Page 38 of Connor

“I was just offering Soren a tea before he heads on his way,” I tell Connor, who then looks at me, the tea on my desk, and then the large rose quartz.

“We can’t go sitting around and drinking tea all day. We have a spa to open,” Connor grits out.

“I’m merely being hospitable to our suppliers.” I try to remain calm and friendly as Soren watches us both closely.

“Who needs a calming tea at this time of the day?” Connor pushes, and I have no idea why he’s being so rude at the moment.

“You, apparently. Shall I make you a cup?” I ask with full sarcasm, because I’m not making him a damn thing, although the way he looks at me, like he’s ready to throw me over his shoulder and walk me out of here, has my body tingling.

“I’m not in the mood for tea parties,” he grumbles before he turns and walks out just as quickly as he came in. My mouth is agape as I watch him leave. It seems he’s back to his asshole ways.

“Sorry, Soren, he’s just really busy and stressed. He has a lot on his plate.”

“Interesting…” he says in his assessing tone before turning and looking at me.

“What is?” I ask, grabbing my own tea and taking a seat as Soren does the same.

“His aura, it was a muddy green all over,” Soren says, and I almost burn my tongue as I try to swallow quickly. I don’t respond. I can’t. Muddy green indicates jealousy and insecurities. And I have no idea why Connor would have those feelings. He’s a billionaire, owns this entire operation, and from what I’ve seen, most of the town too. There’s no way a man like him would be jealous or insecure about anything.

“I'm sure it wasn’t,” I tell him, and he frowns.

“Auras don’t lie, Daisy.”

“What color am I?” I ask, knowing he’s seeing it, feeling a little unsettled and vulnerable as he makes his assessment.

“A good mix. Mainly red. Clearly, you are passionate about something here,” he murmurs, before sipping his tea and looking at me pointedly. I divert my eyes and look back at the beautiful rose quartz before I quietly chant to myself.

I am not falling for Connor Whiteman.

I am not falling for Connor Whiteman.

I am not falling for Connor Whiteman.

16

CONNOR

The tea Daisy made me last night worked like a treat.

I had the best sleep I’ve had in weeks, which meant I was up early, feeling refreshed and energized. All morning, I moved through my work rapidly, everything going my way. I’ve been on fire, approving, assessing. Our quarterly reports are almost done, and our figures are well above my estimates, which makes me even happier.

Although my mind is focused, Daisy’s still front and center. She’s been here just over a week, and the progress she’s made is amazing. Her work ethic is strong, her intelligence apparent with every passing day, and my morning runs keep getting better and better.

I saw her this week in a matching green ensemble, which was my favorite on Sunday. On Monday, it was purple. Yesterday, it was orange, and this morning, she was classic in black, which almost had me tripping on a tree root and stumbling. Thank God for the large hedges that surround that part of my run; otherwise, she would have noticed me. I now delight in my morning runs, just to see what color she wears next. She has a whole wardrobe of yoga outfits, and watching her bend and stretch is now part of my routine too.

As is the relief I get imagining her while in my shower afterward, when my dick is so hard I can barely make it two minutes before my release leaves me, and I hang my head in shame. She’s a consultant here, and for all intents and purposes, that means a worker. There’s a power imbalance, whether she wants to see that or not. I can’t go looking at her and fantasizing about her and fucking coming every morning to the visual I have of her in her yoga gear.

Now as I pace back to my office, my shoulders are tense again, my jaw clenching. I think I need to order one of those fancy ice baths everyone is doing these days.

I have no idea who that guy was having a fucking tea party with her, but I didn’t like him one bit. The look of him, the critical gaze he had on me, his assessing eyes and the arrogant tone. Not to mention, he stood to greet me and completely blocked my vision of Daisy, which I despised, not liking anyone coming between her and me.

I have a good bullshit radar, and it was pinging off the charts when it came to him. I tried to be civil, but as I do whenever I’m around her, I turned into an asshole, and her visitor got most of it.

Throwing my paperwork on my desk, I walk over to my window, looking out at the distillery gardens Daisy likes so much. I draw in a deep breath, noticing a few bumblebees flying around, the clouds moving overhead. Then my eyes rest on a small white and yellow flower.A daisy.Is there nothing I can look at now that doesn’t make me think of the buxom redhead down the hallway?

I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, squeezing them, trying to erase all thoughts of her from my brain, but it’s futile. My cell rings, and I pull it out. It’s Dad.

“Hey,” I say, taking a seat and leaning back in my large brown leather chair. I look around my office, same as it’s always been. Timber, deep browns, a sofa and armchairs, a meeting table, my whiskey bar. The only thing difference is the small pink teacup that now adorns my desk. And I wonder for a beat if Daisy can make me some more of the tea she had yesterday, wishing I had the energy now that I had this morning.

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