Page 2 of More Than Words

There was no mystery there, no spark. No passion simmering under the surface. There were no secrets to uncover that no one else knew about. Maybe I’d been editing romance novels for too long and had become immune to the ‘nice guy.’ After all, the toxic hero seemed to sell, and women swooned over an asshole by the millions—especially if he had millions. Too bad the asshole in my real life wouldn’t be pulling a redemption arc anytime soon.

“I’m fine,” I told them both, clearing my throat. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“I have some sneakers in my gym bag if yah need ’em,” Adrian whispered as he leaned into my personal space again. My eyes flashed over to Lorenzo, but he was already deep in conversation with his partner, Kate, a non-fiction editor who had as much personality as wallpaper paste—and was just as in demand as an antiquated wall covering adhesive.

“I’m good, thanks,” I responded, glancing at his polished leather shoes. His feet weren’t huge, but they were also substantially larger than my size nines.

“You sure? I’d hate to see those affect your aim.”

Turning to face him, I paused, taking in the lone curl of hair falling onto his forehead. I’d rarely seen his hair looking anything but like it belonged on a Ken doll, and my fingers twitched with the urge to push it back into place.

“My aim will be just fine.”

He hummed, nodding before bringing his glass to his lips and taking a sip of the amber liquid inside while maintaining eye contact with me.

“Want to place a wager on it?”

“I’m not betting on ax-throwing with you. You’re bigger than I am and stronger…” His grin grew as I kept talking, and I had the increasing urge to dig one of my heels into the top of his foot.

“No, no, keep going.” He smirked as he did that masculine thing where he was clearly undressing me with his eyes. “I’m interested in all this sudden praise you’re throwing out.”

My nipples pricked with how he paused when his gaze was aimed at my cleavage. Pig. “Eyes up here, big boy.”

He chuckled, tipping his glass in my direction before leaning close to my ear. “Which one is it? Do I only have three inches, or am I a big boy? Surely, they aren’t exclusive, or your boyfriends have been seriously lacking in what they’re packing.”

I clenched my teeth together as I fought the shiver that ran up my spine at how his warm breath felt as it fanned over my bare neck. He smelled good—fresh and alluring, with a hint of wood smoke and something vaguely floral.

Considering he spent most of his lunch breaks in the corporate gym on the bottom floor of our building, he always looked surprisingly put together.

I hated running into him down there because my fair skin only turned bright red with physical exertion. Genetics ensured I didn’t get that glow some women got when they exercised. My Scandinavian heritage meant I looked like a pink-cheeked hot mess with an excessive perspiration problem. No amount of dry shampoo would save me from that mess.

“Hmm,” he hummed before he leaned away. “Care to make a wager on the outcome of this evening?”

Turning toward him, I frowned. “We’re on the same team.”

“I’m aware.” He nodded and took another sip of his drink, his eyes clocking the nervous shifting I’d been doing since he’d set his sights on me. “Total points, bonuses for bullseyes.”

“You going to keep score?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. I didn’t trust him not to cheat.

He shrugged, lifting his chin toward me. “Don’t trust me?”

“Should I?”

He’d given me zero reasons in our history as co-workers to trust a word he said, in a professional capacity or otherwise. More than once, he’d undermined something I said in a staff meeting. He also had the bad habit of hijacking conversations and turning the subject back to his own department.

“Fair point,” he laughed, stepping in and placing his free hand in the center of my back. It wasn’t anywhere inappropriate, but the jolt it sent between my legs hadn’t gotten the message. “You keep track. My math is shit. But I’m sure you can handle it with that impressive Ivy League education your parents bestowed upon you.”

If he only knew my parents were grain farmers who cared more about crop yields and the newest corn hybrids on the market than whether their youngest daughter got an education at one of the top English programs in the country. I may have dressed the part, but I wasn’t some elitist snob like he perceived me to be. My upbringing was probably less glamorous than his. He’d likely never been asked to mix organic fertilizer by hand in his life. My job during high school had literally been shit-stirring. And not the kind he engaged in.

“Because you’re clearly lacking in educational pedigree.”

“According to some,” he laughed, dropping his hand and stepping around me as Sloane motioned for us to move toward the cages where we’d be doing the actual ax throwing, not just the lobbing of verbal ones. I’d missed the entire demonstration, but how hard could it be?

Hold the ax, aim at the target, pretend bullseye is Adrian’s face, and throw.

“You ready for this?” he asked as we stepped inside the enclosure. Kate and Lorenzo stood against the opposite wall, clearly planning their strategy.

“What are the stakes?” I asked quietly as my fingers trailed over the handle of one of the axes in the hanger on the wall.

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