Page 40 of Colton's Secret Weapon
They’d made an agreement to talk about it. She hadn’t coerced him into doing so and felt strongly that if she didn’t hold him to his word on the matter, something not good could result.
No clue what that something was or if it even pertained to her.
“I view all such action to be inappropriate in the workplace.”
The response disappointed her, while at the same time she realized she should have expected it. Mitchell was Mitchell. Logical. Living fully in his head. Maybe even a little uptight.
“Well then, it’s a good thing that St. James Boats hasn’t actually hired you yet. No contracts delivered or signed. While I’m a signer on the business now, I’m not an employee. But I am a guest in your home. Where we ended up in the kitchen, outside of office hours, in less than professional attire.”
She could go on. Would go on if he forced her to do so. She could be a whole lot blunter. But she stopped there, giving him a chance to own up to his own culpability in their need for the conversation.
And if he walked away? Told her he’d have her things delivered from his home?
Her guidance had clearly led her to him. Was she on the verge of making a personal choice that ruined the good she’d done by listening in the first place?
“I like sex.” He looked her straight in the eye as he delivered the short sentence.
Swallowing, she pursed her lips. Then found enough voice to accept his challenge, maintaining eye contact as she said, “So do I.” There were caveats to her proclamation. A lot of them. She wasn’t sure why she held them back when he’d given her the perfect opportunity to get them out. She wasn’t asking why.
“I don’t have it with clients.”
She’d figured as much. But just in case he hadn’t yet discerned the same about her, she said, “Nor do I.”
Forking a healthy bite of salad, he said, “So are we done here?” and filled his mouth with her bounty.
The delicious food she’d provided, she mentally corrected herself.
She took a bite of her own salad, suddenly unable to swallow without discomfort. “No.”
He nodded, as though he’d expected the response. Almost as though he was enjoying their repartee.
She kind of was.
Except that she couldn’t lose sight of the very real necessity for having the talk to begin with.
“There’s a likely chance that what happened in the kitchen this morning will happen again.”
“Not if we agree not to be in the kitchen at the same time.”
His almost childish response had her gaping at him. It wasn’t like they’d planned to be there that morning. Even less likely that they could time Kansas’s phone calls to when they were in an office situation.
Chances were greater that the kind of call she was awaiting would come in the middle of the night. It just always seemed to happen that way. Evil at work in the dark.
Except…she pulled herself upright. Evil wouldn’t be at work because her dad was going to be found alive.
Giving herself a mental smack for having fallen down the dark hole even while she was consciously working on staying out of it, Dove followed the self-directed negativity with a mental hug. An apology. And encouragement to herself for having seen what was happening and thus could prevent a permanent dive.
She didn’t do that by playing around. Putting down her fork, folding her hands on the table in front of her, she said, “I’m not averse to having sex with you, Mitchell. I would never have expected to be attracted to you—business suits aren’t my thing—but I am. A lot.”
He adjusted his sitting posture, and she pictured him over there growing hard. The image, egged on by their early morning meetup, gave her plenty of impetus to continue.
“However, I cannot engage in the behavior unless you understand that it’s strictly a mutual enjoyment of physical activity. No strings attached. No commitment of any kind to any future involvement between us—business or otherwise.”
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “You’re telling me that you no longer want me to work with St. James Boats?” His entire demeanor had turned into one big frown.
“Hell no!” she blurted loudly, as she’d heard her father do. And then covered her mouth with her hand. Shocked at herself. Embarrassed. And then, half behind her fingers, said, “I’m saying that the sex needs to have no effect on anything outside the physical act. If we work together, that’s a separate thing. But…” she lowered her hand, leaned in and looked him straight in the eye “…if us having sex means you won’t help my father with his business, then it’s off the table.”
His gaze lightened. He ate another big bite. Then after he’d swallowed and wiped his mouth, he said, “Then, it’s off the table.”
