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The huge plate of nachos we ate while gossiping over our margaritas definitely helped.
Roxy wanted to know all about Knox, but I kept my thoughts to myself and just focused on the work side of things and how great the team at WME is.
I certainly wasn’t telling her I was going to a gala with Knox tonight.
Mindy, bless her, shared the details on the gala so I wasn’t going in blind—a fundraiser for animal welfare which I am a huge supporter of—and that all the big American players in the industry will be there.
Plus, media.
I don’t really want my StoryCraft team to know, because they may assume I’ve crossed the no fraternization rule.
I haven’t.
Aside from that moment after the team meeting where my body burst into flames when his hands roamed down my arms.
Can you orgasm from an arm rub? Asking for a friend.
“God, he’s hot as hell. How do you get any work done there?” Roxy asked me last night.
It’s a good question. The days I’m in the WME offices, I arrive at eight, focus on my emails and sip my coffee like it’s my life blood.
My back is to the corridor which goes down to his office and I’m not going to lie, I often turn and glance that way.
A few times I’ve found him standing, talking on the phone and staring at me.
He doesn’t look away and always waits for me to. Like it’s a game.
I always look away, but not before his heated eyes have impacted me. Trust me, sitting amongst peers with your sex burning like an inferno and wishing the one man you desire would lick you like a lollipop is not recommended.
I also didn’t tell Roxy about yesterday when Knox was leaning over my shoulder, stepping me through the financials after I queried what I thought was an error. It wasn’t.
“Oh, I see it now, thank you,” I had replied, then made the mistake of turning my head.
Our faces were way too close.
Knox stood abruptly and when I apologized, he simply strode out of the office.
While I was uncertain about the finances, I am no longer questioning if Knox Montgomery is attracted to me.
He is.
And furious about it.
I’m not really sure why. Or why he would invite me to the gala tonight. Either way, I cannot and will not do anything to compromise this job.
The energy in the office shifts and I spin on my chair to see what the fuss is about.
“Good morning, everyone,” a tall, broad older man says.
I know exactly who he is. There is no mistaking the likeness.
Ward Montgomery.
“Morning, sir,” a few people say.
He has a warm but powerful demeanor about him and it’s clear he is someone very comfortable in his skin.
I smile as he stops several feet from me.
