Page 13 of Worth Every Risk

She shakes her head, causing locks of red hair to ripple over her shoulders. “I’m a firm believer that we’re all too sucked into our screens nowadays. I’m a better person without a smartphone, trust me. And do you know how many nannies I’ve seen who take the kids to the park and barely acknowledge them? They’re glued to their screens, watching something or reading or… something that takes them away from the children they’re meant to be caring for. Wouldn’t you rather I wasn’t distracted?”

“I’d rather you had the discipline to control yourself around a mobile phone.”

She holds my gaze, her eyebrows slowly rising. “There’s been research that people feel less connected to you if your phone isin view. You don’t even have to be using it to sever the human connection.”

Her slender fingers are still resting on my wrist and I don’t know why the fuck she isn’t moving them, or why I’m not saying anything about it. I haven’t been touched with tenderness by a woman in way too long. I’m vaguely aware of a strange fizzing sensation in my body, like my blood is carbonated.

“You were the one who put it on the table.” I sound sharp, but I’m not sure it’s about the phone.

“Sorry.”

She still hasn’t moved her hand, and the silence is charged like an electric vehicle, as if we could turn the ignition andsomethingwould race off at a million miles an hour.

“About this afternoon,” I say, and her face scrunches, her hand slipping off my wrist. “It’s important that this relationship is professional at all times. You’ll address me as Mr Hawkston, and restrain the urge to make inappropriate comments. For clarity, that means comments about my appearance. In fact, I’d urge a greater sense of discretion in general. Is that clear?”

“Crystal. No referring to my boss as Prince Eric, or King Triton or—”

“Superman.”

She holds my gaze, and her eyes appear to sparkle, her lips tight like she’s holding back a smile. Either that or she’s waiting for me to smile so she can release her own.

I don’t. I’m entirely fucking serious. If this woman is in my house, tossing all that red hair around and calling meSuperman, then I’m going to be in big trouble. I pull down the cuff of my shirt to cover the area of skin where her fingertips were resting only moments ago, trying to ignore the fact I can still feel her there.

“Also, I ask that you refrain from touching me.” She inhales so sharply it’s audible. “I’m not implying anything, but I want tobe explicit from the outset. This is a professional relationship. I cannot be your friend. Quite aside from the fact I don’t have time, I’m your boss. I’m not someone who can help you settle in or show you around.”

A rosy redness rushes up her throat and across her cheeks like a rising blood moon. Maybe I’ve hammered this home too hard. But it’s as much for my benefit as it is for hers.

“I’m sorry,” I add. “I wouldn’t think it necessary to have this conversation, but I don’t want our earlier interaction to set the tone for what has to be a professional relationship going forward.”

She lowers her head and nods without looking at me.

Silence falls between us like snow: thick and cold, but it doesn’t last long before Aries’ head snaps up, her eyes flashing at me as though she wants to fight. “You could have told me who you were. You let me go on, knowing you were my boss. You could have put a stop to my humiliation immediately, but you didn’t.”

I take a sip of wine, eyeing her over the rim of my glass. She’s alluring like this, all fired up. I like that she has the gumption to stick up for herself. Hopefully, she’ll do it for the kids too, should the need arise. “It was wrong of me. I apologise. But it’s rare that someone doesn’t know who I am. Your assumptions amused me.”

She stands from the table, picks up her ancient phone, and tucks it into her back pocket. “Then, Mr Hawkston, I would ask that in future, you don’t allow me to continue making mistakes purely because they amuse you. That way, we’ll both know where we stand.”

I sit straighter in my chair, a little in awe of this young woman. I give her a nod so slight it’s little more than an eye movement. She bows her head like she’s excusing herself from the presence of royalty and turns to leave.

“Wait,” I say.

“Yes?”

“Tell me how you found this role?”

“I interviewed. I told you that.”

Something’s off.“That’s not how you found it though.”

She concentrates on me. “You should make a note of this moment.” She nods, suddenly eager as if something exciting is happening. “Because you’re doing it. Gut instinct. Right now. That’s why you’re asking the same question, again. Your intuition is speaking to you.”

My skin prickles and it irks me that she’s talking about intuition like it’s some magic thing. “Gut instinct… or intuition, if that’s what you want to call it, is nothing more than fast data processing. That’s all. The subconscious mind, analysing at high-speed. It happens so quickly that we’re not aware of it.” I don’t know why I’m engaging in this shit. I drag my focus back to the matter in hand. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Didn’t Mrs Minter tell you where she found me?”

“No.”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you then.”

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