Page 5 of Chilled and Thrilled

Those encounters all but evaporated into thin air when my daughter called in a favor, asking to arrange an interview for her best friend. Needless to say, she got the job, and the rest is written in sexually frustrated history.

Now, I’m hooked, and just the thought of her falling for the well-practiced Holden Ellinger charm is enough to make me want to stake my—purely theoretical—claim, by any means necessary.

“You’re not poaching her,” I continue, glowering at my bemused partner. “And you’re not taking her to lunch, either. If you want a meeting with her, you’ll do it here in the office.”

Holden tilts his head, fixing me with a knowing, amused expression. “I see we’re awfully possessive of a junior-level employee. Anything you want to share with the class, Vogel?”

“Get fucked.”

He laughs, glancing again at Sophie, who is absorbed in her work and thankfully unaware that two men old enough to be her father are panting after her like old dogs. “I’m trying to be supportive! Good for you, man. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

I’m going to crack a tooth if I don’t stop gnashing my molars this hard. With difficulty, I pry my jaw apart and grit out, “She’s friends with Honor. Nothing has happened, and nothing is going to happen.”

Holden—who seems to view this unexpected turn of events as Christmas come early—beams. “So, me taking her to lunch won’t be a problem, then?”

I might actually punch him before this conversation is over. This isn’t like me. I’m ordinarily the balanced half of our partnership. When Holden makes decisions based on emotion, I’m the one who puts on the brakes. Now, myjealousy is a runaway train, threatening to derail and destroy everything in sight.

“She’s your employee,” I snarl, thankful there’s a desk between us.

Outside the office, overhead lights flicker on, and I see a few of my other team members filtering in, their mouths moving in muffled conversation as they unwind scarves and pull off mittens.

“Not technically. She’s on your team. HR won’t give a damn, as long as we sign something.” He pretends to consider this for half a second. “You know, why wait until after the holidays? I can push my lunch meeting. Why don’t I?—”

“Holden,” I snap, heat prickling at the back of my neck. “Enough. You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?”

Knowing I’m backed into a corner, I blow out a heavy lungful of air and shake my head. “I’m asking you, as a friend, not to go there. Is that good enough for you?”

Holden chuckles, already moving backward toward the door. “We could always share. Like old times.”

Over my dead body.

“Leave,” I grit out without moving my jaw. There’s a marble paperweight sitting at the corner of my desk, and for a moment, I allow myself the fantasy of hurling it directly into his smug face.

Considering I can’t remember the last time I had an unhinged, violent impulse, having two in the space of ten minutes is disconcerting.

Holden performs an elaborate, fake bow with much hand twirling and over-the-top foot tapping. “A pleasure, as always, partner. I’ll see you in the all-hands meeting tomorrow. Should I tell Sophie you’d like to see her privately?”

“Out, Holden. And don’t fucking touch her.”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll consideryour request carefully. No promises, though. Maybe you should give her a reason to say no, if I do end up asking her to that lunch.”

I open my mouth, preparing to unload a fresh wave of fury onto the man responsible for the piercing pain now radiating from my temples and into my skull. Before I can, though, he’s opening the door, grinning peevishly over his shoulder at me.

A few members of my team pass, talking loudly about the upcoming holiday, and before I can think of a way to call him a fucking asshole in such a way it wouldn’t spark office-wide gossip, he’s gone.

Bracing my hands on my desk, I bow my head, forcing myself to breathe through my nose.

A quiet knock on the doorframe has my head lifting again, and my heart follows when I see who it is. Sophie has paused in the doorway, gazing at me through wide, brilliant green eyes. “Hey,” she says, hovering half out of the room. “Um. There are some inconsistencies in the blueprints for the Kerring project. I was planning to get started on the prints for that today, but I wanted to verify with you first.”

My throat is thick as I straighten up. “I’ll take a look.”

Neither of us speaks as I follow her back to her workstation. Sophie isn’t an architect, but she’s integral to the team. While she has other responsibilities with the engineering team, her main job is to use 3D printers to create architectural models for clients or pitches. Considering my team alone has eight major projects underway right now, and twelve more in the pipeline, she’s busier than most of her colleagues.

Her computer monitors, which are stationed outside a glass window overlooking the printing room, have a set of blueprints pulled up. Sophie plops into her seat immediately, all business. “It’s here.” She points out the problematicnumbers and I lean forward obligingly, struggling to think straight with the scent of her shampoo clouding my senses.

“Yes. I see it.” I reach past her to take the mouse and switch to another part of the prints, verifying the issue hasn’t carried on throughout the design. Then, because I feel like I’ll burst if I don’t say anything, I ask quietly, “Are you feeling better?”

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