Trouble

“Beauty and the Beast?” Her blue eyes flicker up at me, and when they meet mine, my stomach tightens in a way I don’t like.

She looks amazing, and I’m pissed I still want to fuck her. She’s also being very polite and p

rofessional—as am I.

“I did this for the high school prom one year, ‘Tale as Old as Time.’”

“Was it for your high school prom?”

“No, I was in college at that point. I needed the money.”

Clearing my throat, I step away from her hair and its scent of magnolia. It reminds me of how it bounced in soft waves around my arms when I drove my dick into her from behind.

“Go with that. Miles will think he’s in a Disney movie. Hell, they all will.” Morons.

“So Regency romance.” She taps on her phone. “Should we tell them to dress in period attire?”

“God, no. It’s not a carnival.”

Her eyebrows rise, and she cuts me a glance. “You’d be surprised how much people love wearing costumes.”

“Nothing surprises me.” I walk around my desk as she zips up the folder and takes her clutch. My jaw tightens, and I can’t seem to stop myself from going there. “You appear to be well.”

She tilts her head, confusion lining her brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Why else would you sneak out in the middle of the night unless you were ill?” Crossing my foot over my knee, I lift an iPad off my desk. “Unless you had some sort of emergency.”

In my peripheral, I see her shifting uneasily. Yes, I like seeing her squirm under my cross-examination. I’m not a frat boy, and I’m definitely not a football jock. She’s in the real world now.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice returns to that soft register that makes me want to wrap her hair around my fist and pull her head back against my shoulder. “Friday was a mistake. I apologize for my unprofessional behavior.”

My jaw tightens. Not what I expected her to say.

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re consenting adults.”

“Yes, but I don’t sleep with clients. I’d had too much to drink—”

“Stop.” My eyes flash to hers, anger tightening in my chest. “I do not sleep with intoxicated women.”

“No…” She holds up a hand. “I only meant…”

“I ordered food, which you refused to eat. I believe your exact words were not to tell you what to do.”

Her chin drops, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “You’re right. I said those things. It was poor judgment. I was dealing with some personal stuff.”

Sleeping with me is poor judgment? I don’t think so.

I grab the reins on my stinging rebuttal and put it in the box of cool self-control. I’m Mr. Freeze, after all.

Idiotic nickname.

“I see. Is this ‘personal stuff’ going to impact your ability to do your work? Or is that too invasive of me to ask?”

“It will not.” She stares at her shoes like a child.

I want to tell her to look at me, but I don’t.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Standing, I round my desk and open the door, holding it for her to go.