Page 4 of Desire Me

The rest of his words never leave his mouth. Before I know it, he’s laid out cold on the floor and I’m wrapped in someone else’s arms. I look up to find those keen brown eyes gazing back at me.

“Are you alright?”

I let out a deep breath and nod my head. Jeez, this man smells so good. It’s the same scent from the night at the club. I have no idea the name of the fragrance, but again, I wish I could bury my face in his chest and engulf it.

I pull away from his hold. He allows me to put a little space between us but doesn’t let me go.

“Thank you,” I say and my voice quivers.

My brain is in a fog right now. Today has started out as a pretty shitty day. My alarm didn’t go off, which caused me to be thirty minutes behind. Marcus and I got into an argument because he hates his job. Who the hell doesn’t? My car wouldn’t start so I had to pay for an Uber. Tess called me at home demanding I get her coffee as if I’m her assistant and not a designer. Then this situation.

I try to stop the tears before they fall, but it’s no use. I sob as I cover my face. The stranger from the bar pulls me back into his chest.

“It’s okay. I got you, beautiful,” he whispers in my ear.

The serenity in his voice and the comfort of his arms has me crying harder. He starts to lead me away from where I’m standing. I don’t stop to look up or argue against him guiding me anywhere. For some strange reason, this guy doesn’t set off any alarm bells for me.

Before I know it, I’m sitting in the back of a nice car with leather seats that smell exactly like him.

Rubbing my hand down my cheeks to clear away my tears, I sniffle before saying. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to mess up your nice suit.”

He smiles, the same perfect one he flashed at the club. “It’s okay. It’s only a suit.”

He then takes the handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to me. I use it to wipe my eyes and face. I refuse to blow my nose with it.

Once my face is clean and I feel as if I have my shit together, I suck in a deep breath before letting it out.

“Feel better?” he asks.

Nodding, I smile. “Nothing like an ugly cry to cleanse the soul, right?” I laugh nervously.

He places a finger under my chin turning my head back toward him. His intense eyes lock with mine. “Even when crying you could never be ugly.”

Hold up. Wait a minute. Is he flirting? Is this gorgeous, sexy, obviously wealthy man, flirting with me?

My mouth opens, but no words come out. Tapping on the window behind me is a welcomed distraction. Turning around, I come face to face with my Uber driver. Pushing the automatic window button, the glass slowly lowers.

“Ummm, hi. Am I still dropping you off?”

I smack my palm to my forehead. I’m sitting in this car acting as if I’m not already late for work.

“Shit,” I mumble as I quickly open the door and climb out of the car. Remembering my manners, I turn back to the stranger. “Thanks again, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Tiffany.”

As I turn to head toward my Uber, I think for a second, how does he know my name. But then I realized he might’ve heard it when the barista called my name in the coffee shop.

**

Ten minutes later, I’m rushing out of my Uber, promising five stars and a tip. I run into the building of Morgan and Prescott Interior Design. The geometric design on the tiled floor gives the office space a whimsical look. Yet the exposed light wood in the ceiling gives it more of a professional feeling.

I’ve wanted to work for M&P interior design since I was in high school. I have loved their work ever since they redid the public library twelve years ago. I was elated when I got the job. However, now some of that enthusiasm is gone.

Stepping into my cubicle, I place my purse down on the desk. As one of the newest junior designers on the team, I haven’t yetbeen given an office. I have no problem working my way up the ladder. I knew how this worked going in. Until I start getting clients and proving myself, I’ll be stuck out here in no man’s land. It usually takes up to six months to start getting projects. Unfortunately, I got stuck with Tess as my senior designer. For some reason she is refusing to allow me to add any input or give me designer status for any project.

“Hey,” Mira, my best friend since childhood, says.

Mira is a project manager for the company. We like to refer to her as the money person, she makes sure we stay on budget and on deadline. If Mira walks into your office, more than likely you have just blown through the client’s budget and have some explaining to do.

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