Page 6 of Her Holiday Heartthrobs

I gesture to one of the two seats before my wide desk, their dark red seats are reflecting on her cheeks, making her look flush. I round my desk to the small bar on the far side of the room to grab us both a glass of water, giving us a moment for the shock to wear off.

Shamelessly, I examine her while I pop a few ice cubes into the intricate cut glasses. Everything about her seems more polished and in charge. Competent. Capable. My biggest turn-on, seeing it in a woman. More often than not, those women were my age or older.

What else had happened to Paige and forced her to change so drastically? College didn’t do it on its own.

When I hand her the water, I lean against the back of my desk and watch her pretty mouth fit around the side of the glass, her throat moves when she swallows, and I clear my throat.

“Your transcripts are impressive. Your coursework focused on marketing and project management during your degree. Both of your internships gave you a lot of freedom to plan andimplement various smaller projects. The references from your former bosses say that you are well-rounded, a quick learner and whip-smart. You think on your toes and listen to your peers. You give credit when it’s due and aren’t afraid to claim it if it’s yours.”

I shift, sliding my left hand into a pocket. She follows the movement, taking a deep breath. Does she feel how tuned into each other we are? How does that thread still draw tight between us?

Perhaps I’m the one in trouble here.

“Your portfolio shows that you are persuasive and creative. You know how to appeal to niche markets, especially those targeting consumers under thirty.” I sip from my own glass of water, certainly in trouble. My tongue wants to betray me and spill more compliments—ones that aren’t work-appropriate.

Paige mimics the motion as if to keep herself from speaking, and she crosses her legs, showing off their length and muscle in the tapered pantsuit she’s wearing. Finally, she blinks up at me briefly as if to ask,and…?

“Those will all be incredibly helpful on our new venture. We need someone who can bring in new ideas, who knows how trends evolve and what will stick when others fall into fads, who can lead a team, delegate and keep every piece of a project in motion and to standard. Do you think you’re a good fit?”

She bristles, her shoulders pulling back, both feet planted on the floor as she pins me in place with her vibrant blue eyes. “I thought I already had the job.”

“You do. I’m just giving you the out if you want it.” I will not force her to stay here, work under me, if she isn’t comfortable with it.

It’s like someone grabs the tension between us and twists it in their fist.

“What makes you think I don’t want it?” Her jaw clenches, but she refuses to look away first. Good. She’s not afraid ofme. Angry with me, perhaps. Old feelings that popped up the moment we were in the same room again.

I understood them too well. It’s the same thing that keeps drawing my gaze back to her mouth. “The look on your face when you saw me.”

“You don’t know what the look on my face means, Mr. Walker.”

“Henry.”

The dark flash through her features tells me she’s thinking about the last time she called me that. If she hadn’t been before.

I replay the way she told me she wanted me, how she gave her consent, how she was okay. I’m not the first older man to be seduced by that kind of logic in the moment. Especially with her across my lap, my hands on her hips, her mouth dangling like a lure above mine.

It makes the elephant in the room harder to ignore as I snap out of the memory. My hand squeezes into a fist in my pocket.

“Let me show you to your office then.” I pluck the glass out of her hand and set it aside with my own. Holding my hand out to her, I know she doesn’t need the assistance, but I can’t seem to help myself.

That seems to be the ongoing trend with her because when she takes it, an undeniable spark drives through me.

This is not good.

PAIGE

Why did I give Henry my hand? The shock of his skin has my heart racing. I planned to snub him, but my hand betrayed me, gravitating into his on its own. His grip is light and warm, and it lingers a little longer once I’m on my feet. Is it the mere proximity to him that makes everything heat up?

Henry opens his office door for me and tries to place his hand on my back, but I step out of his reach and turn, waiting for him to lead the way. I cannot let him get to me, especially not in the office. It’s bad enough Dad got me this job; it’s a complete other thing for anyone to assume I got it by spreading my legs for the boss.

Even if that had happened once. A long time ago.

He nods for me to follow, and I do, keeping up with his long stride easily. Too many men I’ve worked with have tried to outpace me before, but at least I can tell he’s not trying to do that. My office is a few doors down. Thank God, we have a bit of space between us. I don’t have to cross in front of his office every time I need to leave.

Inside my office is bigger than I expected, with bright windows behind the spacious desk, three large bookshelves inthe corner with a sitting area, and a couch—all done in the same dark reds and blacks. It reflects the hotels Rockwell International built all over the world.

It isn’t quite my style, though. Not what will appeal to our new ideal customer. They will want clean, white, gleaming metal and a spot of intrigue. Something they can show off on their socials. But it can’t be too much, or it won’t fit their budget.

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