It’s disguised as a backhanded compliment, but what he really means is, “I like your firm since you’re here to babysit your Peter Pan grandsons.”
In fairness, Nick might need a babysitter.
I damn sure don’t.
Once Winthrope’s in the elevator with the doors firmly closed, I let out a low, exasperated growl. It was an exercise in restraint holding it in this long.
Grandma and Nick both give me odd looks, but I’ve got nothing to add.
Making this dream come true for Brandt Ideas won’t be easy.
Then again, putting up with Ross Winthrope suddenly feels simple compared to the blond bombshell with a destroyer mouth I desperately need to stop aching to ruin.
The next morning, Miss Holly conveniently forgets my coffee. Again.
Of course she remembers Grandma’s and Nick’s drinks.
And the day after that, she waltzes into my office with stilettos clip-clopping against marble, announcing her arrival like a black cat catching its claws on a shag carpet.
I glance up from my work. “There should be laws against you wearing heels. Buy new shoes before you endanger yourself and half the office.”
Her full-pout, flirty pink lips open and she looks at the floor.
I die.
All because I’m torn with regret for not kissing her when I had the chance, and relief that I didn’t.
She sighs. “I thought they were cute. You don’t like them?”
Oh, I like.
Her black pencil skirt hugs the curve of her ass and the hem bobs up and down, just above her knee, revealing perfectly shaped calves any man would kill for. I try not to think about those legs, wrapped around me in nothing but heels, spurring me to render her speechless.
She’s more than cute, and it’s doing a horrific number on my last nerve.
“No one’s ogling your feet in this office. They’re too busy. Also, you’re dangerous in heels,” I growl, refusing to meet her eyes.
“Does that mean you accept I only had one glass of wine that night if you’re blaming the shoes for my balance?” She purses her lips.
Fuck, I could bite them.
“Not a chance. Why are you in my office, anyway?”
“Oh—nothing.” She holds her arm out, offering me the tall white Bean Bar cup clasped in her hand.
The name on the cup says “Warden.”
Lovely. She’s been talking to Reese.
I snatch the cup from her hand. When I plunk it down on my desk, under the name, I see Paige’s handwriting scrawled across a pink Post-it.
A sweet morning pick-me-up. Truce?
“Enjoy, bossman,” she whispers, turning to exit the room.
She swings her hips with every step.
Goddamn, is she doing it just to taunt me?
Does she know I feel like an armed grenade every second I look at her?
There’s nothing to truce over anyway, but it’s never a bad time for a double shot. Lifting the cup to my lips, I take a loud gulp—then promptly spray dark muck across the room.
Fuck! If this was any sweeter, it’d be liquid black cotton candy.
This is her peace offering? Trying to poison me?
If she wants a battle, let’s roll.
I jump on my laptop, forwarding her every meaningless assignment that’s ever touched my Inbox over the last six months, busywork I couldn’t muster a single shit about. All due tonight.
Half an hour later, she taps on my door.
“What?”
She opens it and steps inside, clearing her throat with this nonchalant smile that draws too much attention to lips worthy of a hundred hate-kisses.
“I got your emails, Mr. Brandt.”
“Yeah? Then you have plenty of work to do.”
“Looks that way.” She smiles ever so slowly. “How was your coffee?”
I don’t give her the pleasure of a tantrum.
I just point to the trash can beside my desk.
“Yay, I’m glad you liked it so much! Vanilla honey-cream syrup is the sweetest they have, but if you mix it with guava, you can create a sugar coma. Same order tomorrow?”
I’m surprised my hollowed-out eyes don’t set her on fire.
“Get out,” I order.
Her smile grows wider and she waves before she shuts the door.
The next day my whole office smells like coffee.
A new tall cup sits on my desk with Wardhole written across it. I stare at it for a minute, wondering if I want to drink it after yesterday.
What if she’s stepped it up? What if she’s set up the lid to blow off and splatter me with pure syrup the instant I take a drink?
At least then I could fire her ass.
But it smells so good, I brush my fears aside.
I pick it up, sniff cautiously, and take a smallest swallow, not wanting to