Page 71 of Cloud Storm

That’s rhetorical. Of course it’s with me. And not precisely resting.

Anyway, he’s feeling way better.

He’s eating well, I’m taking care of that, and no more late rain showers in Seaport for him either.

“Oh my gosh,” Roselynn yells as she’s closing the sales for the day. She’s good with numbers while I’m a disaster, so the accounting side of our business rests on her shoulders.

“What’s happened now?” For fuck’s sake, I just hope this isn’t another one of her great ideas, in other words more stress for me, because I have more than enough these days with the TV show.

“I went ahead and ordered the new counter for the theme days and it’ll arrive tomorrow, just in time for Friday. However, Chase is in Sacramento and I have to go to Los Angeles with Oliver.”

As I was saying, more stress for me. I can see myself trying to guess what screw goes in what hole. Those mass made ‘easy assemble’ furniture kits weren’t made for a simple gal like me.

“I can assemble it if you want,” Lancelot offers, while Roselynn continues counting money.

“That would be fantastic, Lance,” my friend and partner beams. “Thanks for the help.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he replies, smiling at me, and hell if my heart doesn’t make somersaults every time the man does something for me.

Why does he have to be so irresistible?

“I’m pretty surprised you want to get sawdust on your well-manicured hands, Suit.”

I’m being playful, but this man doesn’t fail to surprise me. He’s handy, my body is living proof of that. The things he does with those fingers.

Ok, don’t go there now. We are at the bakery.

Lancelot rolls his eyes. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know?”

“You aren’t?” I close the space between us, and stare at him as if I were examining him. “Tell me more.”

“I have some skills…” he continues teasing.

“Knotting your silk ties perfectly?”

“You have no idea what can I do with my ties and some knots.” Oh my gosh! His voice is deep and sultry. It gives me chills.

“Keep talking, Suit, maybe you can convince me you really have all those skills you’re bragging about.”

“I have tools too,” he says and my mouth dries. “And I know what to do with them.”

I have no doubt.

“You’re good at marketing your services,” I reply. “Maybe I’ll hire you. I have a couple of tasks here to accomplish.”

“My services aren’t cheap, miss.”

“Can we negotiate your wage?”

“It depends.”

“On what? I kinda like a man who knows what to do with his tools, so I can be really generous.”

His eyes travel to my chest, clearly ogling my rack. My nipples pebble under his intense stare and for the first time in my life I completely understand why women call their bra an instrument of oppression. I want to rip mine off and scream free the nipples, so he can play with them.

But first.

“Eyes here,” I scold him, snapping my fingers, pointing at my face.

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