Page 158 of Breaking the Rules
He stays there—right there—as he takes me through an expense report.
His fingers brush my hip.
My neck.
The small of my back.
Then his body is behind mine.
And his breath is warning my ear. "How are we doing?"
Please touch me. Forget about the shop. Forget about my brother. Forget how badly you need this job.
Erase everything else.
"Good." My heart thuds against my chest.
I'm not used to wanting someone.
For three months I haven't.
Hell, since I jumped up to five foot seven (at fourteen; I'm five eleven now) and developed breasts (also at fourteen, and, well, they aren't much bigger now), I've been the one making boys nervous.
But Hunter isn't a boy.
He's a man.
And he's practically untouchable.
"At the end of the year, everyone is taking home a nice profit. Even after the salary they pay themselves." I force myself to look him in the eyes. "But, if you think about it, we could do a lot better."
"Yeah?"
"We have three suites, plus the one in back. With the shop hours, we could have artists here from ten to seven, all day, every day. We could stay open later even. You won't have a client every hour. But we could add shifts. Fill the chairs more. Hire a few artists. More if we moved stuff around."
"Ryan won't like that."
"He might. He… he does want to hire you."
"You should pitch it to him."
"Maybe." I bite my lip. I want to feel like an important part of the team. But no one sees me that way. "He won't listen."
"Make him."
"Easier said than done."
"Maybe. But you're tough."
I turn toward Hunter. "He's like you. No one can make him do anything."
"How do you know?"
"About you?"
He nods.
"We've been arguing nonstop."
