Page 52 of My Lucky Charm

He’s . . . wait. I look at the cup again. He’s giving me a cup of coffee?

“Do you like coffee?” he asks.

“Uh, please don’t hate me . . . but no, actually,” I say. “My sisters think I’m crazy, but I don’t drink it. I never have.”

He pours the coffee down the drain.

“Wait! You could’ve—”

“I don’t like it either,” he says.

I frown. “Then why did you make it?”

He shrugs. “In case you wanted some.”

This simple, polite act shouldn’t have any effect on me at all. But it does. Because I get the impression that Gray isn’t in the habit of being polite or kind or thoughtful.

But maybe he is.

Is this really him? Not the angry, rough, push-everyone-away guy . . . but a guy who thinks “she might want coffee”?

I try—very hard—to erase the memory of our kiss from my mind and focus on getting to know him as the person I’m working for. It only half works. It’s hard because his lips are still right there and they’re attached to that body.

And I’ve seen enough of that body to make forgetting it impossible.

I look away. He’s taken. By Scarlett, whoever that is. That’s a line I will not cross, because that was a line that was crossed on me.

He walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. As he does, he spots my contraband, hidden in the door. He looks at it, then at me, and then he pulls the bottle of Dr Pepper out from behind the jar of mustard. “I know this isn’t for me.”

“It’s my emergency Dr Pepper,” I tell him.

He makes a face.

“I’m not trying to take over your apartment, although it is way nicer than mine, and if you were to ever have a moment of temporary insanity and want to trade, I wouldn’t say no.”

If it weren’t for the girlfriend thing or the work thing, I’d happily move in here and stick around for as long as we both shall live.

Taken, Eloise! And I kissed him, and now I’m wracked with guilt. And I can’t even ask him how he could do such a thing because he doesn’t remember kissing me.

I groan. Out loud. And he stares at me.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about . . .” I find the willpower to mentally nail my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “Never mind. Can I . . . ?” I reach out and take the bottle from him, crack it open, and then take a long drink. The carbonation stings the back of my throat, and I feel the cold liquid travel all the way down to my empty belly. “I was thinking since you have the day off, maybe we could go explore your neighborhood.”

“Why?” he asks.

I lean against the counter. “Because you live here now.”

“But it’s not permanent, so why bother?” He takes a long swig of his water.

“You know, you could look at the positive here,” I say, sounding like a bossy teacher.

“Oh, could I?” His sarcasm does nothing to shut me up.

“You get to live in one of the best cities in the country! Whether it’s for the rest of your career or just for this season, you still get to live here. And it has a lot to offer.”

“You actually think Chicago is one of the best cities in the country.” His tone is incredulous.

“I do,” I say. “And I can show you why.”

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