Page 128 of Inflame

“The best.”

“I only made a plate for myself so I could tempt you with it,” he teases. “Enjoy.”

Nic sits back in his chair and watches as I hesitantly fork a mouthful of food between my lips. He specifically kept meat from the plate, so maybe he was intending to give me his serving the whole time. I never get bent out of shape over calories. I just like to eat healthy and fuel my body with quality food. However, after months of dating Ethan and dealing with his snide comments about what goes in my mouth, I am in need of a little mental detoxing. Being apart has helped me to see how truly abusive he was toward me. I do deserve better.

After my last bite, I slouch down into his leather chair that smells like him and exhale. “I’m going to need to be carried out of here.”

Nic chuckles and clears the plates from the desk, taking them out of the room. When he returns, I am checking my phone for the time.

“I better get going so I can at least catch a few hours of sleep prior to the work shift starting all over again,” I mutter. I am one of those people who can function on less sleep. However, I am way more productive if I get my minimal five.

I gather up my bag and wave goodbye to Nic. I am a few steps down the hall when I feel his presence behind me. I turn around and look up at him with confusion. Maybe he wants to make sure I don’t set off any alarms since it is after hours.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, okay.”

I fidget at the elevator bank and accidentally press the up button when calling for the car to arrive. I bite my bottom lip and quickly press the down arrow. Except I completely miss the button and hit the metal frame instead. An awkward laugh bubbles out of my throat. I must look like a lunatic. We stand—in complete silence—and wait. The elevator arrives and we enter it. I suck in some air, feeling like the oxygen levels change once the doors close. It is as if Nic takes up way too much space and every glance he makes in my direction is making my toes curl.

I know what he is capable of—in and out of the bedroom. He must know the effect he has on me because the grin plastered on his lips makes it appear that he is part of some inside joke.

“Quit it,” I huff.

“What am I doing?” he asks. His tone sounds innocent, but I know the truth. There is not a freaking thing about Nic Hoffman that is innocent. He isn’t fooling me.

“Stop looking at me.”

He tips his head to the floor and chuckles.

“Stop laughing at me too,” I demand.

“Am I allowed to smile? Or does that bother you too?”

“Only if you can do it without staring at me.”

He starts laughing again. Dammit. He is making me go insane. He is so entertained by my bossiness that I don’t know whether to smack him or join him in laughing at the spectacle that I am making of myself.

The elevator doors finally open, and I rush out ahead of Nic, brushing past him in a flurry. I need air. I need to breathe and clear my head. He jogs up beside me, hits the code on the door and pushes it open for me. As soon as the fresh air surrounds me, I feel like I can function again. Nic makes me claustrophobic without being in a super confined space. He just has that aura about him.

“Thanks for dinner and for letting me in to find my key,” I say, rocking on my feet. I am acting weird, and I need to leave before I say something embarrassing—which happens to be how I operate around him.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“No.”

“No?”

I shake my head adamantly. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I’m doing it,” he states bluntly.

“No.”

“Why the hell not, Claire?”

I hold my breath and close my eyes.

“Claire…”

---