Page 45 of Off Script
Ben tugs me to a stop before I can escape upstairs. A surge of fortitude flows through me. Throwing back my shoulders and straightening my spine, I refuse to back down and play the victim any longer.
Ben and I stand at the foot of the stairs, locked in a mutinous staring contest, when we’re interrupted by a woman who steps out of the kitchen and approaches us. She sticks her hand out towards mine, breaking up the sparring match between Ben and me.
“Hi, I’m Joanna, Ben’s personal assistant and friend. It’s nice to meet you, Carlisle.”
Begrudgingly, I grasp her hand and give it two quick pumps before dropping it. Something about her name rings a bell. “Wait, are you the Joanna who had Ben call the phone sex hotline as a joke?”
Smiling smugly, she replies, “That was one of my better pranks.” Then she gets down to business. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase. Dating Ben is different—”
Ben interrupts her. “Jo, now isn’t the time for this.”
Joanna holds up her hand and shoots him a hard stare, shutting him down. “As I was saying, he didn’t request the background check. I did, and I promised not to tell him anything in the report unless there was something to suggest that you weren’t being truthful.” She talks with her hands as much as with her mouth and I find myself engrossed by watching her wild gestures. “In this town, it’s way too easy to get manipulated or taken advantage of. Ben’s one of the good guys, and I didn’t want to see him get hurt. Plus, he’s my boss and I’m paid to protect his brand.” She uses finger quotes around the last word while rolling her eyes. “So, if you’re mad, be mad at me, not him, Carlisle.”
“Thank you for explaining.” I feel guilty that I jumped to conclusions, and I tell them as much.
Ben reassures me further. “While I agreed to the background check, I did so reluctantly. I enjoyed getting to know you organically through our conversations. I’m sorry that you found out about this the way that you did, especially after everything that happened yesterday. Forgive me?”
When I sheepishly nod, Ben pulls me into his chest, cradling me in his arms. His very bare and very muscular chest.
Why does Ben have to be so nice and hot as hell?It’s hard to keep my head on straight when I’m around him. It’s like his presence sucks out all the oxygen from the room, leaving me light-headed and dizzy and brainless.
And horny.
Trying to come up with something to say to fill the void before it becomes awkward, I say the first thing that jumps into my mind. “Why are you cooking breakfast while only wearing sweatpants?”
He quirks one eyebrow, obviously surprised at my abrupt change of subject. “It’s my house. I can wear, or not wear, whatever I want.”
“But what if the bacon splatters and you get burned on your chest?” I ask. It would be a shame to mar such a perfect body.
Joanna barks out a loud laugh. “Pretty Boy doesn’t eat bacon. Too high in fat and cholesterol.”
My southern roots must be showing when I stare at him in horror.“Good God, Ben. That’s no way to live!”
“That’s what I always tell him.” Jo agrees, grinning widely.
Ben rolls his eyes. “Christ, are you two going to gang up on me now?” Looking pointedly at Jo, Ben urges, “Don’t you have some work to do?”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” Jo replies sarcastically with a curtsy.
Ignoring Jo’s antics, Ben slides his hand in mine and tugs me into the kitchen, telling me to sit down on one of the barstools lining the island. “I had Jo grab a bunch of different types of coffee drinks. Help yourself while I finish breakfast. Assuming I didn’t burn the vegetables, that is.”
“Vegetables, besides potatoes, have no place at the breakfast table,” I kid.
Chuckling, Jo walks to the patio doors that lead out to the pool house. Prior to shutting the door, she sticks her head back in the house to holler, “I like her, Ben. Don’t screw it up.”
Ben flips her off and I hear Jo laugh. They definitely have an unusual boss-employee relationship, but I enjoy their light-hearted banter.
Pointing at me with the spatula, Ben says, “About the vegetables, withhold your judgment until you try it, okay?”
“I’ll try my best.” As much as I love to cook, it’s a nice change of pace to have someone cook for me. Ben has an air of confidence in the kitchen, and I happily watch him as he works.
Especially since he’s still not wearing a shirt.Who knew back muscles could ripple like that?
I’m impressed at how deftly he slides the perfect omelet onto a platter and hands me a plate and fork. He places a hefty serving onto my plate and encourages me to eat. I try to stifle my moan when the first bite hits my taste buds. It’s freaking delicious. Realizing I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, I gobble it up, bite after bite, until it’s all gone.
Noting my empty plate, Ben winks and asks, “Care to rethink your stance on vegetables at breakfast?”
“You may be onto something here. That was incredible. Thank you.”
