Page 64 of Without Apology

She looked surprised when I walked in.

I shut the door and took the visitor’s chair across from her desk. The air suddenly felt thicker, the walls felt closer, and I found myself rooted to my seat, drinking in the vision of her. She had her hair up, a black dress on, and soft makeup. Fuck, I’d missed her.

“Hello.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Hello to you.”

We sat there, both of us simply lost in the sight of one another.

“What are you thinking about this very moment?” I queried, my voice husky. I needed to know if I’d been on her mind as much as she’d been on mine.

“Very unprofessional thoughts.”

My lips twitched. “What kind of unprofessional thoughts?”

She swept the papers on her desk to the side. “The type that would scatter everything on my desk to the floor.”

I hissed before adjusting to the discomfort of an instant hard-on. “How am I supposed to get through the rest of day now?”

She unapologetically shrugged. “You did ask.”

“You’re right, I did. And it’s a shame we won’t be partaking in any office shenanigans.”

She leaned back in her chair, smiling. “It is a shame.”

I glanced around at her desk, noting it managed to look messier than it had last week. “Do the papers on your desk multiply overnight?”

“Yes. Like bunnies on a warm Texas night. Why? Does this bother you?” She tipped a stack of four folders over, creating more disarray.

“Nope.” I was lying. Not only did I want to straighten the mess, but I also wanted to label all the folders, file the papers in them, and put them in drawers.

Challenge held in her eyes along with a hefty dose of humor. “Mm-hm. What about this?” This time she emptied her paperclip holder into the middle of the desk.

I twitched.

“Or this?” She held a stack of business cards above her desk, about to let them fall.

“Wait.”

She lifted a brow questioningly, pausing in her torture.

“You’d thank me later for it since you wouldn’t want to clean up the mess.”

She shrugged and let the cards go. “Actually I’ve been meaning to go through them. Now admit it. You’re a neat freak.”

I scoffed. “I’m no such thing. I simply happen to prefer order and efficiency.”

“Uh-huh. In other words: neat freak. Not saying it’s a bad thing. But it does bother you.”

I couldn’t stand it any longer. I scooped up the cards and began straightening them back into a pile. “Maybe. But if I’m a neat freak, then you are a hot mess.”

She flashed a grin. “Agreed. I am.”

“Are we done with the let’s-break-Simon torture show?”

There was humor in her voice. “I suppose. For now.”

She went back to her computer, leaving me to shake my head that she wasn’t bothering to clean up the paper clips. “Isn’t that aggravating you?”

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