Page 46 of The Boss I Can't Stand
“Yes,” I said through my teeth. Why hadn’t I remembered to lock the damn door?
“I didn’t know you were into sculpting,” she replied with a tone of awe. “You mentioned pottery this morning, but you also said you did it to avoid going home. These are amazing, Finn.”
Well,that’sclearly bullshit,I thought to myself. She didn’t need to blow smoke up my ass.
“It’s just a stress reliever,” I grumbled, heat prickling at the back of my neck. The longer she looked, the more intense the flame got, until I was tugging at the collar of my T-shirt.
“What do you do with all your pieces?” Sierra wondered, bent over to examine a small vase.
“Nothing,” I said. “When they’re done, I smash them, and the housekeeper carts off the pieces.”
“You smash them?” she said, whirling around and frowning. “Why would you do that with something you’ve worked so hard on?”
“I work on a piece when I have a lot on my mind,” I explained. “It helps me put things in order. I don’t actually need any of these to see the light of day.” They were messy and imperfect and the kinds of things I didn’t want out in the world. I only wanted the best of myself out there. That was the guy who succeeded. “It’s mainly just the process I enjoy.”
She worried her bottom lip in that way that made me want to taste her. To smooth away the red mark she left behind. The way I’d wanted to earlier this morning, during our real fake breakfast date at Le Café du Soleil.
I turned away briefly, to stop myself from staring at her, and washed my hands. As far as real fake dates went, this one had gone nearly perfectly. We still had to work on Sierra’s stilted awkwardness when she knew there was a camera on her, but we’d largely managed to execute the script, except for one tiny detail.
The kiss.
The thought beat against my skull like a drum.
The kiss that never was.
When we reached the end of the meal, I’d leaned in to put on a good show for the cameras, and Sierra had turned her head so that my lips collided with her cheek instead. I’d played off the entire thing with a smile, wrapping my arm around her waist and tugging her into my side for the benefit of the photographers Jillian had hired.
No one seemed unhappy with how it had turned out. Jillian had actually complimented us on doing so much better this time compared to our interview. But it still nagged at me, the way she’d turned away.
When I turned around, I caught Sierra looking me up and down. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing, I just…” She glanced away quickly, her cheeks pinking at being caught. “I guess you do own more than starchy business suits.”
“Excuse me,” I said, crossing my arms against my chest. “Nothing about my suits is starchy. Some of those are made from Merino wool.”
She smirked, catching my eye again, her deep blue gaze locked with mine. “Well, you certainlylookmore casual. It’s nice to know you’re not always perfectly buttoned up in some luxury brand.”
Standing there in front of her in my T-shirt and one of the few pairs of sweatpants I owned, I felt naked, but I knew if I looked away first, it would mean something, so I summoned a charming grin. “Don’t worry, darling. The sweats are still Gucci, so I’m not giving up my luxury.”
“Of course they are.” Sierra’s eyes narrowed playfully. “And I told you not to call me that.”
“I think they make women’s as well. We might have to invest in some for you. That’s a very coupley thing, isn’t it—matching sweats?”
“Don’t even run that past Jillian. She’ll probably love it too much.” She bit her lip again and cocked her head, hugging that burlesque costume to her chest as her eyes danced over me. Was she undressing me with her eyes? I sort of wished it was with more than just her eyes.
Christ!
I’d been thinking about her too much already. About taking her hand across the table as we sat at the café, about her smile as I’d offered her a bite of my pancakes, about the delicious smell of her skin as my lips had collided with her cheek—peach blossoms and strawberries.
I needed to stop thinking about her. That’s why I was in here, to work those thoughts from my mind, and yet here she was, infiltrating my space with her presence, infecting my air with more of that sweet moisturizer. How was I supposed to think of anything else?
Her gaze dropped from mine, landing on the clay on the bench behind me. “What were you working on just now?”
My chest tightened as we returned to the sculptures. Why couldn’t I just keep teasing her with nicknames? That was easy. This was…harder. “Nothing, really. I was just kneading the clay to remove the air bubbles.”
“You didn’t have to stop,” she said.
I did. I really, really did. “I can finish later.”
