“No.” My reply is stiff and unnatural. Something his head tilts at, but there’s no following question concerning my response.
His hand extends. “The file.”
I pass it, standing rigid as he opens it.
“Sit.” He points to a chair.
As I settle into the fine linen seat, thoughts of the commercial dissipate. Only Brexton exists. He has a way of doing that, making you become absorbed by him, even when silence lingers for too long.
Which is what’s happening.
This room is so quiet, there’s a faint buzz occurring in my ears, and each swallow I take is deafening.
“Make sure you remind me of my luncheon with Lynn. It's Wednesday.”
I sit higher when he finally speaks, though he still doesn’t look at me. Which might not be a bad thing considering my sour face.
Lynn. For the week I’ve worked here, he’s already met with her several times. Wednesday will mark the third occasion. It shouldn’t bother me, but it sure as hell does. The name alone grates along my nerves. A sigh slips out as I mark it in my planner.
A small chuckle bristles in the room. When I look up again, I grip my pen tighter.
He's locked on to me, something coy playing across his features. “Is that a problem?” One side of his mouth hitches up, and my foolish heart loves the sight way too much.
“Uh, no.” There’s a waver in my voice. “No, sir.”
“Yet, you sigh when she's mentioned.” The smile alters to a smoldering smirk with one brow tugging up.
“I don’t know your schedule yet, so I’m noticing you meet with her often. That’s all.”
“Jealous?” He sings out the question, head tilting just enough to make my stomach flutter. “I didn't take you for that type.”
“I’m not jealous,” I bite out, more defensively than necessary. Wonderful. Our professional façade today is akin to fistfuls of sand. I grind my back molars together, willing for composure and a calmer voice. “There's nothing to be jealous of.”
The statement is a fact, but honestly, I’m very jealous indeed.The thought of Brexton with someone else makes my blood prick at my veins as it pumps faster—and forget about how green said blood feels when I catch other girls at the office lusting over him the same way I do.
It’s almost makes me feel like I’m in a pack of horny office women. A feeling I loathe. I want to be different from everyone else and stand out in a room of interns and secretaries who wear sky-high heels and too much makeup.
I loathe that too. I’ve never wanted to stand out so much in my life—stand out to someone I can’t even have and shouldn’t even want.
“Nothing to be jealous of. Oh, really?” He leans back in his chair, clearly amused.
“Really.” I cross my knees, folding my arms across my chest. Brexton is clueless as to how this type of banter makes things even harder for me. “Besides, what would you know about me, anyway?”
“Not enough, I assure you,” he purrs.
I want to groan as he gives me a searing once-over. His gaze passes over my body slowly with veracity, like I’m wearing nothing at all.
”But I'd like to change that, Olivia. I'd like to change it all, if you'd let me.”
My limbs weaken, nearly pliant with his softening tone. He doesn’t know it, but each joint in my body is aware that Grant could cross around this desk, fold me against it, and they’d thank him for the attention.
“Say the words, Olivia, and I'll go out to lunch with you instead.”
The word yes flexes the small muscles on the end of my tongue. Until…
One or two mistakes, and Lonnie will find me. His words cloud my mind. Little Doll. A rush of fear flushes out the endorphins firing in my brain.
The need for protection sends my eyes glaring in a renewed bluff. “Why would I be interested in someone who got me outsourced?”
“You’re still mad about that? I thought by now you’d thank me for…” He pauses to gesture between us. “This.”
“And just what exactly is this?” I copy his gesture, entirely forgoing my timidity for clarity. “Please, enlighten me.”
One groomed brow cocks up. “We’re both perceiving adults, are we not? Do I have to spell out what we have here?”
I scoff. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“What? Who said anything about you sleeping with me?” His expression widens in fake shock. “Your forwardness surprises me, Olivia. Layton didn't tell me you were so bold.”
My mouth hangs open. “But you just said—”
“I mentioned lunch. Catching a bite to eat makes you think of sex?” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk and quirks up his brows. “Do you have a voracious sexual appetite, Olivia? I’m happy to oblige a need, but even for me, fulfilling an insatiable one might prove challenging.”
Hell yeah, I’d be insatiable with him.
“No comment,” I counter, raising my brow.
Well-built shoulders shake with a silent laugh. “Now I'm very interested in having lunch with you.” He tents his fingers, resting his elbows on the desk. “I might cancel with Lynn in advance.”
“I’m not having lunch with you.”
“Shame. I guess Lynn will have to do, then, although she is only our social media manager. Old and married; nobody to be jealous of.” He winks, which threatens to fold me under the table.
“Anyway,” he begins as he stands, “Mr. Franz is our focus this week.” He paces, getting back to business.
I start writing in my note pad, even though my insides are more jumbled than a kid swinging blindly at a piñata.
“We need his beer for this year's German fest.”
“Why his beer?” I ask, stopping my notes.
“Because he hates selling to an American and refuses to import it here. If we secure him, we'll have something no one else does.”
“Can we do that?”
“Yes.” There's no room for doubt there. “He's visiting the area, and we're taking him to dinner. He speaks English, but I want you there.”
“And?” I tap my pen on the paper. “Where are we eating?”
“That's up to you. Call around; pick something. All I know is we can't eat at Reichenbach.” He shakes his head. “He bitched about it over the phone. Guess he ate there a few years back. Found out the owner was a soldier at the Berlin Wall during the seventies. Lost his shit.”
I stop a laugh and make a definite memo—NO Reichenbach.
“Pick something that will impress. Show him we're making an effort.” A finger shakes my way. “Don't fail me on this.” He stops beside my chair and stares at me. “I'm giving you leeway here. Blow it, and we both go down. Understand?”
“Perfectly.” I sound dry yet squeaky as I cast my eyes downward. There’s a light shake in my hands as I try to write more on the paper. He’s so fucking intimidating at times, and no matter how nice he is to look at, I just can’t seem to do that at all in moments like this.