Page 81 of It's Always Been You
A beat of silence passes.
Feeling insecure, I cross my arms over my braless chest and glance at the door. It’s one thing for us to be alone at the office, but it’s something else entirely in Grandma’s basement while I’m in nothing but my flimsy pajamas. “You need to get a hobby other than obsessing over what I’m doing.”
Brandon’s brow tips up. “Worrying about you is hardly a hobby, Genevieve. It’s a full-time job.”
I scoff. “Thendon’t.”
“As if I have a choice in the matter.” He glances around pointedly. “You should be in bed, resting.”
I throw my hands up. “What do you suggest I do? Wear dirty underwear all week? The laundry needs doing, Brandon—whether Grandma likes it or not.”
He responds with a drawn-out sigh, as if I’m the most exasperating person on the planet. His attention shifts to my laptop. “I got your resignation letter, by the way.”
Already? He must have his email connected to his phone. “Yup.”
His eyes narrow. “I decline.”
I laugh, genuinely amused. His lips twitch. “You can’tdeclinea resignation letter, Brandon.”
“You can’t quit,” he says simply.
I shrug. “I just did.”
He glowers. “Well, take it back.”
“I can’t unsend the email.”
“I’ll delete it, then. Mark it as spam.”
“Won’t change anything. I’ll just send it again.”
He pauses to think, his jaw flexing. “Did you find something else?”
I hesitate to answer, knowing I have nothing to lean back on right now. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Brandon senses the chink in my armor and steps forward. “Evie, listen—”
“Stop,” I say, stumbling back.
He grabs my arm as my foot slips on a stray sock. “Whoa. Careful.”
“I’m fine!” I blurt as my back bumps up against the washing machine. His proximity is making me nervous. Shaking off his touch, I wrap my arms around my torso and squish myself up against the dryer, attempting to put as much distance between our bodies as possible—which is only a couple of inches at best.
Unable to take a hint, Brandon draws closer, and I almost go into cardiac arrest when I feel the heat rolling off his body. He made his intentions crystal clear this afternoon, sothis—being alone with him and half naked in my pj’s—is dangerous territory. If he came onto me right now, I wouldn’t have the willpower to say no.
I’ve never had any self-control when it comes to him.
“You’re nervous,” he says, his voice low and thick as he observes me with a tilt of his head. “Why?”
I hold my hand up, my heart pounding in my throat. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he demands.
“Come any closer.”
He looks down, as if he didn’t realize he was getting too close for comfort. He gives me a confused look. “I just want to talk.”
“Talk aboutwhat?” I snap, irritated by his cluelessness. “About the appalling things you said to me this afternoon?”
Recognition dawns on his face. “So that’s what this is about.”
