She would never show that each time she met his gaze, all she could think about was telling him to get on his knees in front of her and eat her pussy like it was her birthday.
That’s what she’d told herself this morning as she’d dressed carefully in a charcoal pencil skirt paired with a stark white blouse that tied with a bow at the throat. Her hair in a tight French twist. Pearl earrings. Shit, the only thing that saved this outfit from being a parody was that she refused to wear tottering stilettos and had instead slipped into a pair of cute, hot pink kitten heels with a pointed toe. She looked fucking amazing, though, she thought as she poured herself a mug of coffee in the break room, and if looking good was like putting on armor, Corinne had been battle ready for the entire week.
“Corinne. I need to see you in my office.”
Her back straightened, but she didn’t turn to even offer him a glance. She continued stirring sugar and cream into her coffee. “Sure.”
“Oh, and bring me a cup while you’re at it, would you? Black.”
Oh.
No.
He.
Did.
Not.
But he had, yes he had, and it actually made her want to laugh. Not with humor, exactly, but a thickly bubbling near-hysteria that would’ve totally wrecked her calm demeanor if she let loose so much as a single chuckle. She hadn’t turned. He hadn’t left the break room. She could feel him watching her.
Waiting.
Well, Reese could wait until an angel and the devil did the do-si-do, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her.
“No problem,” she answered smoothly, still without turning more than her head, ever so slightly. “Be right there.”
She waited until she heard him leave because she couldn’t trust herself to keep her hands from shaking as she poured the coffee. Some of it still sloshed over the rim. She wiped it carefully with a napkin and carried both mugs into his office. Even more carefully, she set his in front of him so that not a drop splashed.
She didn’t sit.
“The financials from last quarter,” Reese began, then paused.
Corinne said nothing.
“They’re in good shape.”
“Well,” she said, “I’d expect them to be. You did have me redo them in the new program you prefer.”
Never mind that Stein and Sons had been using the same software for the past five years, a program she’d personally picked out because it was easy to use and had all the functions she needed. The program Reese was insisting they switch to was glitchy and far less user-friendly. If he was making busywork for her, he was going to be disappointed to discover that she wasn’t going to complain, at least not to him.
When he didn’t say anything else, didn’t even sip the coffee he’d asked her to serve him, Corinne tilted her head. “Is there something else?”
“No,” Reese answered in a tone that sounded more like yes.
She didn’t wait for him to add anything. She left his office and went into her own, firmly shutting and locking the door so he couldn’t burst in on her. Not that he would, she reminded herself. He would simply message her and expect her to drop everything and run in to service him.
She would do it too, Corinne thought with a curl of her lip. In that moment she couldn’t tell whom she hated more. Reese for putting her through this rigamarole, or herself for letting him.
Chapter Eighteen
Before
Thanksgiving at his parents’ house is always a good time. Food, music, laughter. Games of cards spread out on the dining room table with plates of pie and mugs of coffee. Reese’s family is enormous and they all gather in the old farmhouse every year.
He’s never brought a girl home before, and everyone notices but nobody gives him a hard time. Well, not too much. They all like Corinne, of course they do. There’s nothing about her that isn’t easy to like.
Corinne’s camped out on the sofa with one of Reese’s cousins, looking at the photo album from her recent wedding. Reese has brought Corinne a mug of coffee and a piece of pie.
“No,” she says, offhandedly, “not pumpkin.”
It’s not a chastisement or anything. Not even a command. He’s so used to her gentle corrections that it doesn’t even seem strange to him that he takes the plate of pumpkin pie back to the kitchen and returns with a slice of apple that she takes from him, her face tipped up so he can kiss her before she goes back to looking at the pictures.
It feels natural to take a place on the floor at her feet, especially since with all the guests in the overfull living room, seating is at a premium. And Reese is content to lean with his back against her legs, her fingers every so often brushing the back of his neck. When she hands him her empty mug, he takes it without question to the kitchen for a refill.
His father has been watching him, apparently. At the counter as Reese fills Corinne’s mug, his father takes a seat at the kitchen table. He gestures to Reese’s mother for her to cut him a piece of pie, even though the tins are directly in front of him, and she has to come around the table with a plate to do it.