Sweet Love - Mia Kayla Page 0,48

blood since I was five.”

“I want to feed you. Then, I’ll know you’re healthy and alive and here,” Casey replied.

Alyssa rolled her eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, Casey will forever be the motherly type and try to take care of you. If you’re getting free lunch out of it, keep reaping the rewards.”

Connor entered the break room, and we all peeked up. He walked toward the vending machines on the far end of the room but not before his eyes met mine. I waved, and he smiled.

He greeted a few more of his employees right by the vending machines, and when he made his way back, he stopped at our table.

“Hey.” He waved again. “How are you feeling?”

His eyes flickered to my lips, to my hair, to my chest, and I held my breath.

There were boundaries, and I wouldn’t cross those boundaries with the boss man. And I got that going shopping was needed to film the commercial, but an added dinner right before seemed like it was asking for trouble.

And it seemed as though he were only addressing me and no one else at the table.

Alyssa and Casey shared a glance, and I warmed from the inside out.

“Good.” I averted my stare and bumped shoulders against Casey. “This girl has been buying me lunch ever since the fainting incident.”

“Meatball sub. Is that your favorite? I wouldn’t peg you as a meatball girl. Maybe sausage. But not meatball.” His smile widened.

“And what is that supposed to mean? Can you just look at a woman and guess if she is a meatball or sausage girl?” Alyssa laughed beside Casey. “What would you peg me as?”

Connor’s cheeks reddened. I’d actually never seen him turn red in the face. That was my job in our relationship.

“You …” He pointed to Alyssa. “You’re a meatball girl.” He shifted his stance and held up his bag of Fritos. “Lunch. And I’d better get to it.” He about-faced and walked straight out of the break room.

Casey and Alyssa shared their knowing glance again, and it drove me insane.

“What is going on? What’s up with the looks, and what is it with Connor acting all strange?”

I knew why he was acting weird. I didn’t want to throw in there that the reason was because, oddly, we always found ourselves in compromising positions—first naked and then on top of the boardroom table.

“Maybe … it’s because of you.” Alyssa unwrapped her own sandwich, undoubtedly some fancy steak sandwich from a high-end bistro that wasn’t a chain.

“Me?” I croaked.

“Or not you per se. But maybe your lips.”

Casey shoved Alyssa, and her sandwich slipped from her hands and fell to the table. “Hey!”

“Ugh, do you have to constantly embarrass me? I’m already buying her lunch to make up for—”

“For shoving Connor’s face down to Charlie’s face. Niiiice,” Alyssa drawled out.

I stilled, and the blood drained from my face. “Shoved Connor’s …”

Alyssa turned to face me fully. “Our smart and nervous Nellie Casey was convinced you weren’t breathing and needed CPR, so she volunteered Connor to do it.”

“What?” I couldn’t breathe. Could. Not. Breathe.

No wonder why he had been acting bizarre and kept staring at my lips.

“And I bet you he wants to do it again,” Alyssa added.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Alyssa took an overly big bite of her sandwich. “Please …” She began to chew. “I know men. I know how to read them. I should know. I grew up with three brothers.” She swallowed and gave me a pointed stare. “And I know what they want. And I also know Connor.” She leaned in and gave me a wink. “And I know what Connor wants—and it’s you.”

Chapter 15

Connor

The limo brought us to the stores down Michigan Avenue. My mother had a personal shopper, so I had called up Susan to tell her we were on our way.

Lunch had been awkward, and I could admit that. But ever since lunch, Charlie would not meet my eyes.

When I addressed her, her eyes would look past my shoulder, at someone passing by, at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere but at me.

It was frustrating as hell because … I couldn’t stop staring at her.

It was like the more I stared, the more beautiful she became.

“Where are we going exactly?” she asked, looking outside the window.

“Macy’s on Michigan. I contacted my mother’s personal shopper. She’s meeting us.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “Does she have the concepts of clothing?”

I angled closer, and when my knee touched hers, she jumped, but then her eyes locked with mine.

“She does have the