“Sorry about that. You guys don’t have a receptionist, so I just wandered down the hall until I saw a door with your name on it.”
Oh crap. He was just wandering around? What if someone saw him and realized he was a client? Why is he just showing up at my office?
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say uneasily. “You wanted your client profile to be anonymous.”
Matt waves a hand. “Ah, I don’t care about that. So what if the world knows I use Fetch? It’s a wicked service.”
He moves even closer, leaning in to get a better look at the computer screen. Since I’m still sitting at my chair, I’m trapped between the desk and his shoulder. His very broad shoulder, which nudges mine as he bends that big, sexy body of his. He smells fantastic, and I have to hold my breath so I don’t inhale his citrusy scent and get a contact high.
“So what are we looking at?” he asks curiously. “Butt porn? Your job is more fun than I thought.”
“No.” I immediately click the mouse to close the screen. “Sorry,” I say when I notice him raising a brow at me. “It’s a client request. Confidentiality and all that.”
He relaxes at the word client. Hmmm. Was he a bit jealous at the thought of me browsing butt porn? Nah. Of course he wasn’t. He probably thinks I’m a weirdo.
“I got you a coffee,” Matt says as he straightens. He holds out a paper cup from Starbucks. “Black, just the way you like it.”
Jenny’s eyebrows shoot up. I can almost hear her thoughts—Just the way you like it? Tell me everything!
I avoid her intensely curious gaze and accept the cup. “Thanks,” I say, smiling at Matt.
“Anyway, I came by to…” With an awkward look, he trails off, then glances at Jenny.
She doesn’t get the hint. Or maybe she does and she’s choosing to ignore it. Rolling my eyes, I rise from my chair and gesture to the door. “We need a minute,” I tell Jenny.
“I’ve got a minute,” she chirps.
In a firm voice, I repeat my earlier statement. “Client confidentiality.”
“Oh, fine.” Clearly disappointed, she huffs out the door, closing it behind her.
Matt props a hip against my desk. “This actually isn’t a business call,” he admits.
“Even so,” I answer wryly, “Jenny’s not great at picking up social cues.”
He smiles, and the sight warms my heart. This man is so frickin’ attractive. Like melt-your-brain, dampen-your-panties attractive. And when he smiles, it totally short-circuits my system. My legs feel more than a little wobbly as I sit back down. I don’t think I can support my own weight in the face of this guy’s potent sex appeal.
“So what’s up?” I ask.
Matt is still leaning against the desk. His leg is about five inches from my knee. I wonder what he’d do if I reached out and stroked his thigh. Not that I’m going to. That would take me out of weirdo fangirl territory and skyrocket me into psycho land.
“I was thinking about what you said yesterday at the store,” he starts.
I furrow my brow. I said lots of things at the store. Most of them probably gibberish, because seeing Matt Eriksson in his underwear had turned me into a blubbering fool.
“About how you’ve never really dated?” he prompts.
I feel my cheeks heat up. “Oh. That.”
“I don’t know, it seems kind of unfair that you’ve never been on a real date.” He pauses. “I thought I’d change that.”
My heart jumps into my throat. Oh my God. Is he asking me out? Matt Eriksson is asking me out? On a date? Matt Eriksson wants me to go on a date with him? Matt Eriksson wants to go on a date with me? Matt Eriksson wants— Dial down the crazy!
I take a deep breath and force myself out of my mental tailspin.
“And I have a fascinating first date in mind,” he finishes, and then flashes me another one of those heart-stopping smiles.
“Yeah?” My pulse is racing. I should say no, right? Crazy fangirl isn’t exactly a good date candidate for this man. He needs a woman who doesn’t call him “Math” and stammer every time he’s around.
“Rigoletto,” he says solemnly.
I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. “Oh, I love Italian food. I’ve never heard of that restaurant, though.”
He chuckles. Low, deep, and tinged with humor. “It’s an opera,” he corrects.
I falter. “Oh. That sounds…”
“Awful?” he supplies. His lips twitch until finally another laugh slips out. “Yeah, opera is not my first date of choice, either. But I can take you out for tapas first. It’s a mandatory team event, and I figured if you went with me, we could have some fun with it. We get to fancy ourselves up—I’m gonna wear that new tux you helped me pick out. We can console each other during the opera part, and then there’s a kickass spread afterward.” He waggles his eyebrows enticingly, adding, “Plus an open bar…”
“You want me to go to a team event with you…as your date,” I say slowly.
“Yes.” He rubs the side of his neck, looking awkward again. “Would you like to go?”
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!
“Yeah, sure,” I say casually. Except I sound so casual that it borders on indifference, and his slight frown tells me he’s not thrilled by the flippant response. “It sounds fun,” I assure him, injecting a dose of eagerness to my voice.
A smile curves his lips. “Awesome. It’s next Friday—pick you up at seven?”
“Sounds good.” That gives me a week to dig up an opera-worthy dress. I have a feeling that my simple, mostly discount dresses are not going to cut it. Jenny to the rescue!
“Nice. I’m actually looking forward to this now.” There’s something very genuine about the way he’s looking at me, with warmth and anticipation.
“Because you roped a poor sucker into suffering with you?” I joke, mostly because I’m unnerved by the intensity of his gaze.
Matt’s ice-gray eyes stay locked on mine. “No, because I get to spend some real time with you.”
Oh my. I can’t turn away from those eyes. I feel like something is happening right now. Something weirdly intimate and scarily intense, and yet all we’re doing is looking at each other. But there’s this strange electricity in the air. And Matt’s gaze has dropped to my mouth. His intent focus has me biting my lower lip, and a spark of heat flares in his eyes.
“Hottie.” He slowly pushes forward.
One big hand grasps mine, tugging me out of my chair and to my feet. And... Oh God, I think he’s going to kiss me. His lips are parted, and his tongue comes out briefly to moisten them. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I haven’t kissed anyone since Jackson— “Hailey,” a voice says from the doorway. “Needed to talk to you about—oh. Hello.”
Speak of the devil.
Jackson saunters into my office without knocking, holding a file folder in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. Matt smoothly takes a step back at my ex-husband’s appearance.
“Jackson!” I squeak.