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"We're good, Mr. Cromwell. My dad is up to his old tricks and feels like a new man."
"Okay." Mr. Cromwell, huh? I can't be mad at her for that. She's establishing those boundaries again. I scratch my chin. That's how she wants to play. Hmmmm.
She wants to ice me out. We never had a chance to talk about what happened in Malcolm’s home. She said she’d already forgotten it… Is it true? Why is she acting so indifferent right now?
She sits across from me and goes over the usual stuff. People I need to contact, upcoming meetings, important stuff. With every word she says, I feel a bubble of contempt expanding my way, so close it could burst.
When I stare at her in silence, she shifts in her chair. A warm blush spreads across her cheeks, even though I don't do or say anything to unsettle her. Is she thinking about what happened at Malcolm's dinner party?
I don't shy away from the challenge, and my gaze travels from her hair in a sleek ponytail down to her smart white long-sleeved blouse and black pants. She's dressed as usual, but I won't ever be able to see her the same way as before.
My body stirs in a shameful state of unrest.
Hazel puts her iPad on her lap and raises her eyebrow. "Is there anything else you need from me?"
Hell, yes. There's a lot I need from you. If I were a better man, I wouldn’t test her—not today. But I need to know with her actions what she won’t tell me with her words. "I want you to go get me some coffee," I say, convincing myself I meant to do so jokingly. Still, the second I see a spark of challenge in her eyes, any good intention goes out the window.
"I did earlier, but you were late to work."
Do I detect an accusatory tone in her voice? Did she… wait for me? Or is she annoyed I'm being my regular self?
"So you'll do it again. Five minutes."
"It won't take me five minutes to take the elevator, walk up there, order, and come back," she says, annoyance dripping from her voice.
"Fine. Seven minutes."
She stands. "Ten."
I shake my head. "Seven."
She crosses her hand over her chest. "What will happen if I don't make it in time? I won't win employee of the month?"
I appreciate her moxie. I knew it was bubbling under the surface. She’s been muttering passive-aggressive comments low enough she thought I wouldn't hear. I know how she feels, especially after reading her diary entries. This overt annoyance only adds more tension between us. "I'll think of a reasonable demerit."
She widens her eyes. "A demerit! This is crazy?—"
I grab my phone and set it on the timer. "Seven minutes. I'd run if I were you."
Huffing, she turns, and I look at her ass as she leaves. Somehow, that perfect ass got overlooked before, and even though she's wearing modest pants now, I've seen its shape in a more flattering outfit. I've seen it and felt it.
My insides burn.
I shouldn't make this poor girl run around grabbing my coffee. But a part of me wants to make her pay for getting in my head and not leaving, for making me question my behavior and principles, for making me feel bad about myself, for making me… want to be someone I'm not.
I hated not seeing her for the past nine days. Hated not having her in my office and having her reply with short messages whenever I texted. She drove me crazy. She made me anxious and insecure in a way I don't allow anyone to.
I want to punish her for all that, and by doing so, I blindly jeopardize all I have.
All I've worked for.
Yet, I can't stop.
Her phone rings at her desk, and in any other circumstance, I'd let it go to voicemail, but because of her dad's situation, I head for her desk. What if something happened again?
I'm a jerk, yes, but I'm not inhuman.
"Archer Cromwell."
