Page 46 of It's Always Been You
I turn but pause, grinning as I face her again. “So what’s under the coat, Spitfire?”
She freezes, then scowls. “Go away.”
“No,” I laugh. “Show me.”
“In your dreams.”
Probably.
“Please,” I beg, laughing as I bounce once at the knees like a kid. I can never seem to behave myself around her. I don’t know how to be around her and not flirt and banter and play. It’s our way. I am going to have a miserable time trying to keep things professional with her because of it.
She marches forward and thumps my shoulder.
Pouting, I cradle my arm to my chest. “Please tell me. Please, please, please.”
Her cheeks fill with air as she resists a laugh. “You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, believe me, baby, I do.” Her eyes flash with surprise as the term of endearment slips past my tongue, and my stomach does a nervous somersault.
Note to self: don’t call your new assistant baby.
She glances down at her coat. “Let’s just say that it leaves little to the imagination.” She lifts her face again, arching a brow. “Not that you would have to imagine anything.”
My mind goes utterly blank. Slowly, I back away from her. Still, the memories come unbidden. How warm and right she felt in my arms. Her soft lips. The way she looked at me while I held her—with complete love, adoration, and trust shining in her dark eyes. I shun the thought, unable to remember that sweet look on her face without recalling the way she looked at me that next morning, when I broke her heart.
I don’t deserve those memories.
Employing Evie will either be the best decision or the worst mistake I’ve ever made.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Mom accuses when I join her back in the car. “Is there something going on between you two?”
Sighing, I buckle my seatbelt. “No.”
“Well, that interaction didn’t seem like nothing.”
Of course she was watching us like a hawk. My mother, the snoop. “It’s . . . complicated.”
She shrugs. “Back in my day, if boy liked girl and girl liked boy, then boy would ask girl out, and girl would say yes. Simple.”
“You’re talking like a Neanderthal.”
“Well, even Neanderthals get this stuff.”
I smile half-heartedly. “We’ve been through this, Mom. There’s Jamie. And the fact that she’ll be my assistant.”
“Yeah, but why do I get the sense there’s more to the story?”
Because there is.I’m quiet for a suspiciously long time, unsure how to respond. My silence must say it all.
“Uh-oh,” she hums as I back out of the parking space. “What did you do?”
My stomach turns. She knows me too well. Jamie likes to tease that my tight-knit relationship with my mom is a sign I’m too in touch with my feminine side, but I come by my ability to relate to women naturally. I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by strong, assertive women. I have six older sisters, a fraternal twin sister, and a doting mother. Because of that, I understand women.
In another life, I used this intimate knowledge of the female psyche to my advantage. It wasn’t uncommon for the women I dated to tell me they thought they’d struck gold with me. To the naked eye, I’m a catch. Smart, generically attractive, funny. Not to mention womenlovedoctors.
And Iwasa good catch . . . until I got bored. The old bait-and-switch was my specialty. Those women struck gold alright—fool’s gold.
Mom gazes at my profile while I try not to look too nervous or guilty. I think I’m failing. “Is she skeptical? Because of your past as a womanizer?”
