Page 64 of My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked 3)

The honest answer was yes, but was it the wise answer?

“I have a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc begging to be enjoyed,” he tried to convince me. His white wine was a lot more expensive than the fifteen-dollar bottle I’d been saving for a “special” occasion. “I’ll let you pick the film,” he said, sweetening the deal.

“I thought you were writing tonight.”

“I could do with a break.” His gleaming eyes were imploring me to agree to this unexpected plan.

I was torn. I wanted him to write because I needed that book and he promised me once he was a hundred pages in, I could read it. But admittedly, I’d missed him this week and I was tired of spending Friday nights alone or as the seventh wheel.

“Okay, but I get to control the remote,” I playfully replied before I realized how flirtatious that sounded.

Miles walked past me. “Believe me, darling, you are in control.”

He hadn’t called me darling or love all week. And what did he mean by I was in control? I followed him down the stairs. He headed straight for the kitchen. He stopped and propped the picture up on the island, taking a few seconds to admire it again before he headed to the built-in wine refrigerator.

“Have a seat.” He pointed at the couch in the great room. “I’ll grab the wine and a couple of glasses. The remote is in the coffee table’s drawer.”

I stared between the comfortable gray linen couch and the stiff looking cream chair, wondering if I should take the seat for one even though it meant not seeing the TV as well and a sore butt. Sitting on the couch felt more like this was a date. I went with the very end of the couch, like, I was seriously hugging the armrest with a hairy white throw pillow on my lap. Safe and secure.

Miles chuckled at me when he walked in carrying the wine glasses in one hand and the chilled, uncorked wine in the other. He sat directly in the middle of the couch. While he poured, I pulled up the show on the massive screen above the fireplace. Miles poured a generous amount into each of the larger-than-average wine glasses. Afterward, he jumped up and turned on the gas fireplace before turning down the lights. The firelight flickered and danced in the floor to ceiling windows and wouldn’t you know it, it started to snow. The gentle flecks of white added a hint of magic. In an instant, the room changed from a friendly atmosphere to one inviting romantic entanglements.

I gripped the pillow tighter, reminding myself I had signed a contract and I’d made Chloe an appointment with an orthodontist. Getting fired wasn’t an option for me.

Miles sat back down, looking pleased with himself. “That’s better.”

Better for who?

Miles handed me a glass. “Relax.”

I wasn’t sure I should. I took the glass, and deeply partook of the liquid gold. A crisp flavor burst hit me. I had never had anything like it. “Mmm. That’s delicious. Thank you.”

He held up the bottle. “There’s plenty more.”

Note to self, do not refill your glass. That’s how tattoos and babies happen. I set my glass on the coffee table and pulled up the show.

“So, what are we watching?” Miles sat back and sipped his wine as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Well, I was going to watch Broadchurch, but I hear it’s pretty gritty, and the first season is eight episodes long, so we can pick something else.”

“Broadchurch was an ITV show. It was quite the obsession when it came out. Sophie loved it.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Not much of a telly watcher.”

“I can go to the cottage.”

Miles leaned over, took the remote from me, and clicked play. “I’m yours for the night.”

I liked the sound of that, but I shouldn’t. I took another sip of my wine before hugging my side of the couch tighter. Miles had inched closer.

“Ah, Clevedon,” Miles commented on the town setting.

“You’ve been there?”

“Yes.”

“It looks quaint.”

Miles rolled his head my direction. “Do you watch a lot of British shows?”

“Define a lot.”

“That many?” He tugged the pillow from me. “Why are you so nervous around me tonight?”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.” He batted me with the pillow.

I tried relaxing, meaning I wasn’t white knuckling the arm rest. Instead I was gently resting my arm on it. “I’ve never watched a movie with my boss before,” I admitted.

“Don’t remind me,” he growled.

I shifted my body in his direction. “Why don’t you like being called my boss?”

“Please, let’s not talk about it. Tonight, we’re friends.” He hugged the pillow.

Well, okay. I turned back to watch the show. It wasted no time getting to the gut-wrenching scenes. I stole the pillow from Miles, needing some comfort. I might need a tissue too. The tears were real.

“Do you want my hand?” Miles held out his.

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