Page 18 of Hooked on Dallas
“She was.” Dallas’s eyes shone with tears for a brief second before he blinks them back. “Strong, kindhearted, brilliant. She made me want to be a better man.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t been doing a very good job of that lately.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” I say. “Grief is difficult, and it’s a process. Be patient with yourself.”
For the first time, Dallas offers me a small, sad smile. “Wise words. Thank you, Laura. Your kindness means a lot.”
My cheeks warm at the unexpected praise. I smile back, hoping to offer him some comfort. “You’re welcome. And if you ever want to talk about her, I’m here.”
He nods, gaze softening. “I appreciate that.”
All day, I can’t stop thinking about our conversation. Dallas’s raw honesty and grief has struck a chord deep within me, and I worry about him. He seemed so alone, so lost.
After that, a new ease and camaraderie develops between us. Dallas spent his childhood in Spain. He has a love of classic literature, and his dream of one day retiring to a villa in Tuscany. In turn, I share details of my life, my hopes, and my dreams.
My gaze drifts to Mr. De La Cruz’s office, where he is pacing and gesturing wildly while talking on the phone. His sharp, angular features are creased in a frown, but then he glances up and catches me watching him. For a moment, his stern expression softens into something warmer, almost fond.
I jerk my eyes away, heat flooding my cheeks. What is that about? My heart races as I rifle through the files without seeing them.
Ever since I start as Mr. De La Cruz’s assistant, he’s been brusque and demanding. But I noticed these little changes—the way his voice is gentler when he speaks to me, how he squeezes my shoulder in passing. And those looks, like the one he just gave me.
My thoughts spin in circles until a sharp knock on my desk makes me jump. Mr. De La Cruz looms over me, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling alright, Miss Stevens? You seem distracted.”
“Just tired, Mr. De La Cruz,” I say, hoping my voice didn’t shake.
“In that case, let’s go to lunch.” He straightens, glancing out the window with a frown. “You work too hard. It’s important to take breaks.”
Panic and longing war within me. Spending time with him outside of work will only make my feelings more complicated. But when he looks at me with those dark, fathomless eyes, I find myself saying yes before I can stop myself.
This is a terrible idea. But as Mr. De La Cruz guides me into the busy restaurant, his hand a warm pressure on my back, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
The maitre d’ seats us in a secluded corner booth, lit by the soft glow of a stained glass lamp. Looking around at the other patrons leaning close together, speaking in hushed tones, my face grows warm. This is meant to be an intimate setting.
Mr. De La Cruz didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. He sits back with a contented sigh, studying the menu. “Everything here is excellent. I hope you’ll allow me to choose for you?”
“Please do,” I say, pulse racing. How am I going to make it through this meal?
After ordering a bottle of red wine and two plates of osso buco, Mr. De La Cruz sets the menu aside—and looks at me. My mouth goes dry under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m glad we could do this, Laura. I’ve been wanting to spend time with you outside the office for a while now.”
He wants to spend time with me. The words echo in my mind, and I clutch my napkin to hide their trembling. “R-really?” I manage. “Why?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Because I find you fascinating,” he says. “And I think we have a connection that goes deeper than a working relationship.”
My heart stutters. This can’t be happening. But the warmth in his eyes tells me it is all too real.
“Ever since you came to work for me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” He reaches across the table, covering my hand with his. “I want to get to know you better, Laura—not as my assistant, but as something more.”
I stare at our joined hands, a storm of emotions churning inside me. Surprise. Confusion. A dangerous flutter of excitement I didn’t dare acknowledge.
When I find my voice, it comes out breathless. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you feel the same way about me.” His thumb traces slow circles on the back of my hand, sending tingles up my arm. “That there’s something here worth exploring.”
His touch, his words—they unravel my composure until I’m utterly exposed. Vulnerable. And though alarm bells are ringing in my mind, warning me of the perils of a relationship with my boss, I can’t deny the connection.
I offer him a hesitant smile, my cheeks flushing hot. “I—it’s complicated.”
“Why?” He leans closer, his eyes searching mine. “We’re both single, we’re attracted to each other. What’s so complicated?”
“You’re my boss.” I pull my hand from his grasp, losing contact, bringing a strange ache. “If we started something romantic, and it didn’t work out, it could get messy.”
