Page 29 of Mr. Big Shot

“There. Better. Have you had dinner?”

He nods. “Yes, Mommy. Leftover pizza.”

I roll my eyes when what I really want to do is let loose a belly laugh.

“Have you?” he asks, lazily taking in my getup.

I just nod, not wanting to get into it. I don’t want him to ask me where I’ve been. But I shouldn’t worry; Hudson’s in no hurry to ask me probing questions. He doesn’t care about trivial things like my social life.

Out in the sitting area, I hear the man stand up at Lucy’s desk. He walks to the open office door and holds up the document he was working on. “Finished with edits. I gotta head out. My wife’s gonna kill me if I don’t make it home before she puts the kids to bed.”

Hudson waves him off. “Thanks, Jansen. Hand that over to Scarlett before you go. She’ll input the changes.”

Jansen gives me the bound document, and I nod in confirmation.

Well, there’s my task. Time to get to it.

I decide it’s best if I work in my office tonight. There’s no reason to linger near Hudson, especially while we’re the only two people on the floor. It just feels dangerous—not because he’d ever do anything inappropriate. Last I checked he was minding his business, whipping through papers on his desk, a red pen wedged between his teeth. It’s more like I’m the inappropriate one. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep Hudson contained in the tidy box in my head labeled: Boring Male Coworkers I Otherwise Don’t Care About. He’s inching ever so slowly toward a new box titled: Men I Find So Attractive I Can Barely Stand It. So far, that box is filled with Brad Pitt (specifically Legends of the Fall Brad Pitt) and George Clooney (in his current silver fox era).

Putting myself down the hall, in my office, is the smart thing to do.

Except that five minutes later, Hudson calls me back down to his office because his printer isn’t working.

“Did you do something when you turned that lamp on?” he accuses.

“Yes,” I say drolly. “I broke your printer by turning on your lamp.”

His gaze eats me alive.

I gulp and look away. “Maybe it needs more paper?”

“It has paper.”

“What about ink?”

He drags his hands through his thick hair. “Dammit. Where’s IT when you need them?”

“I’m pretty handy,” I tell him, kicking off my heels so I can bend down and see what the issue is. Really, I’m not that handy, but if there’s an opportunity to fix something and impress Hudson in the process, I’m going to take it.

Of course his printer is shoved in the bottom of a large built-in cabinet, so I have to bend down to confirm that yes, unlike the lamp, the printer is plugged in. That’s a good start.

“What’s the issue?” I ask, turning just in time for Hudson to bend down next to me. He’s so big and looming and that scent—my god, it’s good. Citrusy, clean, invigorating, that fresh-out-of-the-shower aroma I love.

“Shove aside, will you?” he says suddenly.

“I’m trying to fix it,” I argue, not budging an inch. “You’re the one who called me down here.”

“Yes, well, you’re not exactly doing a bang-up job.”

“You haven’t given me a chance to do anything yet!” I snap and then groan when my head hits the bottom of the cabinet. “I was just checking to see if it’s plugged in.”

“Of course it’s plugged in. Let me see if I can figure out the error code.”

He presses his shoulder into mine and, like a petulant child, I shove right back against him. “I can—”

Before I know it, he has me by the waist and he’s lifting me up and plopping me down away from the printer like I’m a sack of potatoes he’d like to dispose of elsewhere.

“You know what? Fix your own damn printer,” I huff, reaching down to pick up my heels.

---