I scribbled down orders one by one. People were friendly but there was no small talk, and the chatter I overheard was strictly business. No one was discussing Love is Blind or debating whether or not Mark Ronson was attractive—compelling viewing and I would definitely say yes to dinner would have been my thoughts, had anyone been interested. But they weren’t.
My final stop was Dexter’s office, which was down a modern but dimly lit corridor. I knocked on the door, expecting an assistant to answer, but it was Dexter who barked deep and low. “Come.”
Tingles rippled across my skin.
I opened the heavy door and took a half step inside. “I’m just collecting coffee orders,” I said.
He didn’t look up from whatever was preoccupying him on his desk. “Come in and shut the door.”
I slipped inside and did as he asked, keeping my ass pressed against the back of the door.
Finally, he looked up. “I’ll have a sparkling water.”
I scribbled it down on my pad and when I looked up, he’d silently stalked across the room and was placing his hands either side of my head.
“And a kiss,” he added.
I ducked under his arm. “Absolutely not,” I said. “I told you—I’m not dating the boss.”
“I didn’t ask you to dinner. I requested a kiss.”
“Kissing is not allowed.”
“Said who?” he asked, leaning against the wall, clearly amused.
“Said HR. You’re off-limits. It’s an abuse of power.”
He rolled his eyes and headed back to his desk, and it was as if my stomach had dived off the Angel Falls. Why did he have to be such a darn gentleman? I mean, I liked that about him. A lot. But if he’d kissed me, I wouldn’t have complained.
I was flip-flopping like the most flip-flopping flip flopper of all time. “Can I take a seat?” I asked, indicating the chair opposite his desk.
He raised his eyebrows, which I took as a yes.
“Look,” I said as I sank into the deep purple, leather chair. “I like you. And okay, it’s not exactly an abuse of power because . . .” I sighed. “Well, because whatever.” How could I say that I’d already found him close to irresistible before he’d gone and rescued my dreams from hurtling toward oblivion? Now? It was hard to think when what I wanted to do was hitch my skirt up, hop onto his desk and have him bury his head between my thighs.
He was annoying. Hot. Kind. Thoughtful. The guy bordered on perfect. He was the worst.
“It’s not an abuse of power because I said so.” I said it with resolve and hopefully that would be enough. “But I don’t want to mess up this opportunity. I want to build relationships with your team and have them respect me. I don’t want them to think I’m only here because I’m banging the boss.”
“Yeah. You mentioned that already.” He grinned. “And I’m not going to force you to kiss me. Or even speak to me. So, it’s fine. I get it.”
Lead settled in my stomach. The problem was I wanted him to kiss me. A lot. I’d never felt this pull, this sensation of someone blowing bubbles in my stomach whenever Dexter was nearby, and I didn’t want to give that up. London was meant to be the start of a new life and I’d assumed that meant a new career. But maybe it could be more than that. Autumn might have been right. Perhaps, for once, I could spend time with a man who made me feel special—a guy who gave me goosebumps, who I thought about every spare moment of the day. I’d heard about those kinds of feelings—read about them in romance novels—but I’d never experienced any of it.
Maybe Dexter was my shot at more.
“I have a suggestion,” I said.
“Go on,” he replied and I leaned back in my chair. I was always so sure of my decisions, but there was something about being in London that made me willing to take risks I’d usually run from. Or maybe it wasn’t London at all. Maybe it was the man right in front of me.
“If we were somewhere private, no one would find out about us.”
“You want us to sneak around like teenagers trying not to get caught by our parents?”
“Or maybe jewel thieves on the run?” I suggested.
He chuckled. “You should know that I’m not a role-play kind of guy.”
The gravelly tone he used had me thinking immediately about what type of guy he was. When he was naked. In bed. Or in the shower or . . . I needed to leave. “Okay then, maybe not.”
“You clearly have a plan. What were you thinking?”
“Maybe just dinner. In private.”
“I can work with that. I can get a private room at Le Gavroche.”
I was guessing that was some fancy restaurant, which would be nice and everything, but I was fast running out of outfits to wear to those places. “I was thinking maybe I’d come over to your place and cook you a meatloaf. Maybe some pie?”