Page 4 of Chilled and Thrilled

Lying to myself was so much easier. Better to believe I was a horny, desperate old man, and she had no interest. That’s what I’ve done for over a year, but Friday night destroyed that luxury.

Now, it’s impossible to escape the newfound certainty that it wasn’t all in my head. That the times I’ve caught her looking at me, or heard the hitch in her breath on the rare occasions we touched, weren’t a figment of my imagination. Sophie wants me too, and now that I’m sure of it—damn it. Damn it, I have no idea how I’ll keep myself off her.

Getting hard whenever she walks into my office is depraved enough, but for me to have feelings for her? Jesus, my kids would lose their minds, and God only knows how it would affect my business. There’s a very good chance HR would try to find some cause to fire her, if only to insulate the firm from a sexual harassment lawsuit.

It’s a disaster, and yet, none of that is enough to stop my pulse from racing as I head into the office a full hour early on Monday morning.

Christmas is on Thursday, which means the staff will only be in the office for two days, then off for an entire two weeks. It’s a tradition, something we’ve always done for our employees, and the time away from the office never fails to boost morale.

Ordinarily, I’m so burned out that I need it just as much as they do.

This year, I resent it.

The irrational, overwhelming urge to keep Sophie Nelson in my immediate line of vision at all times isn’t compatible with giving her two weeks off. Unfortunately, rationality isn’t something I’m able to employ where she’s concerned. So, with over an hour to go until I would normally leave for work,I find myself parking in the garage across the street from the office.

Ellinger and Vogel, or E&V as it’s more often called, is housed in a massive old bank, complete with vault standing open behind the reception desk, an original brass chandelier, and gleaming marble floors. The place fell into disrepair after the Northeast National Trust Company closed and sat vacant for years until my partner and I purchased it to showcase our adaptability. Now, after renovations, the structure is a testament to respecting tradition while moving forward into the twenty-first century.

Clients are blown away by the place, and our offices have become our greatest sales tool. Frankly, I haven’t met anyone who wouldn’t want to work in a building like this, and in New England, most of our work comes from the refurbishment of existing structures.

“Good morning, Bram,” calls Natalie, the lone receptionist here this early, as I walk through the door. A flurry of snowflakes follows me inside, and I wince as I narrowly avoid slipping halfway across the lobby.

“Can you lay the mats out?” I ask her, proceeding with more caution to the elegant marble staircase, which rises along either side of the lobby.

Almost no one is here yet, but soon there will be dozens of architects, engineers, and support staff crossing the room, and there will be blood if we aren’t careful. Upstairs, the lights are still off in most of the offices, and my footsteps echo down the silent hall toward my team’s half of the building. I can’t explain why I’m here, even to myself, but sitting alone in my house for one more minute was unbearable.

When I emerge in the open workspace, which houses most of my team, my eyes are drawn automatically to the corner where Sophie’s desk is, and my heart vaults into my throat.

She’s there.

I didn’t expect her to be, had anticipated more time to get my head on straight before I’d see her face, and the shock has my mental faculties coming to a screeching halt. She’s sitting cross-legged in her rolling chair, blue-light glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, and caramel-colored hair pulled up in a messy bun with a few loose strands framing her face. Her computer screen is lit, casting a bluish glow over her delicate features, but she isn’t looking at it. Instead, her attention is on the familiar figure leaning back against the edge of her desk, his lips curved into a lazy smirk.

She’s looking at him. She’s smiling at him. Sophie—my Sophie—has her attention on another man, and out of nowhere, there’s an inferno burning in my gut. A vicious, furious jealousy more powerful than any I’ve experienced before. My muscles are tense, my body on alert, instinct demanding I drive my fist into the nose of one of my oldest friends for speaking to her.

Before I can stop myself, or reign in the dark, primal impulses that have risen inside me so unexpectedly, I open my mouth. “Holden!” I bark, attracting the attention of both my business partner and the woman I’m obsessed with. It seems to happen in slow motion. Both turn to face me, and as Holden’s smirk deepens, Sophie’s smile falls.

Shit.

“Morning, Bram. You’re in early.” Holden looks back to Sophie, disregarding my presence completely. “When we’re back from the holiday break, I’ll take you to lunch. We can discuss more. It’s a great idea, though.”

My fists curl in the pockets of my wool coat, pulse racing. “What’s a great idea?”

God, I sound like a lunatic. I must look like one too, because Holden lifts an eyebrow as he turns his gaze, withobvious reluctance, back to me. At his side, Sophie studies her keyboard.

“You’ve got a great team member here. I might have to poach her.” He stands, eyes glinting.

It doesn’t escape me that he’s sidestepped my question. Is it because he’d rather I didn’t try to tag along to their “discussion” lunch? The one that will absolutely, under no circumstances be happening because I would rather reserve every table in the city than let Sophie go anywhere alone with Holden Ellinger?

Or, perhaps the fist-into-nose impulse is worth revisiting.

Not daring to attempt speech again, I nod toward my office and wait until I’m confident my partner is following before turning on my heel and striding into the glass-framed room.

“Goddamn.” Holden laughs the moment the door closes behind him, casting an appreciative look toward Sophie, who is now absorbed in her computer. “I don’t know how you get anything done with her around. Not kidding about poaching her by the way, she’d be great for the Nichols project. Not to mention the aesthetic benefits. I’ll give you Vincent in exchange. Not as pretty to look at, but he is competent. On occasion.”

“Enough,” I snap, not bothering to disguise my impatience.

Getting angry at Holden for being attracted to her is beyond hypocritical. After all, attraction is mild when compared to the obsession I’ve suffered for a year and a half. The things I’ve imagined doing to her are filthy, even by my standards, but that’s not all I want from her.

I know exactly how incredible she is and am painfully aware of how her ass looks in a pencil skirt and the way she presses the end of her pen to her fat bottom lip when she’s thinking. I’m also familiar with Holden’s predilection towardunattached, kinky sex with beautiful young women. Hell, once upon a time, I indulged right alongside him.

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