Page 18 of These White Lies
“What about dating?” I ask this purely for professional reasons, of course.
At that, Daria clams up, looking at me disapprovingly. I want to press, but before I get a chance, the office door opens.
“If you’re done distracting her?” Elizabeth arches her brow. “Done? Good.” Elizabeth hands a file folder to Daria. “Scan it and send it back to his agent. Be sure to list in the email all the paragraphs that I’ve marked with sticky tabs. Then have it couriered over.” She glances at her watch. “It needs to be signed by tomorrow.”
Daria nods, and I follow Elizabeth back into her office.
“That seemed awfully specific.”
“What?”
“All those instructions. She’s a legal assistant. Doesn’t she already know what’s expected?”
Elizabeth’s tongue pushes into her cheek. “My way ensures there are no mistakes.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a control freak?”
“Yeah. Usually, people whose messes I’m cleaning up.”
The corners of my mouth lift, and I chuckle before resuming my post outside her door.
Eventually, the clock ticks toward evening. Most of her employees left at five, and Daria stuck her head in to say goodbye around six. That was over an hour ago.
I stand in her office doorway observing Elizabeth’s drawn face. “Do you always work this late? Alone?”
“What?” Her forehead wrinkles, and she looks at her watch. “Oh! I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“I can order dinner if you’d like,” I offer. “But after everything that’s happened, your body needs rest. We don’t know what might be com?—”
“I said I’mfine.” She shoves back from her desk and shuts the laptop with a snap, shoving it roughly into her large bag. “But if you’re tired, we can leave.”
My teeth grind, but I manage not to lose my cool as Elizabeth storms toward the elevator. She jabs at the button several times.
“Do you have someone you can stay with tonight?”
“I’m going back to the hotel.”
Her movements are jerky, and she’s breathing too fast. I’m not sure she realizes just how close she is to the edge.
“A lot has happened,” I begin, trying to find a way to ease her back from what looks like the brink of a panic attack. “First your ex, then your client, I promise?—”
She whirls on me, the fire in her eyes at odds with her trembling hands. “Look, asshole. I don’t need you to hold my hand or tell me everything is going to be fine. We’re not friends. You work for me. That’s it. We are basically strangers.” She jabs the button again.
Oh. Hell. Fucking. No.
I step forward closing the space between us. I know I’m standing too close to her. I’m crowding her space in a way that is anything but professional, but her refusal to admit we know each other has finally broken something in my brain.
Her eyes widen. “What are you?—”
The elevator dings, and the doors swish open as I lean in close, inhaling her perfume. The same perfume she wore before. A scent that’s been torturing me since this morning—constantly reminding me of how she feels under my hands.
“We aren’t strangers,Firefly.”
Elizabeth’s face flashes white before flushing a deep crimson. I almost feel guilty, but I’m aching to have this conversation with her.
Fuck. After watching her ass in that skirt all day, I’m aching. Period.
“You remember?” she chokes out.
