Page 18 of Unexpectedly Wanted
I breathed a sigh of relief once I found myself back out. I closed down everything, making sure my lock screen was up.
“Yeah?” I called out and stared at the door until he entered.
“Lunch,” he said, holding up a soggy-looking white paper bag.
The Greek spices instantly hit my nose, and that was when my stomach gave a loud growl.
“Oh, someone’s hungry,” he said with a smile.
“Yes, I believe that is what my body is telling both you and me.” My eyes were on the bag as I spoke. “But I told you I didn’t want to have lunch with you. I could have gone to get it myself.”
“You could have,” he said, that brow going up so high. “But what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my snuggle wuggums starve to death?”
I scowled at him.
“You are terrible at coming up with pet names,” I informed him. “Mostly around my parents, you use ‘babe’ and that is about as generic as they come. And these other ones you use when I assume you’re trying to tease me are just beyond horrible.”
He laughed at me as he walked around my side of the desk and stood so close that I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
His gaze went to my computer screen, so of course, mine did too. It was dark, as I’d expected. He hadn’t messed with my head that much, thank God.
“Working hard?” he asked in a tone that suggested he thought otherwise.
“I was, yes,” I replied with a bite in my tone. “Until someone interrupted me and I turned everything off because I knewthat someonewouldn’t be leaving me alone for a while.”
“I do love coming to bug you, my little munchie wunchie.”
“Ew,” I said, nose scrunching up.
His face still held a hint of amusement.
“Time to eat,” he said, all humor dropped from his face. “And talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” There was no sense in lying and saying I didn’t want to eat.
He ignored me.
“Come on,” he said as he reached out and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. He hauled me to my feet, causing a dizziness to hit my head for a second. Then he was dragging me out of my office. He kept going until we reached the huge conference room on the back wall. Inside, he darkened the glass that showed through to the main room, and at the same time, let the light in from the street side. We were high enough up that no one could see us, but oftentimes this room was kept dark for a reason. Then he shoved me in a chair, dropping a foil-wrapped cylinder in front of me. “Eat.”
I unwrapped it to find a chicken gyro.
My second favorite, next to the falafel with spicy hummus. Oddly enough, I wasn’t in a falafel mood, but I wasn’t going to mention that. I wouldn’t want him to think he’d made theperfectchoice.
I wanted to ask him how he knew to go with the chicken, but didn’t.
Then I ate. He ate too. I tried not to look at him, but I found myself taking glances out of the corner of my eye.
“What happened this morning?” he conveniently asked right after I’d swallowed the last bite of my gyro.
“It’s just an irrational fear,” I told him. “No trauma behind it. I can’t explain it. But parking garages are things I don’t do. It’s dark and dank, and it makes my skin crawl.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” I told him. “I tried to face it a few times. I tried to tell myself that there was no logical reason I had to be scared of them, but it ended in me nearly having a panic attack at the gate. So I always find a spot to park in on the street.”
“Okay,” he said calmly as he leaned back in the chair.
I studied him for a long moment.
