Page 60 of Selfie

Spencer’s laugh dissolves into a wide yawn. She does her best to cover it, but her eyes are watering, her shoulders slumping. Poor girl is exhausted.

“You’re tired. I should go.”

“I’m okay. I’m down for a few more.” She nods toward the laptop where her clever spreadsheet is pulled up. “Mark that one down as profanity level ten.”

“I don’t think my legal team will need that message for anything.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. She sways, then knocks right back into me. Side by side, sitting on her stiff sofa that feels like hospital furniture, Spencer and I are glued together. Ever since I crossed the line of tickle torture, we’ve made no apologies for touching each other—her hand on my leg, mine on her back. She smoothed my eyebrow, and I answered by tucking her long, dark hair behind her ear. The touches are innocent, and hesitant, like we’re trying to navigate this new intimacy between us.

When Spencer tries and fails to cover another giant yawn, I tap the tip of her nose. “Bedtime, miss.”

“Awfully forward of you, Mr. Hatcher. But okay.” She bats her eyelashes. I can’t tell if she’s teasing, or she actually wants me to take her into the bedroom and fold her like a lawn chair.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I caution.

She answers by making a finger gun, holding the tip of her pointer finger to her lips, and blowing out the pretend smoke.Fuck, why is that so sexy?Everything she’s done tonight has me fighting a hard-on. The crazy part is she’s so completely unaware of the lure of her body, she’d probably believe me if I told her I wasn’t stealing glances at her full tits all night. It’s not my fault. Her little spaghetti-strap, deep-V camisole is practically serving them up on a platter, begging me to partake.

So why haven’t I?

Because the minute Spencer showed me the spreadsheet in front of me, I realized she’s so fucking smart, and a rare Gen-Z unicorn who actually has a strong work ethic. I may want her help more than I want to get between her thighs. Though, at the moment, those are fiercely competing desires.

“Who are you calling?” Spencer glances warily between me and my phone.

“My driver. He’s been sitting in the parking lot for over three hours.”

Spencer drops her jaw in shock, but he’s fine. I ordered him food at Lucky Buddha. Knowing Byron, he’s fallen asleep in the driver’s seat with a full belly and an audiobook in the background. I pay this man generously to nap.

“You have a driver who follows you around and just waits on you wherever you go?”

“Yes.”

“When you come to work every day, he just hangs around until you need a ride?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s his whole job?”

I shrug. “Pretty much.”

She rubs her thumb against her bottom lip and smiles like a light bulb just went off in her head. “How much does that pay?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking I should’ve applied forthatjob. It would’ve been much more straightforward and far less face time with you.”

“Did we not learn our lesson earlier when I tickled you so hard you were squealing like your guinea pig?” I make a claw and she curls herself up into the fetal position, anticipating more torture.

Instead, I hover over her, lingering a moment too long before I step past her. Covering her eyes like the words are difficult to speak, she asks, “Why are you in such a hurry to leave? I’m having a good time. Aren’t you?” There’s a twinge of nervousness in her voice. I hate to admit it, but I like it. The way she averts her gaze when I look straight into her eyes. How she flinches at my touch before relaxing. I like the idea that she’s as affected by me as I am by her. I just have a better poker face.

“I’m enjoying your company a lot, which is why I have to go. Any longer and I’m going to tear those silk pajamas right off your body, throw you on the bed, and fuck you in every position imaginable. So, it’s best I go now.”

“Okay,” she answers softly. Her voice is steady, but her eyes betray her. They are the size of saucers at my admission of attraction. It baffles me that she’s surprised I want her. Can’t she see I’m constantly on the brink of losing control almost every time I’m around her?

A little horrified at my confession, I suck in my lips and head toward the door, but Spencer stops me. Arm like a whip, she grabs my hand before I’m out of reach. “No, I meant okay to the…positions and such.”

I squeeze her fingers twice before dropping her hand. “Spencer, if you want me that bad, I don’t get it. Why’d you run out on me the night we met? What changed? Considering you call me bosshole, getting to know me surely didn’t help the matter.” I was getting close to crossing that line with her when we met. There was a part of me that was angry when she so quickly pulled me out of the shell I’d been hiding in for years, only to abandon me.

She points over my shoulder to the door, indicating I should leave.

“All right, I’ll go,” I say with a defeated shrug. This conversation is giving me whiplash.

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