I immediately offered to take the shirt to the cleaners for him. But he just pulled those socks that Drucker had given him out of his jacket pocket, dabbed at his face and shirt with them, and left. Didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even find it a little bit funny. It’s not like I had done it on purpose to make him laugh—but come on.
And to think I was feeling badly for him after I saw the look on his face when I had finished singing the Grinch song. Those sad eyes. That expression of—what? Longing? Wistfulness? It was so unlike him. I thought I was getting a glimpse into his soul for once.
To think I was about to tell him I would go with him to Ohio. Pretend to be his girlfriend for a few days. Because I do realize what a bind he must be in if he actually asked me to do this. He doesn’t take things like this lightly. That’s why he’s a good lawyer. But that doesn’t make him a good person. It’s not like he sent flowers to my landlady because he’s such a sweet guy. I know how he thinks. He did it because he knew she’d be all up in my face about him. And she has been. Ever since last weekend.
First my niece and now my landlady. It’s one thing to have to deal with him at work, but I can’t even pretend to like someone who’s that uptight. Not that I’m the life of every party. Not that I even want to go to every party. But if I’m going to choose to go anywhere with anyone, it’s got to be worth my precious time. I can’t believe I actually came back to the office in the freezing cold just to check on him—I’m such a sucker. The fucker walks so fast, I couldn’t catch up with him, and he didn’t even reply to my texts.
It doesn’t even make sense that he would be this mad because of the eggnog. Or the song. Or the fact that I haven’t given him an answer yet. But I’m going to give him an answer. It’s five to six, and he’ll get his answer. He won’t like it, and I’m actually a little concerned that he might fire me right now, but he’ll get his answer.
Sentinel is eerily quiet when I step off the elevators. The temp receptionist nods at me, and I can just tell from her flushed cheeks and the intoxicating scent combination of tobacco and a sweet and spicy hot drink and sex on an antique leather sofa that Declan Cannavale has passed through here very recently. I can also tell that these temps were goofing off until we showed up.
Declan has the blinds inside his office and the door closed. I nod at the guy who’s sitting at my desk and knock on the door before opening it. And fuck me running on Santa’s sled—my boss doesn’t have a shirt on, and he has the most stunning male torso I have ever seen.
I immediately shut the door behind myself, but I don’t know what to say. I also can’t seem to look away. Or breathe. Or calm my stupid lady parts down. We’ve never been glared at by a gorgeous, shirtless, infuriating man before. And I can’t tell yet if it’s the best or the worst thing that’s happened to us yet, but it’s a lot of things. I’m so glad I’m still wearing my coat so he can’t tell that my nipples are trying to claw their way through my push-up bra and dress.
He continues to stare at me, unflinchingly, as he reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out one of his brand-new spare dress shirts. It’s crisp and white, and he gives it a good snap to shake out the folds, startling me. I let out a gasp and lean back against the door, clutching the doorknob with one hand, squeezing my trembling thighs together. It’s not like my breasts are heaving and I’m biting my lower lip or anything. I am perfectly capable of controlling my behavior. I can wait until I get home to do that stuff.
“Can I help you, Cooper?” he asks, finally looking away from me so he can carefully spread the shirt out on top of his desk and unbutton it.
He must exfoliate and moisturize the shit out of his skin, it’s so smooth.
“I was just going to offer to take your shirt to the dry cleaners again.”
“No thanks. Anything else?”
“Are you going back to the party?”
“I think I’ve had enough holiday fun for one day. Anything else?” He’s back to glaring at me as he lifts up the shirt. When he raises one arm to slide it into a sleeve, I get a glimpse of a tattoo on the inside of his bicep. A bird. And fuck me, it’s beginning to look a lot like my Instagram feed in here.
I clear my throat. “I’ve been thinking about your offer.” I clear my throat again.
“And?”
“And I absolutely do not want to go with you to Ohio.”
His eyelids flutter, and for one melancholy moment I think I’m getting a glimpse into his soul again. But then he tilts his head the tiniest bit and grins at me. “But?”
Cocky little…
“But I will.”
He nods once, as if he knew I would all along. “Have you signed the document?”
I unzip my coat. Until this very minute, I wasn’t sure if I’d be shredding and burning the document or handing it over to him. But I’ve been carrying it with me all week. And I signed it as soon as I saw the crumpled-up receipt for the karaoke machine
