Perfect Chaos

I step back, as does she. Her eyes are wide, her body visibly tense. And her gaze is rooted on my chest, prompting me to look down. My shirt is see-through. Oh. That explains it. I can see all the ripples of my torso, every line and perfect muscle that I work hard to maintain. But rather than do the sensible thing and turn away from her—deprive her of it—I stand before her, silent and still, looking at her. Her chest begins to pulse, but no matter how much my head screams at me to leave, my feet refuse to move.

Her eyes flick up and meet mine for a few brief seconds before she chokes and looks away. “I apologize, Mr. Christianson.” She swallows—once, twice, three times over.

“No need.” I snap back to life and back away, now unable to feel the cold, wet material against my skin. My veins are burning, counteracting the chill. “I’ll just go get a dry shirt.” I turn and hurry out of the conference room and virtually sprint back to my office as I take off my shirt, ignoring all the stares my half-naked body attracts on the way. When I round the corner, Gina’s mouth drops open. I know it’s not because she’s stunned by what she’s seeing. Namely, my beautiful torso. She’s simply shocked to find me running around our office floor half-naked. I land at her desk and slap my palms on the wood, leaning in, probably a bit too threateningly. “Why didn’t you tell me the meeting was delayed?”

Her head retracts quickly. “I bloody did.”

“When? I don’t remember you mentioning it.”

“Check your emails,” she hisses, answering the phone when it rings.

I huff and puff my way back into my office and do just that. I check my emails. And there it is, at nine o’clock. The Pyra Lingerie team are caught in traffic. Meeting postponed until ten fifteen. “Fuck,” I mutter. My head’s not mine today.

After I’ve put on my third clean shirt in just three hours, I leave my office. Again. “There’s a shirt on my desk that needs to go to the dry cleaners,” I say to Gina as I pass her desk.

“What’s got into you today?”

I stop and give her accusing eyes. “My coffee wasn’t waiting for me when I arrived, and it’s knocked my day all out of sync.”

“Right,” she breathes, plainly trying to keep hold of her patience. I can tell she wants to sock me one to the chin. Perhaps I should let her. “Get to your meeting, Ty.”

“I will.” I raise my nose and leave.

This time when I pass Sal’s office, I peek, spotting Lainey at her desk outside his door. Good. I make a dash for the conference room before my feet decide to stick themselves to the floor so I can spend a few pleasurable—senseless—moments gazing at her.

I find Sal with his mouth wrapped around a glazed croissant. “Morning,” he mumbles around his mouthful, spraying a few flakes onto his chin.

“Morning.” I shut the door and take up my usual seat at one end of the table.

He frowns at my chest. “Where’s your tie and jacket?”

“I thought I’d go for the relaxed look today.”

He lowers to the chair beside me, and I look down, grimacing at my lonely shirt. I feel shoddy. “Where’d you end up last night?”

His question gives me pause, and I sprint through my head for a normal Ty Christianson answer. And find nothing. “Nowhere.” I cringe at my pathetic reply and multiply how guilty I appear when I peek out the corner of my eye.

“Ty . . .” Sal says slowly and warily.

Just be upfront, I tell myself. It’s not like I screwed her or anything. Not physically, anyway. My head has fucked her every which way on repeat. But no one has to know that. That’s my little secret. “After I put you in the taxi, I went back into the bar.”

His mouth drops open. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” I groan, offended. But I wanted to. “She works for us. Despite what you think, you don’t have to keep reminding me of that little detail.”

“She wasn’t technically our employee last night.”

I dart my eyes past him, thinking. Well, shit. Why didn’t I think of that? “Damn,” I say out loud, when I only planned on thinking it.

Sal smacks me around my head, messing up my hair. “Keep that thinking dick in your trousers, Ty.”

“Watch the fucking hair.” My hands shoot up and pat down my waves. “How’s she getting on, anyway?”

“So far, so good. She seems to be finding her way around just fine, and Gina has been giving her a few pointers.”

She has? Great. With Gina as her teacher, Lainey will soon become indispensable, too, making her a keeper. A keeper? I roll my eyes to myself. “Why am I here, anyway? This is your deal to nail.”