Page 8 of Sweet and Salty

The feline mask she’d worn that night had only covered half her face, but I’d recognize the sound of her voice anywhere. I’d replayed that voice moaning my name more than a few times before, not to mention I could never forget those rich dark eyes.

“I'm Dr. Casson,” she says as I take her hand, my mind spiraling. Fucking hell, it’s her. She has a stalker? The urge to crush that motherfucker roars to life beneath my skin, and it’s all I can do to shove the possessive instinct down. “You must be Mr. Thatcher?” she continues. “You’re my first appointment of the day. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

I can't form a single coherent word as my heart pounds in my chest, my mind trying to reconcile the fact that my new assignment and the dream girl I've been texting for the past two months are the same person.

She drops my hand and spins around, motioning for me to follow her. “Come on back and get settled and we can get to know each other,” she says as I follow her into her office. The space is cozy with bookshelf-lined walls and rich leather armchairs situated in front of her desk, which is neat and tidy. She settles into her own chair behind the desk as I take one of the leather ones opposite it. Her rich brown eyes are open and caring and completely oblivious to who I am.

“So, Mr. Thatcher,” she says, looking at her tablet before glancing back at me. “It says here that you wanted to meet with me regarding a recent divorce. Is that correct?”

“No,” I say, still trying to figure out how best to tell her who I am.

The most adorable little crinkle forms between her brows as she double-checks her notes.

“I'm sorry, I must’ve made a mistake. I swore that's what you said over the phone?—”

The bell to her office chimes again, and she tilts her head. “If you'll excuse me one moment, I'm expecting someone, but I'll be right back once I tell him where to settle in.”

She hurries out of the office, looking absolutely delectable in her blue blouse, black skirt, and black pumps combo. It takes me a few seconds before I stop admiring how damn beautiful she is and get up to follow her.

I find her mid-introduction with theactualMr. Thatcher she was expecting.

She spots me waiting outside of her office, and ushers Mr. Thatcher inside before lingering outside the doorway.

“I'm so incredibly sorry,” she says. “I didn't mean to assume you were my first appointment for the day. Are you Mr. Rolfe? The security detail my father hired?”

I dip my head in a nod.

“Okay, you're much earlier than I expected,” she says. “I'm so sorry, I had this whole introduction thing planned and I was going to get you set up with a desk or whatever you needed, but I really do have to get to this client. Are you okay out here on your own until I'm finished? You can help yourself to anything that I have in the fridge in the break room. I stocked it this morning, but once you tell me what you like to eat and drink, I can order those things.”

I can't stop the smile that shapes my lips or the way my heart is thumping against my chest. She’s every bit the sweet, caring, rule-follower I pegged her for that night two months ago. Of course, she also had a wild side that I’d been lucky as hell to see.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Such a hospitable kitten,” I say.

Her eyes flare wide, her body tensing, likely recognizing my voice saying her nickname.

She blinks a few times, confusion dancing in those brown eyes as if she misheard me.

“I really have to get back to my client,” she says, hurrying into her office and shutting the door behind her.

I stare at the closed door for a few moments. Definitely not the reunion I've been dreaming about for the past two months, but I certainly hadn’t expected her to be my client either.

Shit.

We’re going to have to figure this out.

In the meantime, while she works with her client, I get to work inspecting her office building.

It's not a terrible setup, but there are at least six entry points that are a disadvantage. Easy access points that wouldn’t take much to break into, if someone were so inclined. Not to mention there are no security cameras on the interior of the building, which I understand is unethical in her office or in the patient exit room, but she needed some in the waiting areas, the break areas, and the outdoor courtyard. That same patio I recognized earlier because she’d sent me a few pictures from that very spot when she’d been eating her lunch there a week ago. We’d chatted about the view, about the copse of trees that lined the edge of her parking lot, and how much she loved the building because of how many trees surrounded the property.

Trees someone could easily hide behind.

Fuck.

After an hour, Kitten—Zoe—finds me in the waiting area, her patient having left via the patient exit room that connected through a back door in her office.

She looks a little more grounded, but there's a heavy amount of surprise clinging to her features.

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