Page 10 of Pulse
He smiles. It’s a baby smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Let me know, and I’ll be there.”
“Good boy.”
He groans, making me laugh.
“I have a lot of stuff to do today, so scram,” I say, motioning toward the door. “Please upload your paperwork so I can process it this morning before Norm from accounting comes for me.”
He pauses before gripping the armrests and getting to his feet.
His body unfolds from the chair inch by inch. Each movement sends a drift of his cologne my way. I look up at his six-foot-three-inch frame, broad shoulders, and barrel chest as he peers down at me. It’s hard not to shiver.
“Thanks,” he says with a small nod.
“For what?”
He shrugs, letting his gaze linger on me before turning to the door. “Last week’s paperwork will be in the system within the hour.”
“Thank you.”
He pulls open the door and looks over his shoulder. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell Freddy to accept reality, or I’ll help him.”
My jaw drops as Troy tucks his chin to his chest and slips out of my office. He pulls the door shut behind him.
I inhale a long, deep, steadying breath and blow it out.
If Troy were anyone else, and I met him anywhere else, I would give in to this attraction in a heartbeat. I’d be putty in that man’s sexy, calloused hands. But as luck will have it, instead of whispering how much he wants to fuck me, he just fucks with me.
Why does he have to be so complicated?
I grin.
Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous?
My grin slides into a pout.
And why do I have to be so damn attracted to the one man who’s absolutely off-limits?
I sigh and get back to work.
Chapter Three
Dahlia
“Home, sweet home,” I say, pressing the fob until my car horn beeps three times behind me.
A soft breeze blows gently across the driveway, bringing the sweet scent of flower blossoms with it. Blazing oranges, vivid reds, and majestic purples paint the early evening sky. Children laugh in the distance.
Rows of tidy homes, their windows reflecting the warm glow of the setting sun, line the neighborhood’s charming streets. Ferns hang from porches. Bikes lay unattended on front lawns. Nearly every address has a barbecue, something I found amusing when I moved in a year ago.
Now, I have one, too.
“There’s my girlfriend,” a voice calls from my left. I glance over my shoulder to see my neighbor Burt waving his wrinkled hand from his porch swing.
I laugh. “Hey there, handsome. How was your day?”
