Page 9 of Choosing the right Man

“Good luck,” Sadie says. I turn and look at her, my cheeks flushing. I hate that my nerves show in my skin.

“Don’t make me more nervous,” I say with a chuckle I don’t feel.

“It’s no big deal. It’ll probably be over in two minutes,” Sadie assures me before turning to her computer.

I toured the facilities yesterday so I know exactly where his office is. Walking down the long hallway feels like walking the Green Mile. I haven’t gotten my last meal yet. There should be a rule about that. I almost laugh aloud. I’m going to be hysterical if I don’t stop my rampant mind — and fast.

His door is closed, and I stand for a minute, not sure what to do. Surely, he should’ve opened it if he knew someone was coming to see him. What if he’s in there with a client? What if he’s busy? I look around, but there’s no one to guide me with what to do next.

I take a deep breath after a couple of incredibly long minutes. I don’t want to keep him waiting if he’s expecting me. Finally I lift my hand and lightly tap on the door. If no one answers, I’llsimply scurry away, and if it’s brought up later, I’ll say I knocked but there was no answer.

Before my hand returns to my side, the door opens. And here he is. All six feet plus of him, standing in a pressed white shirt, looking far sexier than any man has a right to. My breath is captured as I suck in a gasp of air that seems to pull his scent deep inside my body. My core instantly begins to pulse. This isn’t good.

“I was wondering how long you’d stand here, trying to come up with an excuse not to come in,” he says. His eyes are far too knowing for my liking. I just need to find a hundred other reasons to despise this man.

“I didn’t want to disturb you if you were busy,” I say, thinking he’s being slightly rude. If he knew I was out here wondering if I should knock or not, it would be polite for him to open the damn door. This man is confusing and frustrating. It’s worse that he intrigues me so much.

He widens the opening of the door and holds out a hand. I have no choice but to step forward. I’m entering the lion’s den. I actually might feel safer in the belly of the beast. Wait. There’s no might about it, I’ddefinitelyfeel safer.

I hear the click of his door shutting, and I want to scream that there’s no need for a closed door. There’s nothing inappropriate the two of us are going to talk about . . . or do. But he’s the boss, and I’m a lowly employee. I don’t get to tell him to leave the door open.

His office is massive, seriously huge. The room is bigger than my living room and kitchen combined. Maybe even bigger than my entire house if the doors I spot lead to other rooms, which I’m sure they do.

Floor-to-ceiling windows take up the entire back wall, and everything in me wants to see if the view is as spectacular asI think it may be. Once again, he seems capable of reading my mind.

“Take a look,” he suggests. I could demurely pass, but I want to see the view. I walk over and gaze down. It’s beautiful. The building is situated close to the water, and there’s a perfect view of the river. Boats float along, taking tourists on rides. Some are speeding. I can practically hear laughter drifting up to us. I’ve always wanted to own a boat, thinking life doesn’t get much better than a hot day, a cold beer, and a quiet river. Maybe someday this will happen.

He’s silent as he comes over and stands next to me. Actually, he’s slightly behind me. Heat radiates from him as he looks at what I see. I wonder if he thinks I’m nothing more than a country bumpkin who’s easily toyed with. Maybe I once was that girl, but I grew up, I assure myself.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, his low voice music to my ears. I have to fight not to lean back, not toaccidentlybrush against him. What is wrong with me? I can’t think these thoughts, want these things, or cave to these desires. It has to be the dream I had. It has to be the elevator. And to top it off, I’m feeling rejected by the man I’ve been with for so long.

With reluctance I move sideways and step away from the window without touching him. There are two leather chairs in front of his desk. I move in front of one but don’t sit. This shouldn’t take long, and I’m not going to presume he wants me to relax.

He smiles as he comes around his desk and leans on it, only a few feet from me. The way he leans into the desk makes his pants stretch across his impressive thighs, and more importantly, over the middle of him. It takes all I have not to trace my eyes along his narrow hips, not to look at the secrets he’s hiding. I’m sure there’s much to be impressed about. And he knows it. The look in his eyes has my hackles standing straight up. I try to mask myexpression. It isn’t an easy task, but I’m doing a fairly good job of it.

“You managed to slip away without a drink,” he tells me.

He gets straight to the point. I gulp. “I never agreed to have one with you,” I say. His smile fades, but I square my shoulders. I haven’t said anything wrong. It’s his problem if he doesn’t like to be turned down.

“You must feel something between us. Are you playing hard to get?” he asks. This time he sounds more curious than anything else. If he was being rude, or condescending, it would be easier for me to be rude right back. But his curiosity seems to take away my temper as quickly as it rose.

“I’m sure it’s difficult for you to accept that anyone wouldn’t want to jump at your bidding,” I say. It isn’t a question, and the words don’t come out as a taunt. It’s a simple statement.

“That never happens,” he admits. The corner of his mouth tilts in the most appealing way. “That is until last night,” he adds.

I smile. He’s so easy to talk with, to joke with. I’ve missed having a man flirt with me. It’s innocent, or so far it is, but I can see how it can turn not-so-innocent very quickly.

“I’m in a relationship,” I blurt. I notice his expression doesn’t change. He isn’t surprised by my statement. Does he already know? If he does, what’s he doing asking me out for drinks?

“I have your personnel file,” he says. I’m confused. Maybe I’m slightly naïve, but I still believe most people are good, most people don’t break rules such as fidelity and morality.

“Then why are you asking me to join you for drinks?” I ask. I’m not upset, I’m now curious.

“Because you’re obviously in a relationship of convenience, and I don’t do relationships, so we can be mutually beneficial to each other,” he explains.

I have to process his words over and over again in my mind. I think I realize what he’s saying. But I’m not one-hundred-percent sure. I look at him, more curious than disgusted. This should be my first clue to run like hell. This man is as dangerous as I originally suspected.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” I ask. I don’t want anything left up in the air. My imagination is vivid enough without trying to figure out what he’s saying to me.

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