Page 21 of Guarded King

“Coming.” I stand, gathering my notebook and pen before entering his domain. He’s not wearing his suit jacket, making it difficult for me to avoid admiring the way his broad shoulders narrow to a trim waist as he returns to his desk. He must work out, yet with the number of hours he puts in here, I can’t imagine when.

Last night and the night before, he was still working when he insisted I leave for the day. I was surprised, considering what Lena said about having to work long hours. I’ve still returnedhome later than when I worked for Geoff, but my former boss left at five p.m. on the dot every day, so that’s hardly a surprise. So far, though, I’ve been home in time to make dinner for Dad both nights.

I don’t know how long Roman stayed after I left. He just walked out of his office, checked his watch, and told me to head home. The first day, I was too distracted by the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms and the muscles that flexed as he checked the time, to ask questions. The unexpected sight left me strangely flustered, which is ridiculous, because I’ve seen plenty of forearms in my life, and none of them made my stomach flutter like that.

In fact, I can’t remember the last time any man gave me that feeling.

What makes the response even more ridiculous is that he’s been nothing but aloof since I started here. Honestly, that’s fine with me. I don’t need a boss who’s warm and fuzzy. Even if it would be nice to get a smile or a word of praise every now and then. It’s hard to believe we’re developing a rapport when those icy eyes seem to stare straight through me.

Still, once in a while, something unreadable flashes in them—so brief I can’t tell if it’s approval or something else. I’d like to believe he appreciates my work, even if he doesn’t say it outright.

I sit on one of the chairs in front of his desk and cross my legs. As I glance up, Roman’s gaze seems momentarily fixed on where my skirt has ridden up slightly. But before I can fully register it, his focus is back on his computer screen. It happened so fast, I wonder if I’m imagining things.

I’m even less sure what I saw was real when he speaks and his voice is as smooth and unaffected as ever. Even if he did notice my inadvertent flash of skin, it probably didn’t even register on his distraction scale.

“I need you to attend the meeting at Haverscombe Industries with me this morning.”

“Of course.” I hold my pen poised over my notebook. “Do you want me there to take notes only, or is there something else you need from me?”

“I’ll need detailed notes, but I also want you to compare his proposal with what we’ve agreed upon internally. Roger Haverscombe is a slick bastard. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to slip something past us.”

“Haverscombe.” Biting the end of my pen, I sift through everything I’ve absorbed over the last few days and the conversations I’ve had with Sophie about ongoing projects. “The plan is for them to work with us on the construction of the InnovaCore Energy headquarters building at Hudson Yards, right?”

Roman’s mouth tilts—just barely—in what might be the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile since I started working for him. “That’s right.”

I blink, momentarily caught off guard. He’s ridiculously handsome at the best of times, but with the slight softening of his usual stern expression, he’s beautiful.

My heart gives a little stutter, and I clear my throat, dragging my focus back where it belongs. Developing even a mild crush on my boss is a complication I don’t need. “What time will we need to leave for the meeting?”

“Eleven. We’ll take my car. Make sure you’re not just familiar with the project details, but also with the potential challenges and questions we might need to address during the meeting.”

Without thinking, I let out a small, disbelieving snort, then instantly wince.

His dark brows arch. “Did I say something amusing, Miss Callahan?”

I swallow hard. “Not amusing, no. It’s just… in my previous position, I wasn’t exactly encouraged to have more than a surface-level understanding of project details before meetings.” Even Geoff Sr. didn’t take full advantage of my willingness to go beyond the basics. I was often used as little more than a glorified secretary, despite my efforts to learn everything I could.

Something sharp glitters in his eyes, there and gone in an instant. But all he says is “That’s a shame.”

His tone doesn’t give much away, but there’s something about the way he says it—almost as if he’s irritated on my behalf. The thought sends a lick of warmth through me. Before it has a chance to grow into something more, I rise, clutching my notebook. “Is there anything else, Mr. King?”

His full focus is on me as I stand in front of him, and for some ridiculous reason, the intensity of it makes my nipples tighten beneath my blouse.

Heat creeps up my face. I can’t exactly look down to check whether my reaction is noticeable, and crossing my arms over my chest would only draw more attention.

Roman’s gaze flickers down, his eyes narrowing, and my traitorous nipples tighten even more—as if to make absolutely sure he can’t miss them. The strong column of his throat works as he swallows, then he gives an abrupt shake of his head. “Nothing else. Just be ready to leave at eleven.”

I whirl away, relief sweeping through me. But as I exit the room, I swear I can still feel the weight of his stare on my back.

It’s enough to send a rush of heat through my veins. So much so that when I pull the door closed behind me, I let out a shuddery breath and fan my cheeks. After a few steadying breaths, I do my best to shake off my reaction and focus on preparing for the meeting ahead.

An hour later, I have my tote over my shoulder with my tablet tucked inside, and I’m standing next to Roman in the elevator.The whole ride down to the foyer, I fight the urge to breathe in his soap and citrus scent. Even in my heels, the top of my head only just reaches his shoulder, the sheer bulk of him making it impossible to ignore how imposing he is.

And how attractive.

As we descend, more people crowd into the elevator, forcing us to step back until we’re pressed against the rear wall and the left side of my body is flush against the hard line of his.

I peek up at him, catching the subtle twitch of a muscle in his sharply defined jaw. He doesn’t look happy about being so tightly packed in the tiny stainless-steel box. Not that I can blame him, I’m starting to get a little claustrophobic myself. Elevators don’t typically bother me, but when they start to feel too confined, I get… antsy.

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