He steps out just as I reach my door. “Morning, beautiful.” He walks over to me, stops when we’re toe-to-toe, then leans down and kisses me. “Too fucking long, Berklee. It’s been too fucking long since I’ve tasted you.”
I don’t say anything, since he’s technically not breaking the rules—we’re at work, not at either one of our houses, and we’re alone. He’s got the bases covered, and his cocky grin tells me he knows it.
“I have a delivery coming today,” he says, kissing my neck.
“Oh yeah?” I manage to ask.
“Yeah, a couch.” His lips find their way to my ear. “If it has to be here, we need a soft place to land.”
Holy hell. “Good call,” I murmur, breathless from his assault.
“I thought so,” he says, standing to his full height. “Should be here any minute. I also added a few things to the lounge.” He points across the room.
Turning to look, I see a mini fridge and a Keurig. “You did that for me?” I state it as a question, but I know he did.
“Yes, and because I don’t want to waste time on coffee runs. Zane will be downstairs in the security room most of the time. This”—he sweeps his hands out—“is all us.” He smirks.
“Looks like you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“You have no fucking idea.” He leans down and kisses me again just as the buzzer sounds on the door. “There’s our couch.” He swats my ass and takes off downstairs to let them in.
I boot up my laptop and pull up the schedule. The staff will be here at nine for server training. I’ve hired a serving specialist—yes, they have them, apparently. We’ll see how good she is. After talking with Crew, I decided everyone would be trained in all areas. They may not be working that position, but if everyone has a good understanding of what the other does, this place will run that much better. It’s also good if we’re in a pinch for coverage; at least having the basics is better than going in blind.
“Last door on the right,” I hear Crew’s deep voice instruct. “Staff’s starting to arrive,” he says, peeking his head in my office.
“Thanks.” I grab the stack of notebooks and box of pens for everyone to take notes and head downstairs. I included myself in all the training sessions as well, figuring if we get desperate I can fill in. I didn’t tell Crew that part. I’ll let that be a surprise. One I’m sure he will not be impressed with.
Turns out the server specialist is just that, giving great instruction and examples of how to handle difficult customers. She’s worth every penny.
“That’s all for today,” Macie, the instructor, says. “I’m here all week, so think of any questions you might have and we can address them with the group throughout the week.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll see you in the morning at eight?” I ask her.
“Yep, see you in the morning.” She’s chipper and focuses on the “kill them with kindness” method. Club Titan is going to have a serving team that’s on point.
I see everyone out, then make my way upstairs, dropping my notebook on my desk and flopping down in my chair. Crew left a few hours ago, something about an issue with the outside signage. I was hoping he would be back before now, but it looks like it’s going to be a late one for him. After checking a few e-mails, I shut down my computer, pack up and head out.
I’ve been home for a couple of hours when his text comes in.
Crew: I missed you.
I try not to let that go to my head or my heart. He “missed me,” not “misses me.” Focus, Berklee.
Me: Yeah, I was exhausted. Headed home around 5:30.
Crew: Sleep well, beautiful.
Me: You too.
As I lie here awake, I think about him. I’m half tempted to spend some time with B.O.B., but it’s a poor substitute for Crew Ledger. I fall asleep thinking of the man himself.
The next morning, I wake up late, having tossed and turned most of the night, my dreams of Crew waking me from a deep sleep. It took forever to finally fall back asleep, hence the oversleeping.
Me: I overslept. I’ll be there before training starts.
Crew: Be safe.
I toss my phone in my purse, grab my heels and rush out the door. When I make it to the club, Macie is there already, as well as the rest of the staff. “Sorry, I’m late. Please go ahead and start.” I run up the steps in my heels; it’s a miracle that I don’t fall and break my neck. I toss my purse and keys on my desk, grab my phone and notebook, then hightail it back downstairs. I managed to wave at Zane on my way past his office, but I didn’t make it to Crew. I’m sure he’ll look down and see that I’ve made it.
Macie has started the training, and even though I haven’t missed much, I feel like my entire day is going to be out of sync. I hate it when I oversleep.
I’m engrossed in what Macie is saying about being seen but not heard, making eye contact, and if the customer doesn’t engage, leave them be. Most who come to a club don’t want to be bothered; they’re here to socialize. It’s a good point that I wouldn’t have thought of. I’m in the middle of making notes when I feel a hand on my shoulder, and suddenly a steaming cup of coffee and a granola bar are placed in front of me. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is; I would recognize that hand, those tattoos, anywhere.
“Thought you could use this,” he whispers in my ear.
I turn to look over my shoulder and mouth. “Thank you.” He nods and heads back upstairs.
I take a drink and sigh. This is what I needed. Opening the granola bar, I take a huge bite as my eyes travel up to the window of our offices. He can see me, but I can’t see him. That doesn’t matter; I can feel his gaze on me.
Grabbing my phone, I send him a text.
Me: Creeper.
Crew: You’re hard to look away from.
Me: Charmer.
Crew: Beautiful.
I don’t reply, just set my phone back on the table beside me and try like hell not to look up. You would think it would be creepy being watched like that, but it’s not. Not when it’s Crew. Not when I know the look is heated and promises more of the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.
ALL FUCKING WEEK it’s been one thing after the other. All I’ve managed are a few stolen kisses with Berklee.
Today is Friday and it’s looking to be more of the same. The signage company screwed up the outdoor signs, both on the street and the building itself. I’ve been there three times this week making sure it’s exactly what I asked for. How hard can it be? They have the image.
Today, it’s not the club—it’s Berklee. I overheard her telling Zane earlier that she and Maggie are going to the game tonight. It’s just in the next town over, but that means that my chances of getting her to work late, to get her alone, are slim to none.
“What are you scowling at?” Berklee asks from behind me.
My eyes find hers. “It’s been a week today since I’ve been inside you.”
She coughs, placing her hand over her chest. “Yeah, it’s been a crazy week,” she agrees once she has herself under control.
“Skip the game,” I say walking toward her.