Page 94 of Carnal Games

Knowing she’s likely never going to step foot inside an elevator, nor wanting to test the theory, I head in the direction of the stairwell. Her heels click behind me as she chases after me. I immediately slow down.

Once she’s matching my pace, I pocket my hands, needing them occupied.

“You don’t have to take the stairs with me, Kian,” she quips. “Take the elevator. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Did I ask for your opinion, Miss Mannan?”

She quietens, but not before I catch her hide a smile and her chin dip. Shaking my head, I finally relax, thinking ourconversation has ended. Only for her silky voice to tease my senses the minute we begin our ascent.

“When did you come home last night?”

“Shadows don’t talk.” I subtly hint to our arrangement. “Unless spoken to.”

Her gaze burns my profile. “You said I can ask questions.”

“Related to my business.”

After a long pause, during which I can hear the wheel in her brain turning, she asks, “What time does The Mirage close?”

Smart-ass. “Until the last member leaves.”

“Which is…?”

“Depends on their mood.”

A soft, frustrated sigh leaves her and she switches tactics. “What time did you arrive to the office today?”

“It doesn’t matter when I do, what does is you being on your desk by eight a.m. sharp. Then making sure my day goes according to my schedule by not doing a lousy job.”

“I told you I ran into my friend.”

“Still no excuse.”

“I don’t see the point in going down a floor every day when I can just serve you fresh breakfast at either of our places before leaving for work. That way, I’ll never be late. All you need to do is share when you’re dressed for the office.”

Let her prance and dance around in my kitchen in those tight yoga pants and her bra every morning? That’ll be the ultimate test of my morals, which aren’t there to begin with. I’d rather starve.

“I didn’t hire you to be my chef.”

“Fine.” She huffs dramatically, like I’m being absurd. “I’ll pack it in a container with the sticker of the food company so you won’t know the difference. It’s what Leonard did to Sheldon after Szechuan Palaceclosed.”

I’m completely lost. “Who are Leonard and Sheldon? Your pet lizards?”

“Funny. And no.” Rolling her eyes, she explains, “They’re fromThe Big Bang Theory. Haven’t you heard about the show? It’s about a bunch of scientists. You should watch it. It’s hilarious.”

“Do tell,” I half joke in a dry tone.

She takes it seriously and chatters nonstop about four nerdy friends whose boring routine lives unravel when a girl from Nebraska moves in next door, all the way up to the sixth floor.

I find myself hanging on to every word that drips from her mouth, how carefree and young she sounds, counting every laugh that escapes her at the parts she finds amusing from her favorite episodes.

I learn more about the stupid show than I care to.

At least, we moved on from the possibility of beginning my day by seeing her face first thing in the morning.

***

Walking into my office on Friday morning, I notice something different.

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