Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,29

a little wiser than I was back then, too. I think about that summer and realize what an uptight little wreck I was. These days I’m less of a prude, and better at taking a joke.”

“A joke? Here’s the thing, Posy—every sleazy invitation I ever issued to you was a hundred percent sincere. They all still stand, by the way. I no longer proposition women at work, but if one propositions me, it’s on, baby.” He flips those killer green eyes up at me and gives me a quick smile before turning away to decorate someone’s latte with roses.

Several beats later I remember to close my mouth and put a customer’s spinach pasty into the oven for two minutes of warming. But my addled little brain is still stuck on Gunnar. Because unless I’m mistaken, he’s just issued me a coy invitation to take him to bed.

And I am shook. Did he really just say that?

Promise me you’ll think about it, my sister had begged me when I first told her about Gunnar’s employment.

For one blissfully long moment, I do. I allow myself to consider asking him upstairs for a drink the next time Aaron and Ginny are out.

But just as quickly, I realize I won’t have the nerve. I can still hear my ex’s voice ringing in my head, telling me I’m not adventurous enough. Calling me a starfish. I’d die if Gunnar said the same thing.

Fifteen years ago, he kissed me, and I knew he was more than I could handle. And now? It’s still true.

The oven timer dings, ending my reverie. And I get back to work.

It’s not easy to stop thinking about Gunnar, though, especially since other people seem hell bent on noticing him, too. My sister suddenly has more patience for helping out with the morning counter shift than she used to.

“Lord, he’s hot,” she says to me in the kitchen on one such morning. “If you’re not going to take him to bed, I might.”

“Ginny!” I squeak. “Lower your voice.”

“He can’t hear us, he’s flirting with a customer.” My sister stacks the last of the ham and cheese tarts onto a serving tray and sighs. “He has beautiful thighs.”

“What?” I haven’t dwelt on his legs. Not yet, anyway. I can’t stop watching his hands. His back. That ass …

“Those thighs. The way they stretch his jeans to the max? It’s a good thing he wears a half apron or I’d spend my shifts admiring his package.”

“Take a cold shower,” I grumble. “We can’t boink the employees.”

“Just a quickie?” she whines. “It’s been a long time for me. But at least my dry spell is about to end.”

“It is?”

“I’m going on a date tonight,” she winks and hefts the tray, heading for the dining room. “Aaron is with his grandparents and I have plans. Don’t wait up.”

“Got it,” I say lightly. Both my sister and my five-year-old nephew have better social lives than I do. Aaron’s father is in prison, but the man’s parents drive in from Connecticut to pick up their grandson every two weeks for an overnight visit.

It’s only me who’ll be at home on the couch on a Friday night, then. Yay.

“The mail is coming!” Jerry says, clapping his hands with glee. “Can I get it, Posy?”

“Of course. Be my guest.”

Jerry drops a bowl into the sink with a deafening clatter and bangs open the screen door to greet the mail carrier. “Hi Brenda! Do you have anything for us?”

I wish I had half as much enthusiasm for life as he has. Where can I get some?

A moment later Jerry comes bounding back into the kitchen. “Two envelopes. One of them I had to sign for! Brenda said to sign my name even though it’s for you.”

“Thank you. Well done,” I say even as my stomach drops. The only documents I’ve ever had to sign for were divorce papers.

And sure enough, there’s a dreadful logo on this particular envelope, from the Office of Workers Compensation. Open immediately, it reads. Legal filing inside.

Please, Goddess, let this be a routine filing, I pray as I slit open the envelope.

But the goddess has not heard my prayer. The papers inside constitute an accident report for one Louis Perkins. It actually takes me a beat to remember that this name belongs to a kitchen assistant I’d hired before last month. He worked four shifts and then disappeared without calling to actually quit.

Employees ghost you all the time in restaurant work. But the papers I’m holding are