Page 50 of Muddy Messy Love

Perched on a stool in the corner of Mini-Bees, I peruse the thick binder and nibble my sandwich while my eyelids fill with sand. It’s official.The Benedict Kane Company Policy Manualshould be mandatory bedtime reading for insomniacs. And Hannah’s not wrong. I’m sure the only person who’s read this monstrosity is the schmuck who wrote it. And maybe Cole.

Stretching my spine, I roll my shoulders and knead the stiffness from my neck. The elevator dings, and I glance at my phone—1:05 p.m. Too early for Cole, but as the doors glide open, there he stands regardless. My heart whips to a gallop, and his gaze zeroes in on mine before flickering to my chest for a nanosecond and back up again. I don’t miss his flinch, nor the unmistakable heat flaring in his eyes.

Thank you, plunging neckline.

Rallying every crumb of confidence, I offer a flirty smile, which he returns. Only, his comes coated in sex and shimmer, surrounded by dark one-day stubble, and finished with a dimple. A dimple that, when pressed, makes his eyes sparkle even more.

God, those eyes.

Swooning, I grip the edge of my stool and stare as he reaches his arm out to the side.

God, that arm.

But my dreamy daze shatters when his hand comes to rest on the lower back of a young woman standing next to him. Her shiny chestnut hair is swept into a French twist, her sharp suit skims elegant curves, and her long, familiar legs befit a Paris runway.

I feel the colour drain from my face and gulp. Cole’s gaze leaves mine, and he smiles down at her as they step from the elevator. He guides her to the foyer, whispering close to her ear. And all I can do is watch as a knife twists in my gut and irritation simmers under my skin. The same irritation I had outside the Bellcat on Saturday night the first time she appeared from nowhere to ruin a perfect scene. Only then, her presence could be dismissed as an anomaly. A one-off. Now she’s visiting Cole at work.Who is she?

Shutting the stupid manual, I check the time. Twenty minutes left of my lunch hour. I slide from the stool and trudge to the bathroom, then lean against the vanity, blowing the wayward strands from my face. My expression screams jealousy. There’s no denying it, but at least I have time to walk up Collins Street and exorcise this awful feeling.

Cuddling my jacket, I rush through the foyer, looking down at my feet, feeling an inch tall and covered in grime. That shiny, pristine woman is Cole’s female equivalent and everything I’ll never be, but for a moment there, I forgot.

God, I’m dumb.

“Whoa, easy there,” a deep voice says as firm hands halt my steps and squeeze my biceps. The buzzing through my arms confirms who stands before me, and I glance up into serene silver-green, then back to the ground with a sigh.Shit.

Cole holds me out at arm’s length. “I must say, green is definitely your colour.”

I snap my gaze to his, and his eyes twinkle with humour, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips. My cheeks smoulder, and I look away.Please kill me. Really, how many times does a girl have to ask?

His warm fingertips find the underside of my chin and guide my attention back to his annoyingly perfect face. He cocks his head along with one brow. “I’m talking about your dress. Did you think I meant something else?”

Bastard.

I shake my head, ridding his touch with immediate regret. “Of course not,” I say while yanking at my hem, willing it to grow in length but only revealing more of my chest.

His gaze skates the thin fabric with hesitant admiration rather than sleaze. “Did you wear it for me?” His voice is a low rasp, but my mouth falls open.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“No.” I shake my head vehemently.

This amuses him. Leaning in, he whispers, “The flush creeping up your neck and rapid little breaths say otherwise. Tell me the truth. Was I considered?” His warm breath feathers my neck and heats my skin, urging complete honesty. Dragging my eyes up from where our shoes stand facing each other—my synthetic suede to his polished leather—locked in a conversation of their own, I meet his challenging gaze.

Oh, fuck it.“Okay,” I concede. “Maybe you were. But I bought it forme.” There. Girl power lives on.Barely.

Cole smiles a warm but wicked smile. “You look lovely,” he says before releasing me. Then he steps from my path and strides away, calling out over his shoulder as he turns the corner, “She’s just a client, Avery.”

Damn him. How can he read me so easily?

“Hot date this weekend?” Hannah looks me up and down, grinning at my fourth dress of the week. I do like them for work. I only wish this revelation came four weeks from now, in spring.

“Nope,” I reply. “You?”

Hannah chuckles. “Definitely not.”

I skim Hannah’s left hand. She never wears a ring, but that doesn’t mean much this century. “Well, have a good weekend. See you Monday,” I say, grabbing my bag.

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