She handed him the steel wool and got to work with a paint scraper. They worked together, she’d scrape off the paint and he’d follow up with the steel wool to sand down the edges between the paint layers. It had been working pretty much the same in his office at Carlyle Tower. She’d claimed his conference table and had gone to work diving into the Singapore project proposal and pointing out areas where a few tweaks here and there in the language or his approach could make a difference. So far, it was working. They had a follow-up dinner meeting with Mr. Lim in a week, which is exactly what he was prepping for when he got suckered into pretending to be someone on one of the HGTV shows Clover loved.
Thirty minutes later, finally finished removing decades of paint, he stood up and stretched his back, barely managing to stop a self-satisfied smirk when he caught her checking him out. “Why are we doing this if you’re just going to paint over it?”
“Because if you don’t get the little things right in the beginning, it’ll just fuck up your results in the end.” She laid the paint scraper down on the cart’s top shelf, took off her mask, and dropped her fingers to the waistband of her yoga pants.
He went from having a semi just from being in the same breathing space to a full-on steel rod in a heartbeat. She was fucking with him. No doubt about it. Good thing he gave as good as he got—in and out of bed. He yanked off the dust mask and dropped it before circling around the cart until he stood behind her. He didn’t touch her. That’s what she expected.
“Those are some deep thoughts,” he continued on, walking back to the chaise lounge and sitting down, resting his hands on his abs and closing his eyes. “So much so that I’m going on break to think about them.”
The sound of steps growing closer, followed by the unmistakable sound of her clothes hitting the floor—at least that’s what his lust-soaked imagination said it was—made his breath catch. Keeping his eyes closed and his hands to himself was murder with her so close, but he knew how negotiations like this worked. He gave her an inch and she’d take all seven—shit, what was he thinking because that sounded pretty fucking awesome. But before he could do anything, she straddled him and brought his hands to her—damn—still clothed hips.
She leaned forward, her hair tickling his neck and nipped his earlobe. “Somebody has to show you how the world works at the ground level.”
“And you’re the woman for the job, huh?” He tightened his grip, hooking his thumbs into the inside of her waistband.
“Exactly,” she said as she rocked against him.
Unable to take it anymore, he opened his eyes. Her face was right above his. Her eyes were hazy and her lips parted. Oh hell. Forget negotiating, teasing, tormenting, or whatever they were doing right now. He’d had enough.
Adjusting his hold on her hips, he picked her up and swung her over his shoulder as he got up and headed back inside. “Too bad I have another job for you right now.”
And he couldn’t wait to outline exactly what he wanted from her. After all, turnabout was fair play.
…
Sitting in the back of the cab by herself, Clover finished typing up a follow-up email about the boots she’d ordered not being delivered. It was weird. She’d order a few dresses, maybe some lingerie, and the boots. Everything always arrived but the boots. Right about now she could really use those boots as a physical reminder that the date to leave for Australia was getting ever closer, because the more time she spent with Sawyer, the harder it was getting to remember that fact—and she desperately needed to.
Trying her best to ignore the way her gut twisted at the thought, she shoved her phone into her purse, slipped the cab driver a twenty, and bounded out of the cab, eager for a killer Vito’s pineapple shake. Okay, and for the company of a certain someone who had been the reason why she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in two and a half weeks. Not that she was complaining—because she definitely was not, but there was no denying her caffeine intake had dramatically increased.
She pushed open the door and walked into the diner, but instead of the tinkling from the bell attached to the door, the sound of a dozen barking dogs froze her to the spot.
“Don’t just stand there, close the door and flip the open sign to closed,” Donna said from her usual spot behind the counter, her ever-present gray updo transformed into a high ponytail.
Clover did as asked, despite the fact that she was trying to process the scene in front of her. Sawyer sat in their usual booth looking happy-hour hot with his suit jacket gone, his collar unbuttoned, and his navy-striped tie hanging loose around his neck. However, where Clover usually sat across from him was the biggest poodle she’d ever seen. White, massive, and with the yes-I’m-judging-you look that only standard poodles could really carry off. The dog had a blinged out collar that read: Vito. If one dog in the diner had given the health department a fit, the fact that there were twelve—most of which were wearing party hats and seated at the booths along with their owners—would have made the inspector keel over.
She hustled past the panting dogs and their owners, who were seemingly oblivious to the serious weirdness of the moment as they talked amongst themselves, and slid into the booth beside Sawyer. “What’s going on?”
“Vito’s having a birthday party.”
“We were invited to a dog party?”
“No, I didn’t know it was happening, but when I showed up as Donna was closing up she said we could stay,” he said, before taking a bite of an extra salty fry. “The thing is, we have to share a booth with Vito.”
She stole one of his fries and had it halfway to her mouth when Vito let out a low growl. The dog had its own plate of fries in front of it. Wait. She looked closer. Nope. They were fry-shaped dog biscuits. Vito didn’t seem interested though as he watched her purloined fry as if she’d snagged it from his dish.
“I’ve never been to a dog’s birthday party before,” she said.
“What?” Sawyer asked in mock surprise. “The woman who milked snakes has never been to something as pedestrian as a canine celebration?”
“Smart-ass.” Ignoring the dirty look and lazy growl from Vito, she popped the fry into her mouth. “I don’t think he likes me.”
“Maybe because he is a she.” Sawyer slung his arm over the back of the booth and twisted a strand of her hair around his fingers.
Without thinking about it she relaxed back into his embrace, feeling like she belonged there in a way she didn’t want to delve too deeply into. In a few weeks she’d be on her way to Australia to help the endangered Rock Wallabies and he’d be off changing Singapore’s skyline. Their paths couldn’t be any more different. This was a fun diversion, a mini-adventure, nothing more—so analyzing it instead of just enjoying the moment while it lasted wouldn’t do a damn bit of good.
Vito picked that moment to emit another half-hearted growl.
“A girl, huh? That would explain it,” Clover said.
“What?” he asked.
“Even Vito is a candidate to be the next Mrs. Carlyle.” She stole another fry. “God help you if your mom finds out.”
“If I buy you an extra-large pineapple shake and an order of your own fries, will you keep your mouth shut about it?” he asked before feeding her a fry.
“Bahaya,” she mumbled.
Vito cocked her head to one side.
Sawyer chuckled. “What does that mean?”