Sweet Love - Mia Kayla Page 0,22

minute.

Nancy crossed her arms over her chest, giving him the nastiest stink-eye.

Well, that was quite rude.

I snatched the cookies from underneath his arm and extended the box back to Nancy. “I think she’s old enough to decide when she’s had enough cookies. Don’t cookie-shame her.”

“Cookie-shame?” He plucked the box from Nancy again and tucked it back under his arm, giving me a firm, steady stare.

I openly gaped at him. Really? The nerve of this man, telling a grown woman what to do.

Nancy interrupted our staring contest, “I’m not into technology nowadays, but I think I know what it is. Maybe this is it.” Then, she turned on her computer monitor.

My gaze moved from Nancy to the computer to Connor and back again. Why didn’t I check that first? “Well, since that’s settled”—I wiped my hands in an exaggerated effect—“I think I’m done here.”

Nancy stood and gave me a full-on hug, arms around me so tightly that I was surprised by her strength, given her size. “Thank you for coming by.”

I froze. It was a little excessive, since I hardly knew her, but still oh-so nice. She was right. There was a family feeling with this company. I’d known that the first day I walked in here. My arms slowly wrapped around her but not as tightly because I was afraid to crush this little cookie destroyer.

I patted her back twice, and then when she released me, Connor stepped up to her and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Stunned, I reeled back. I knew this company was a close-knit group, but … shit …

“Bye, Nana. And no more cookies for you.”

Nana?

He turned to leave, and I followed him down the hall.

“She’s the cookie monster. She will eat a whole box of cookies within a span of five minutes if you don’t monitor her.”

“She’s your grandmother? But her name plate said Nancy Knicklebocker.”

He nodded. “She’s my mother’s mom. She’s my only living grandmother left.”

He reached for my elbow and guided me to the side, into the corner of the hall. He was so close that I could smell the mint on his lips, too close in a boss-subordinate situation, and I was a nano-second to hyperventilating.

“We need to talk.” His voice was firm, meaning business.

Can’t think. Can’t think with him being this close.

My breathing turned shallow, and I exhaled through my mouth.

“To talk about how I don’t like the branding of your signature chocolate? But we already had that conversation in front of the whole boardroom and CEO.” My tone was sarcastic, meant to lighten this mood between us.

He leaned in, his gaze alert. “I already apologized about that, and … actually”—his eyes flickered to my lips, and I held my breath—“that’s exactly what I want to talk about. Have you thought about my proposition?”

He was talking about me joining the rebranding initiatives, but my mind went straight to the gutter.

“I-I just don’t know. I don’t know if I can do what you want me to do.”

When a few workers passed us by, Connor took a healthy step away from me, running his hand through his caramel-brown hair. “Meet me in my office.” It wasn’t a question. It was a command, based on the tone of his voice.

He turned to walk down the hall, and I followed right behind him.

Why did I feel like I was a student walking into the principal’s office?

“Am I going to get fired if I say no?”

He turned around and gave me a quizzical look. “No. Why would you think that? I wouldn’t ever do that.”

Crap. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Where the heck was my brain-to-mouth filter when I needed it?

And of course he wouldn’t fire me. That would be a lawsuit waiting to happen. At least I hadn’t said anything that would have embarrassed me, like how his shirt today brought out the brown in his eyes or how just looking at him made my mouth dry and my heart palpitate.

I bit my inner cheek and reminded myself that I’d wholeheartedly decided that I shouldn’t think of him that way because, one, he was my boss, and, two, I needed this job.

Remember. Remember. Remember.

But it was hard to remember, especially when I was looking at a face like his.

We entered his office, and he shut the door behind me.

“Charlie, can you have a seat?”

As I walked to his oversize desk in front of a breathtaking view of the Chicago skyline, it was easy to remember who he was—the son of the owner