Page 9 of Hidden Hearts

“Have you eaten lunch yet? A sub from Pickle & Rye sounds good.”

He’s right. It does.

But I’m not having lunch with Dominic.

My stomach growls in protest.

“Guess that answers my question. Come on.” His large palm lands on my lower back and gently pushes me forward. Maybe I should fight him, but what’s a sandwich together?

It means nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

CHAPTER SIX

DOMINIC

Pickle & Rye bustles with activity as I hold the door open for Avery. It’s safe, neutral ground for me to bring up the subject of her helping with the interior decorating of the Stone Precision office—a public space where a cool head is required versus giving in to inappropriate urges.

Like kissing the hell out of Avery’s pretty pink mouth.

Ever since yesterday, my body’s been running a low fever. Work was impossible after getting home, so I went for a late-night jog hoping it would clear my head.

Newsflash: it didn’t.

Which is how I ended up in the shower fisting my dick while replaying that quiet moment beside Avery’s car, thinking about how good her soft curves would feel against my chest.

"How’d you find me?" Avery drops down into a chair across from me after we place our lunch orders. I set the laminated number they gave us at the edge of the table before relaxing in my seat.

“Hard to miss someone laid out on the sidewalk like a sacrifice to the sun gods.” Plus, I made an educated guess about where she’d be and parked near the same spot she occupied last night. But I’m not going to share that slightly stalkerish detail with a woman who’s already suspicious of my every move.

"I wasn’t able to say anything before my meeting with Mike today, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about setting up my office."

"What do you mean?"

"My business partner says I have no taste, and he might be right. Someone needs to go with me to pick out furniture, decorations, whatever for the office. I think that someone should be you."

Her brows practically hit her hairline. "Why don't you hire a professional interior decorator?"

"Because I have you." Or I will.

She chuckles and grabs a napkin from the dispenser, toying with the paper-thin edges. "But I've never done anything like that before. Why would you even think of me?"

Because I want you close.

Because I can't get you out of my head.

"You're not afraid to tell me the truth. No matter how harsh it may be. You also said you wanted to be a graphic designer. I realize this is different, but a creative mind works in any situation."

"Not to sound too mercenary… But if I agree, what's in it for me?"

Satisfaction wells in my gut. Hook, line, and sinker. "You'll get free meals and a pass to use your creative skills to the fullest. Something that’s not happening over at Design Time."

Her shoulders rise and fall in begrudging agreement. The napkin is in shreds at her fingertips, a pile of white wisps from all her fidgeting.

"When will we shop?"

"Whenever you're free. Weekends, nights." I can tell she’s intrigued. This is a good deal with the pros far outweighing the con—the con being me.

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