Page 24 of Crazy Stupid Sex

Heat bloomed in her face, her heart thundering hard. “I would…not.”

“Pretty girl, if I told you to slide them down your thighs and show me what you have under those…leggings, you would.”

“No. I absolutely would not. Nope. No. No. And you’re inappropriate.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Am I supposed to be apologetic?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything so…decent.”

“Oh good. I lack decency in most areas. But I find that makes me a much better lover. Which you’ve benefitted from.”

Her face was so hot she felt like she’d just stuck it in an oven. “Sure. Once. But no more. This is…the workplace. Not the…not the bedroom,” she said, calling on all the business class ballsiness she possessed. “And you just have to remember, that in this office, I’m the boss.”

“You’re The Doctor.”

She put the papers down on the desk. “No…I’m not. I don’t…time travel. I manage things. That’s…stop distracting me.” She regathered the papers and shuffled them again. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. He looked…pleased.

“Either go back and clean out your newly minted desk, or stay and actually do a job,” she said, looking at the wall behind him then trying to gather herself up, taking a breath and staring him down. “I’m not playing games. You’re right—I didn’t come from extravagant money. What I have, I earned on my own. So you may want to come in here and play at a job, but this is my life. And you are not playing around in it. Asshole.”

* * *

He hadn’t expected her to sweep everything off her desk and fuck him then and there – though that would have been nice. But he’d expected…

What exactly dumbass? You showed up at her job with no warning, and you could have given her some warning.

Yeah, okay, he’d messed that up.

He was great at the night. He was great at sex. He had no idea what to do…after.

But he’d never had to know.

With her…he wanted more. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her so he’d honestly expected it would be the same for her.

This had never happened. Ever. So it had logically meant, in his mind, that since he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, she must have been hanging out thinking about him.

So yeah, he could admit, as irritated as he was with that part of himself, that he’d expected to show up and have her say she wanted more.

Rather, he’d been met with Evie in leggings and a T-shirt, brandishing an evil eye that was enough to make pertinent bits of him wilt. Gone was the rambling, awkward woman he’d picked up in the bar.

Well, no, she wasn’t gone, she was still there. But she was a hell of a lot more confident in her rambling in this environment.

It put him to shame, honestly. He was older than her, and wiser in the ways of the world. He looked around the office space, at the exposed brick walls and greenery cascading down from mounted pots. At the open floor plan with desks, lounge chairs and bean bags. This was hers.

He suddenly felt disoriented.

He considered himself jaded. Wise to life. Death did that to a person, he’d always reasoned. When you’d lost someone, when you knew how short, brutal and ruthless life could be you just didn’t see it through rose tinted glasses anymore.

Right then he felt like he was the one who was missing something.

She’d built this from nothing. She was not a nepo baby.

She was a stunning fucking achievement and he’d been thinking he could just waltz in here and be Caleb Anderson, rich handsome dude whose dad owned the place.

God. He hated himself right then.

Jilly, you would ghost-slap me if the afterlife were real.

One reason he was pretty sure ghosts were not real. His siter would have definitely reached out from the beyond to screw with him if they were.

---