Handle With Care (Shacking Up 5)

“What the hell are you smiling about?”

I rub my chin because that’s where her is gaze is currently fixed, as usual. Half the time I think I have food on my face. “Nothing. I was thinking about something.”

“This isn’t a joke, Lincoln. You can’t use that tone with staff.”

I motion toward the closed door. “Do you know how many times a day Marjorie stops by my office to see if I need coffee?”

“She’s trying to be helpful. It’s her job.”

“I don’t think twelve coffees a day is helpful to anyone. I’m worried one of these times she’s going to roofie me, and I’ll end up hog-tied in a closet.”

“Is that a fantasy of yours?”

I give her some of her own sass back. “This isn’t a joke, Wren. I can’t have my staff trying to kidnap me and keep me in their basement as a pet or a trophy.”

“That’s a little high on the drama, there, Lincoln. Maybe you’ve been spending too much time with your brother.”

I push out of my chair and plant my fists on my desk. “You did not compare me to that asshole.”

“We can get a drama-queen crown. You two can take turns wearing it.” She bites her bottom lip, her smile making her eyes twinkle with mischief.

“I’m not being dramatic. I need Marjorie to cut down on the office visits, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings. I already have a shadow. I don’t need another one.”

Wren’s smile drops, and her expression goes blank. At first I can’t make sense of the sudden shift.

“I see. I’ll speak with Marjorie. I only stopped by to remind you that we have a meeting shortly. I’ll see you in the boardroom.” She spins on her heel, the skirt of her dress flaring, and stalks toward the door.

It’s then I realize how she’s taken that comment. I’m around my desk and blocking the exit. I’m fast when I want to be.

She stumbles back a step, and I see, for the first time, a hint of vulnerability. She lifts her chin and twists her head away, eyeing me from the side.

“I wasn’t referring to you, Wren. I meant—”

She holds up her hand and cuts me off. “You don’t need to explain.”

“Uh, I think I do, because you look pissed, and while I incite that reaction in you frequently, generally you aren’t under the impression that I’m insulting you. I was being quite literal.” I motion to the floor where my shadow bleeds into hers. “I know I suck to deal with, but I hate this place and you’re pretty much the only decent thing there is about working here. Aside from G-mom. She’s awesome, but she’s not here every day like you are. Interestingly enough, I piss her off a lot too. You’re the only person here who isn’t constantly bending over to kiss my ass. So please, Wren, don’t take what I said the wrong way.” I don’t know why I’m saying all of this, or why I sound like I’m imploring her to believe me.

Maybe because I have to sit beside her in a meeting, and I don’t want the angry glare she usually directs at my brother aimed at me. Or maybe it’s because what I’ve said is true. At some point in the weeks since I agreed to take on this godforsaken role, I’ve started to … rely on her? Get used to her? Which I guess is the damn point. Despite how aggravated we always seem to be with each other, I don’t want to hurt her feelings. If she even has any of those.

She looks in my direction, but still not at me. Her gaze is on my tie, or my chin, or my eyebrows. I don’t fucking know. “I’m trying to help you acclimate. If you need space, all you have to do is say so.”

What I do next might flirt with workplace harassment, but she’s not listening, and it’s infuriating. Now I guess I understand her frustration with me. I grab her by the shoulders, gently, of course. Her dress has cap sleeves and a wide, high neckline. It’s modest—as are all her dresses—but still sexy. She almost looks like someone out of the fifties. Especially with her hair pulled in a ponytail that does this twist thing at the end.

She glances at my hand, cupping her shoulder. She’s shorter than me by a lot, even with heels. She’s curvy, but she feels almost delicate. I need to stop making these observations.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Wren, look at me.” I’m snippy, but for fuck’s sake, she’s not listening.

She purses her lips and stares at my neck. I duck down, getting right in her space. This is probably really bad. I’ve blocked the exit to my office, and I’m physically preventing her from leaving. Although, she’s adept at self-defense. If she wanted me to stop touching her, I’m pretty sure I’d be on the floor with her heel against my jugular.