence is no closer to an answer with his client’s account. His frustration is evident in each word and hand flail. Sure, I deal with spreadsheets and clients for CKI, but mine are more about marketing stats and which restaurant needs more promoting. When it comes to the CKI’s finances, I throw my hands up and step back.
When our plates clear, I take them to the sink. As I turn the faucet on to wash them, a knock sounds at the front door. Lawrence walks around the bar, presses his lips to my forehead, then heads for the door.
“Probably the power company. Be right back.”
I scrub up the dishes as mumbled conversation drifts from the front door. I finish the last of the utensils when Lawrence walks back in, jaw clenched and lips in a straight line. That can’t be good.
“Is it okay if we stay at your place tonight?” he asks, irritation evident in his voice.
Setting the fork in the rack, I spin to face him. “Yeah. Sure. What’d they say?” I point toward the front door.
Unhumorous laughter floats in the room, the sound churning the dinner in my belly.
