Page 18 of His to Keep
“How do you expect to handle dry cleaning and his shopping if you don’t have access to his home?”
I probably look like a fish, the way I’m gaping at him open mouthed. But somehow this part of the job completely didn’t register. I hadn’t expected to be in Luke’shouse. The very thought has my face flushing.
“There’s also the work-related dinner parties to oversee,” Wesley continues. “And signing for important deliveries. And—”
“Right,” I say quickly, trying to regain some semblance of professional veneer. It’s difficult when I can’t seem to stop thinking about what Luke’s home might be like. Dry cleaning means I’ll have to be in his bedroom, right? Why does that make me feel so flushed? Then, even more overwhelmingly, I’m struck by a memory of all the toys in Luke’s private room at Wyld. Does he keep things like that at home? Oh, God. Does he have a play room?
I have to banish those thoughts, though, because Wesley’s appraising glance suddenly seems more knowing, a slight smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth.
“Makes total sense,” I say, aiming for bright and probably hitting shrill, instead. I fumble to grab my purse and tuck the card away so Wesley can’t see my red face. When I finally glance up, his smile has only grown.
He leans across the table conspiratorially. “Does someone have a crush, Miss Fields?”
“What? No! Of course not. I mean…I’ve only just met him.”
Wesley is full on grinning now. “No need to be embarrassed. It’s not like you would be the only one.”
I snort without thinking. “I’m sure.” Of course I’m not the only one who has a crush on him. I bet eighty percent of the women he comes into contact with become immediately obsessed with him.
Wesley laughs. “Right? That guy knows how to wear a suit.” My eyes snap up to his face, surprised, and he raises an eyebrow. “Sweetie, even if I wasn’t gay as a jaybird I would still be able to appreciate the body on that man.” I snort with laughter, covering my face. “I mean, it’sridiculous.”
I’m half tempted to tell him it’s even more ridiculous with his clothes off, but luckily I haven’t completely lost my mind yet.
“Of course, knowing him weakens the appeal a little,” Wesley continues, rolling his eyes.
I frown. “Really?”
“Oh, God, yes. Talk about moody. And he’s so bossy.Totallycontrolling.” He looks thoughtful. “I guess that part could be hot, with the right person. If you’re into that kind of thing.”
God am I ever into that kind of thing. Especially when it comes from Luke. I could tell Wesley stories about how bossy his boss really is that I’m sure would have him blushing as hard as me.
My first few days go by quickly. There’s so much to learn and so many co-workers to meet. Wesley fast becomes one of my favorite people. He’s nice and funny and very patient with me while he shows me the ropes. He insists I join him for lunch every day, introducing me to his friends who work in other departments. And he seems to know how to handle Luke. More than once I hear our boss ranting about some crises or another and the gentle, calming tones of Wesley’s response.
I don’t, however, spend much time with Luke. He apparently has a lot of catching up to do after his extended Asia trip because he’s dashing out to meetings most of the day. When he is on the premises, he’s shut up in his office on the phone or with Wesley, or holding court with his underlings in the massive and intimidating conference room on the floor below us.
On Wednesday, I’m asked to join them downstairs. Wesley looks stressed out—or at least as stressed out as he gets. Which pretty much just means his tie is slightly uneven. Nothing seems to shake Luke’s secretary very much. I guess you’d have to have that kind of attitude to work with someone so demanding.
“The entire board is coming in today,” he explains, hurriedly stacking booklets of glossy print outs on his desk. “Luke will be briefing them on the merger.
“Sounds like a big deal.”
He snorts. “You can say that. He had me here after nine last night getting all the handouts together.”
“What can I do?”
He shoots me a grateful look over his booklets. “Would you get the coffee together? Pastries too. And water bottles. Should probably have some tea, as well—”
I put a hand on his arm. “Refreshments for the important guests. Got it. You go ahead and do whatever you need to do.”
“Thanks, Beccs,” he says, sweeping the pile of hand-outs into his arm. “You’re a star.”
Wesley had showed me the small kitchen next to the conference room on my first day so I head down and get to work. I start the coffee machine, turn on water to heat for tea, then open the fridge to pull out cold bottles of water, which I stack on the silver serving cart. I can’t remember where Wesley said the extra mugs were, though, so I have to search through several cabinets. I finally spot them—of course they’re on a high shelf. I’m straining on my tip-toes to reach for them when I suddenly become aware of a change in the room. Some minuscule alteration to the energy, like the air has started to buzz just under the surface.
Before I can turn around to see what brought about the change, a tall, muscular body steps up behind me, pressing me up to the counter. I gasp. “Need help with that?” a husky voice whispers in my ear. Luke.
“No,” I squeak out. “I mean, no thank you.”
“You sure?” he steps even closer, his chest now flush with my back. And God, just like that my knees go weak. The smell of bergamot hits me hard. How is it possible his scent has already become so familiar to me?
