“Yeah,” I say, nodding like I’m not at all screwed up over what he just said. “Good points.”
They are good points. And he’s right. Not one piece of me wants to even pretend I want to get married or have a kid or raise someone else’s kid. That’s for other people. Not me.
How can I be mad when he’s being honest? How can I be upset when he’s actually being thoughtful by being open with me and laying it all out there?
So I know nothing will ever happen between us.
“That moment in the kitchen was impulsive, and I shouldn’t have gone there,” he says. “It messed with your head, and I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m fine,” I lie. “I mean, I was unsure what you were thinking or whatever, so I’m glad to know. That helps. A lot.”
“Paige, I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” My cheeks heat. “Everything is fine. We’re on the same wavelength now so that’s good. But on that note, in the spirit of being transparent with no manipulation involved …”
He half-grins.
“Do you want me to move out now? It’s not a problem if you do.”
He sighs. “I want us to still be friends. I want you to work for me, and I want to be in your life. Like we have been. Okay?”
I take a giant breath and hold it in my chest. I do want to be friends with him. That’s been the best part of what we’ve had. It’s the core of who we are—the reason we could flirt so harmlessly and tease one another. I don’t want to lose that either.
But I have to get our dynamic back.
“I hate to tell you,” I say, shrugging. “We can definitely be friends, but I’m going to have to start flirting with someone else. Maybe Murray.”
He stiffens but forces a smile on his face. “Good luck with that.”
“I wonder how he’ll take seeing me in my panties.”
I don’t wait for his reaction. I just turn around, grin, and walk to my room.
ELEVEN
NATE
“Are you all right?” Murray asks, standing on the other side of the kitchen with his hands on his hips.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Because I told Paige we should just be friends.
“You’re just quiet. That’s abnormal for you,” he says.
Try introspective.
I don’t respond out loud, and instead, I focus on putting away the vegetables fresh from the delivery truck.
“You know, you’re always borderline irritable,” Murray says. “But I can usually figure out why based on what’s happening around here.”
Irritable? I’d go with frustrated.
“Yet you’ve managed to hold your fuse very well. I usually get you to explode by this point when I poke at ya.”
It’s all this brand-new self-restraint I found.
My mind switches easily—way too easily—to the subject of my irritation. My frustration. My fucking demise. A chill ripples slowly down my spine as a series of images, almost like a photograph, plays through my memories.
Paige’s cheeky grin. Her big, brown eyes that I now know turn almost golden when she’s turned on.
My balls tighten so hard I grimace.
The slight gasp when her finger slid into my mouth and the rush of breath when I released it.
Dammit.
I clench my teeth together and close the cooler door. Then I turn to him.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, looking him in the eye. “Do you want me to blow up on you? Because I can. I can take all this irritability you say I have and just spew it across this kitchen. You want to see that?”
Instead of taking the hint and backing down, Murray does the opposite. He flashes me the smile that gets him re-hired at least once a month.
It reminds me of Ryder, in a way. It’s the same sort of move he pulls on me when he knows I’m pissed. Apparently, I’m a sucker for it.
Lucky for Murray.
“Do I want you to blow up on me?” He points at himself. “No, man. I was trying to be a gentleman and extract information without actually putting you on the spot. Like prying with a spoon instead of a crowbar.”
I stare at him. “First, that’s a stupid analogy.”
“I thought it was brilliant, especially considering we’re in a kitchen.”
“Second,” I say, undeterred from my opinion. “Prying with a crowbar would be more effective and cause less damage than prying anything with a spoon.”
This satisfies him. He grins. “Okay. Crowbar it is. How’s it going living with Paige?”
His eyes meet mine with a steadiness that I think I taught him. When he first started here, he was a squirrelly little shit with no backbone and a big mouth. He’s still foolish and has a huge mouth, but he’s growing a backbone.
Next lesson—when to use it and when to back off.
“You better mind your business,” I say.
“You’re my boss, and she’s my co-worker. You’re like family to me, man.”
I roll my eyes.