Page 18 of Not the Puck Bunny

My father and I couldn't have had more different approaches to just about everything. Sometimes I wondered why I wanted to work for him, but the answer was simple. I wanted to learn from him so I could take over and do his job better than he did.

If we had anything in common, it was ambition. Something I suspected Xander never fully understood or appreciated. He would have been happy if I stopped working and had babies instead.

Someday, I wanted children, but for now I had other priorities. Not to mention if I couldn't keep an orchid alive, I had no business having a baby. Apparently babies needed more than water every few days.

“I'll get us some coffee and you can talk me through your plan,” Rafe said. He placed his hands to either side of him on the leather couch and pushed himself to his feet. He stepped out from behind the table and stopped.

“Looks like we have company,” he said.

I knew that tone, it hinted at a warning for me, as well as the new arrival.

Rafe had always been somewhat protective ofme, even when I insisted I didn't need him to be. He would happily have kicked, or kneed, someone in the balls if absolutely necessary.

It was sweet, but I could handle myself. Most of the time.

I didn't need him to tell me we weren’t alone either. Even before Rafe said the words, I felt the air leave the huge room. The temperature shot up several notches.

I tried to ignore the sweat that broke out on my palms before I looked over and saw the big winger standing beside the door-frame, looking uncomfortable.

“Mr. North.”

Chapter Eight

Cam

I rubbeda hand over the back of my neck and met the eye of the slender man who looked at me like I was an oversized dog and he was a Chihuahua. He was smaller than me, but his posture suggested he knew how to bite if necessary. He held my gaze, giving me a silent warning before he brushed past and swept out of the office.

“Ms. Welling.” I dropped my hand down to my side with a slap of skin on denim. I tried not to look at her too hard, but I couldn't tear my eyes away.

She looked at home on that black leather couch. Her sweater today was emerald green. The shade made her hair look redder, and her eyes deeper blue. She wore very little make-up, leaving her freckles to decorate the pale skin of her heart-shaped face.

Her lips were pressed in a line as she looked back at me. Not hostile, but not welcoming either. I didn't miss the way her eyes dipped down below the waistband of my worn jeans. Her cheeks turned slightly pink before her gaze snapped back to my face.

“Did you want something?” she asked coolly.

You, lying back on that couch, writhing underneath me while I…

I cleared my throat and shoved the thought away. “I came to apologize. For the other night.”

“Okay,” she said simply. Her expression gave me little to work with. Was she accepting my apology or waiting for more?

“I was aggressive and out of line,” I continued. Now I was the one filling the awkward silence.

She nodded finally. “Youwereaggressive and out of line. Would you be apologizing if I didn't own your team?”

“If you didn't, chances are I'd never see you again,” I pointed out. “Can't apologize to someone if you have no idea who they are.”

“I suppose that's true,” she conceded. “If you never saw me again, would you be sorry for what you did? Or are you only sorry because of who I turned out to be?”

“Does it matter?” I asked. She wasn't making thisapology easy. When I pictured in my mind how this would go, it was to give her a quick 'sorry,' and step back out of the office. I'd have this off my chest and wouldn't have to deal with her, except from a distance.

“I think it does,” she said. “There's a difference between saying sorry because you want to and saying sorry because you feel you have to. If I was some random woman you never saw again, would you have given it a second thought?”

I pressed my teeth together and rolled my lips a couple of times. “Probably not.”

“So you talk that way to women on a regular basis?” she asked.

I stared at her for a moment. “No. Yes. I don't… Fuck.” I scrubbed a hand over the stubble on my chin. “I usually keep my distance. I don't go around running into women.”

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