“Pleasure to see you again, ma'am,” Janice says.
Janice steps out and closes the door behind her. Hemingway is off his bed in an instant, bounding over to Paige, his tongue flopping out of his mouth, his entire body wagging. Paige indulges him, kneeling down and scratching him behind the ears.
“I don't even get that kind of a greeting from him,” I say. “Clearly, you're the preferred flavor of the month.”
She looks at me and I see the color blossom in her cheeks. It's only then that I realize there are other ways that comment could be interpreted. I give her a small smile, letting her choose whichever interpretation she prefers.
She's wearing a pale blue dress that falls to her knees and a white cardigan sweater and has her hair held back with a white headband, letting her dark locks spill down over her shoulders. Paige looks like the living embodiment of the girl-next-door chic. It's very appealing. Very sexy. And as I sit there, watching her, I feel my cock begin to stiffen.
“Not that I mind you stopping by – in fact, you're welcome anytime, Paige,” I start. “But what brings you by?”
She gives Hemingway one last scratch and stands up. My boy looks at her with a pout, wanting the attention to go on forever. I take a couple of treats out of the jar on my desk and toss them toward his bed. He gets the hint and walks over, dropping back down on to his bed with a loud sigh. He nibbles on his treats, making it more than clear that he'd prefer Paige's hands on him.
Me too, buddy, I think to myself. Me too.
She walks over and takes a seat in the chair across the desk from me. I watch with interest as she crosses her long, shapely legs. And I can't help but recall the feel of the soft skin of those thighs pressed against my face. Paige catches me looking and tugs the hem of her dress down a bit, the color in her cheeks deepening.
She clears her throat. “I actually came by because I needed to talk to you about something.”
Judging by the look on her face, I don't suspect it's a conversation I'm going to particularly enjoy. She looks serious. Perhaps even grim. Given this is the first contact we've had since that day, I have a feeling it's about our tryst in the bookstore. And if I was a betting man, judging by her serious demeanor, I’d say she’s here to tell me that it can't happen again.
Yeah, I'm going to have to change her mind about that.
“Sure,” I say. “What's up?”
She fidgets with her hands in her lap and looks away, her expression changing to one of uncertainty. She seems to be wavering. Maybe, she's still on the fence about things between us. And maybe, I won't have to do all that much convincing, after all.
Paige finally looks up at me and opens her mouth to speak – only to be interrupted by a knock on my office door. She quickly looks back down at her hands and nibbles on her lower lip.
“Come in,” I call.
The door opens and Janice steps through. “Sir, I've asked Daniel to take me down into town to pick up some things for the house,” she says. “I hope that's okay.”
“That's fine,” I say.
“Is there anything in particular you need me to pick up, sir?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and clear my throat. “Yes, actually,” I say. “Can you pick up – the stuff? I'm just about out.”
Paige looks up and arches her eyebrow at me, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It's silly and it's stupid. There really is no reason for me to hesitate to tell Janice what I would like her to pick up. Except for the fact that Paige is sitting there and for some reason, I don't want her to know what “the stuff” consists of.
I know it seems bizarre, but for some reason, it feels like we’d be entering a level of intimacy I don’t think I’m ready for.
“The thing, sir?” Janice asks.
“Yes, you know,” I say. “The stuff.”
“The stuff?”
I give Janice a long, level look. And I can see by the small grin she's trying to suppress that she knows exactly what I'm talking about, but is choosing to rake me over the coals in front of Paige. I arch my eyebrow at her and give her a menacing look – which only seems to make it more difficult for her to suppress her smile. Paige, in the meantime, is watching the exchange with keen interest.
“Yes,” I say. “The stuff.”
“Oh, right. Rocky Road ice cream and a package of Double-Stuf Oreos. I'll be sure to pick it up for you,” she says. “We'll be gone a few hours, please call if you require anything else.”
I hang my head as Janice turns and leaves my office, closing the door behind her. Not that I can't still hear her laughter echoing down the hallway. She often comes across as dry and humorless, but Janice has a wicked sense of humor and a razor-sharp wit. She often makes me laugh with her subtle digs and commentary. She's a lot like Alice in that way.
I'm not used to her turning those things on me. And why she chose to do it in front of Paige is something I'm going to have to talk to her about. When I look up, she's staring at me, the same sort of amused grin upon her lips that had been on Janice's. I can tell that she's trying to hold in her laughter.
“Rocky Road ice cream and Oreos, huh?” she asks after a long, awkward moment.
I shrug and try to play it off. “Sure,” I say. “Like everybody else on this planet, I enjoy a little sweet treat in the evenings. No big deal.”
“No, of course not,” she says. “I'm just surprised, that's all.”
“Surprised?” I ask. “That I enjoy ice cream?”
“No, not that,” she replies, her smile widening. “I just figured you would enjoy something a little more decadent and exotic. You know, something a little more refined and sophisticated. I see rich people in the movies always eating these bizarre desserts, so I just figured –”
“There you go stereotyping again, Paige,” I say. “That's not a good look for you.”
She shrugs. “I just never figured a big, strong, Captain of Industry-type like yourself would have the same cravings as your average five-year-old,” she says, the laughter erupting from her. “I never figured a wealthy, powerful CEO like you would enjoy something so simple and ordinary.”
“There's nothing wrong with enjoying a little simplicity in one's life,” I say.
This time, it's my cheeks that color. I feel the heat rushing to my face and know that I'm blushing. Although, I can take a joke, so I smile along with her. Like I said, it's a silly, stupid thing to keep secret, but for some reason, it's a secret that I wanted to keep. Mostly for fear of looking like an idiot and of something like this happening – being mocked.
“No, simplicity is a good thing,” she says. “I agree.”
“Oh, good,” I say. “I'm so glad to hear that.”
She narrows her eyes, her grin turning a little mischievous. “Do you watch cartoons while you enjoy your ice cream and cookies?”
“Ha-ha,” I say. “You're a funny girl. And yeah, maybe. So, what if I do?”
“Do you wear footie pajamas too?”
I smile and shake my head. “If they made them in my size, I just might.”
“Now, that is something I'd pay good money to see,” she says.
“Yeah, you'll never have enough money for that,” I say. “Not even if you win the lottery a dozen times straight.”
We share a laugh and a lot of the awkward tension that had saturated the air before dissipates. Her face and body seem to relax, and she looks more like she's there to have a pleasant talk and less like she's about to tell me I have cancer and just six months to live.
“How about some coffee?” I ask.
“That'd be great.”
We both stand, and I lead her out of the office, turning back for a moment to tell Hemingway to stay put. He, of course, lays his head down and pouts.
Paige follows me into the kitchen and whistles low. “Wow,” she says. “This is a really nice kitchen.”
It’s not like I do a lot of cooking, but I do dabble every now and then. It's a large space, all done in dark wood and tile. The appliances are sleek and modern. There's a long granite island in the center that has a deep sink and lots of counter space and drawers.