Charming Co-Worker - Jeannine Colette Page 0,4
thud.
I feel like I’m in a bad dream as Branson walks out of the room, his head never turning back to say good-bye. Why would he? It’s ridiculous that I hoped he’d give a final nod or wave, saying good night.
I reach for another glass, but a warm, strong hand lies on my wrist, halting its motion. I glance up in surprise to see Hunter standing behind me.
His eyes flick over to where I was just staring. His brows furrowed, his mouth pursed. When he turns back to me, he lifts a brow. “Let’s go somewhere we can do some real damage.”
His comment is said almost as a dare.
I’m not the type to leave an office event early, nor am I the girl who goes out and gets rip-roaring drunk. But as I think about Branson heading off to his date, which will probably lead to his bedroom, it has me staring into Hunter’s determined gaze and giving him a nod. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Two
A quick walk through the snow-covered streets of Manhattan has us at the doorstep of a bar, the kind with wooden walls and a long mahogany counter with wreaths and mistletoe decorating every nook and cranny.
Holiday music is playing, as it is everywhere in the city, but this is more of the rock variety. The kind you can really let loose to.
We weave through the crowd and snag two stools just as a couple is getting up. Their dirty glasses and napkins are still on the counter, but we sit down before anyone else can grab the seats.
Hunter shrugs off his coat and places it behind his chair. He rolls up his sleeves and removes his tie before releasing the second button of his shirt. I admire how handsome he looks in his thin-striped shirt and black pants that hug his defined body nicely.
He catches me staring and raises a brow.
With a quick turn toward the bartender, I hold up a finger. “Jameson.”
Hunter leans over, placing his hand on top of mine and lowering it to the counter as he tells the bartender, “We’ll both have Bushmills. Double.”
The bartender walks away, and I scoff at Hunter as he settles back in his seat.
“I only drink budget whiskey,” I explain.
“Well, if you didn’t spend all your money on that fancy dress to impress a man, you’d have more money for the important things. Like booze.”
My mouth parts in surprise. “What makes you think this dress isn’t one I had lying around?”
The bartender slides our drinks across the bar as Hunter takes out his wallet. “Like I said earlier, I notice things.”
He lays a hundred-dollar bill down before placing his wallet back in his pocket, and then he lifts his glass. “To doing things the right way.”
I grab my glass and clink his, taking a sip as he raises his own to his lips and doing the same, his eyes trained on mine.
This must be how he woos his women, sitting at a bar with his suit in the beginnings of undress and this aura of cockiness about him. His thighs are spread apart to accommodate the length of his legs as he leans back with a casual grace and a devilish smile. I admire his muscular forearms, and as he takes another drink, I notice a tattoo of an arrow appearing where his sleeve is rolled up. It’s jet-black, and it looks striking against his golden skin.
The way his eyes roam over my face with his slightly tilted chin and hands that are now clasped at his midriff tell me I’ve been caught staring again.
“Checking me out?” he asks.
I shrug, not afraid to tell him so. “I was admiring how handsome you are.” I point to the open collar of his dress shirt. “It’s very Clooney-esque. You should do it more often.”
“Are you saying I don’t come off as handsome every day?”
My forehead crinkles. “You look fine every day, and you know it. I’m just saying, I get the appeal.”
He leans forward in intrigue. “Appeal?”
I roll my eyes. “Not from me. But you do capture female attention wherever you go. Which reminds me, why aren’t you gallivanting with Janice from Accounting? She seemed very interested in disappearing with you.”
“My Katie McGee needed the company more.”
“What made you think that?” I ask defensively.
“You’re angry drinking.”
“Says who?”
“Says the way you’re fisting that glass and scowling. What’s going on? This isn’t like my favorite co-worker. She’s always happy and full of corny jokes.”
I swivel toward him with my hand on my