Page 63 of The Situation
I cross my arms over my chest, struggling to erase the vivid imagery lingering in my mind. “Mr.Brewer, was it?”
“Don’t come at me with that.”
“Why not?” I ask. “It’s not like you were being completely truthful with me, either.”
“Omitting my last name is much different from lying about who I am.”
“Is it, though? Because if you had told me that you were TateBrewer, it might’ve set off a few alarms in my brain.”
“Or you could’ve just told me you were Aurora Johnson and not some cheerleader from a cartoon.”
“Would that have mattered? Would my name have meant anything to you? Do you sign every paycheck of every person who works under the Brewer umbrella of companies, and would’ve been able to pick out mine?”
He glares at me with a hint of amusement ghosting his lips.
“That’s what I thought.” I shrug. “This really is on you when you think about it.”
The greens overtake the blues in his eyes. “There has been a lot on me in the past few days when it comes to you, most of it wet and sticky, and I don’t feel guilty about any of it.”
Damn.
I grab the edge of the table behind me so I don’t dissolve into the floor.
“What are you thinking right now?” he asks, adjusting his tie.
I wonder if he’s doing it to keep his hands busy so he doesn’t reach for me. I hold the table tighter so I don’t reach for him.
“What am I thinking?” I ask. “I’m thinking that this is the craziest coincidence on the face of the planet.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“I do.” I release the table and move around the room to dispel some of the energy zipping through my veins. “How else do you explain that the first time I choose to sleep with a random guy, he turns out to be my boss?”
He shrugs. “I think some people use the wordfateorkismet, but feel free to substitute whatever makes you happy. I’ve discovered that you typically preferharderanddeeper.”
I heave a breath. “Don’t.”
My heart pounds as I take in this delicious man whom I’ve not been able to stop thinking about for days.
It would be so easy to fall into his arms and let him ravage me again. The thought is almost too tempting to deny. My saving grace is our location—that our run-in happened at work, one job that I love and has given me so much meaning in this season of my life. It forces me to take a second. To breathe. To honestly consider what I’m doing.
With the moment of pause comes clarity through the haze of pheromones.
There was a reason I got up Saturday morning and left him asleep in his bed. And I can’t forget that now—especially now when my job could be affected by my decision, too.
“Tate, I love this job. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He cocks a brow as if he’s challenging my declaration. But I don’t react. I just move on.
“I had the best night with you,” I say. “And I’m sorry if leaving you in the morning without saying goodbye was disrespectful. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It did hurt my feelings.”
I grin at the playful look on his face.
“Do you want to hash this out over dinner?” he asks. “That would really help me heal from the trauma of waking up alone.”
“No.”
