“My pleasure. Nice to have some new blood in here who actually appreciates people.” She tossed a glare at Jackson, and he grimaced back. Most of the other coworkers seemed to tolerate Jackson, but Zelda openly showed her complete and utter disdain.
“Anyway, I have to get back to work. Congrats on the big milestone.”
“Thanks.” She pulled me into a quick hug and her corkscrew curls tickled my nose.
As soon as Zelda disappeared down the hallway, I turned to Jackson and said, “I ran into Brogan on Friday.”
“Where?” he whispered, like this was some top-secret meeting.
“At his apartment.”
His beady little eyes popped open, and he slammed his hands down on his desk with enough force to rattle his coffee mug. “What did you tell him? I swear if you threw me under the bus—”
“Relax.” Maybe it was the milestone coffee giving me that extra sense of security, but I propped my hands on my hips and leveled him with the same condescending look he so often used on me. “I saved your precious hide.”
As if to contradict me, Brogan’s voice boomed through the speaker. “Lainey?”
I pressed the button on the receiver. “Yes?”
“In my office. Now.”
Jackson’s pasty complexion paled to a nice shade of Vampire White, and his eyes pleaded with me as I moved toward Brogan’s office.
Good. Let him sweat. He’d made my life hell for the past two months and deserved a little taste of his own medicine.
The glass door closed behind me with a soft hiss. I held my hands behind my back, not sure what to do in this situation. We’d spent a fun night together, but we were in our work environment now, and I didn’t know what, if anything, carried over. Or there was always the possibility he’d decided to pull out the rule book, tell me exactly how many rules I’d violated, and send me packing.
A smile played at his lips as he watched me fidgeting obviously. His demeanor, even from last week in the office, had taken a complete one-eighty. “How is your sweater doing today?”
Relief ebbed through me as I realized I hadn’t been called in here to be fired—or if I had, he was a seriously sick individual for joking with me first. I thumbed the material, pretending to inspect it. “Untouched and unslobbered.”
“Good to hear. Sit down.” He motioned toward the chair across from him.
As I sat down, I crossed my legs and smoothed out my pencil skirt.
He steepled his hands together on the desk, tapping the pads of each neatly-manicured finger together. “I was thinking. Bruce really likes having you around, and so I thought I’d pass off walking duties to you instead of Jackson.”
I went to uncross and re-cross my legs, and in the process the toe of my boot brushed against his leg under the desk. We both froze, his eyes locking with mine. If I’d looked away for even a second, I would have missed the dilation in his pupils, and the way his Adam’s apple slid down his throat as he swallowed hard. A shudder started at the base of my spine and splintered through my back.
I cleared my throat and decided to focus my gaze on something safer, opting for the picture of Brogan with Bruce on his desk. Much like the other night, the heat of self-awareness—mainly the awareness of how elated I was to come into contact with any portion of his body—prickled the skin from my elbows to my toes.
Note to self: start an eHarmony account, because this is treading dangerously close to the pathetic category.
“That’s fine. I can handle you.” I choked, realizing what I’d just said. “That. I mean I can handle that, not you.” I ran a hand through my hair and resisted the urge to groan.
Schoolgirl crush. That was the only way I could explain this feeling. Back in high school, there was the demigod of all science teachers—Mr. Chandler. He was young for a teacher, wore his T-shirts tight across his broad chest, sported tattoos much like Brogan, and the taboo of liking someone so forbidden had played a key role in my infatuation with him. That was all this was—an infatuation. Because Brogan had the S trifecta: Sexy, Smart, and SO out of my league.
His warm brown eyes studied me. His teeth nipped at his bottom lip, and I imagined what they’d feel like dragging over my neck, my arms, my—
He cleared his throat and unbuttoned his blazer. “As long as this won’t be a problem, I think you’re a better fit.”
Wait. What? Better fit for what? I was jostled out of my Brogan stupor in time to see a wicked grin playing at his lips. I backtracked through our conversation and realized my mind had gone ten steps beyond dog walking. While he was focused on a proper caregiver for his pooch—seriously, Jackson’s nurturing ability would emotionally stunt a pet rock; what had Brogan been thinking?—I was focusing on whether he was a giver or taker in the bedroom. Most definitely a giver.
That settled it—dating site would happen tonight. And under personality traits would be: delusional, fantasizes about the wrong people at the wrong times, and “dog people need not apply.”
I crossed and uncrossed my legs again, this time making sure I wouldn’t bump Brogan. “I guess I’ll be over tonight?”