The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,32

in any of them.” He hums like he’s scrolling a list. “Not there. Nope, not there either. Wherever did I see it? Ah, bollocks. You’re right. It is article 2009 in section 510 of the attorney code of conduct. So very sorry. This is obviously all my fault.”

I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I know, man. I know it’s not something you’re supposed to do. Or know. And there’s no way I could have known either. But seriously, what the fuck? What are the fucking chances? I’m beating myself up, Oliver. Of all the employees of the site I just bought, one of the highest-ranking ones is the only woman in years who I’ve wanted to go on a second date with.”

Oliver sighs, chuckling sympathetically. “Sorry, mate. That really does take the cake.”

“Yup,” I say, then add, “And I was just giving you a hard time. I’m frustrated and pissed. I should have . . .”

But I don’t know what I should have or could have done differently.

I let the thought fall away unfinished. “I had an awesome time with her, and I can’t believe this happened. This is all my fault.”

“Well, that is true, but I am sorry that the woman you like is off-limits now. I know it’s been a long time since you’ve fancied anyone, you picky bastard.”

I manage a small smile. “And I have good reason to be picky. I still have a scar on my back from the knife Stacey plunged into me.”

“Yeah, but on the plus side, at least you know there’s a chance of meeting someone you’re keen on now. For a long time, you figured it’d never happen.”

“That’s not quite the silver lining I was hoping for,” I say.

“If I find a better silver lining, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

I say goodbye to my buddy, turn around, and face the music. Drawing a deep, fueling breath, I ride the elevator, then head down the cool, air-conditioned hallway, where I smooth a hand down my shirt before I rap on her door.

Time to say goodbye to the best date I’ve had in ages.

A rustling of a chair sounds, then the door opens, and I’m looking at the woman I desperately want to see this Friday.

The woman I can’t see.

She looks stunning, and I want to draw her into my arms and kiss off all that peach lip gloss. I want to taste it, thread my fingers through her hair, and nibble on her neck.

I want to spend a few hours with the woman—having sushi, talking, laughing, and teasing.

Then I want to take her to bed. Please her. Make her sing. Make her scream. “Hey,” I say, my beleaguered sigh giving away my frustration.

“Hey.” Her tone weighs several tons too.

I gesture to her office. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“For the new boss? Of course.”

I wince. “Yes. For the new boss.”

“I think I can squeeze you in before my two p.m.,” she says. Her tone is playful, though I think I get why. Acting like we’re work pals has to be easier than acknowledging we’re not.

I step inside. My eyes sweep over the shelves, and even though I should focus on the matter at hand, I steal the chance to learn more about the woman I wanted to go out with at the end of the week.

I half expect to see some of her retro housewife illustrations, but those might not be appropriate in a business setting.

Appropriate.

I need to remember that word.

Need to live by it. Act accordingly.

That means not letting my dick make decisions.

The brain should be more powerful than the prick. Truly, it should. I ought to know. My dick had been taking an extended hiatus till last night.

Focusing on her workspace, I spot a shelf holding kitschy, etched glasses with state maps—Indiana, Georgia, South Dakota. Souvenir glasses, like the kind you’d find on the side of the road in some days-gone-by truck stop. Next to her desk is a framed minimalist poster—a black-and-white image with the words Beyoncé Wasn’t Built in a Day.

I gesture to it. “That’s a good one.”

She stands near her desk, hands folded in front of her, looking perfectly put together in her white blouse and trim pink skirt. “Thanks. I wanted to hang up a pinup lady sign saying If you’re talking behind my back, you’re in a perfect position to kiss my ass.” She takes a deep breath. “Alas, this mantra seemed better for the company.”

Better for the company.

Yup.

I need to do what’s best for