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The slick tile might as well be an ice rink as I slide and curse my way down the hall, finally getting ahead of the mess.
“Stop. Right. Now.” His voice bounces along the walls as I turn at the end of the hall and see a clear route through the still crowded dining room to the front door. I allow myself one more quick look back over my shoulder just as the enormous, dark, tattooed hunk hits the soaking, slippery section of the floor.
His feet slide outward, his arms dart toward the walls, but gravity wins.
The last thing I see is him tumbling, ass over teakettle, flat on the floor, swearing and telling me to stop.
Chapter Six
Natalie
Imake my way through my office, hands out like a mummy as I fumble for the Keurig. And once I manage to get my first sip of Irish Cream Dark Roast, the memories of last night start to become a little clearer.
But not less dreamy. Not at all.
The impossibly sexy, tall, dark drink of man-meat from last night has me metaphorically standing on my head. How could I, Miss Magic Wand for an hour with no happy ending, have an orgasm from the flick of a finger and the brush of his lips on my ear?
I don’t know. But the wetness that’s still slippery between my thighs proves that it did. He’s the first to ever have that honor, and I don’t even know his name.
I shake off my flighty thoughts and head into the conference room. Jamie, my co-worker at Two Wrongs Anger Management, and my partner for this consulting gig, is already here, flicking through the PowerPoint, making sure there are no glitches before our training gets started.
I riffle through the forms in front of me to get my bearings before we start. Today it’s an intensive anger management session for a partner of some three-name law firm, a fancy-schmancy divorce lawyer.
God, I hate divorce lawyers.
And it looks like he’s going to need a full-on chill out sesh…or else.
HR Defcon 5 Emergency, basically.
The plan is that Jamie will do the presentation while I observe, then I’ll do the post session eval and either sign him off for HR or give them my recommendations for future counseling or possible likelihood of continued risk to the company.
So, when it comes right down to it, this guy’s career is in the palm of my hand.
Which is wild.
Still, though, this gig pays the bills, and that’s a blessing I remind myself, because I’d rather not be here today.
For one, I want to get on my flight to Massachusetts and see my sister and family. It sucks I couldn’t take more time off this week to be there for her and help her get ready, but I’m treading on thin ice with my job already. I’ve only been with the company six months, so I’ve not earned any time off yet.
But, on top of that, I keep having these fantasies of heading back to Amalfi’s, blowing through the door and there he is. Still waiting for me. I don’t know his name, but he said his sister owned the place, and she is the chef who cock-blocked him, so surely I could somehow figure out who he is and find him.
Then what? I wouldn’t know what to do with all that if it appeared in front of me with a step-by-step instruction manual.
“Nat.” Jamie points toward the screen. “You ready? You have your forms, checklist, evaluation docs…”
“Yeah. Yeah…” I answer, fumbling in my laptop bag and tugging out a folder, spilling the pages all over the table in front of me. “I just have to—”
“Girl,” he says with a flick of his hair and a get-it-together tsk sound. “You are a hot mess. You know that?”
I’m a hot something, that’s for sure. “I know, I’m sorry. I… I lost my wallet again. I’m just a little out of sorts.”
He leans down, offering me a sympathetic grin, and picks up a few pieces of paper that fell to the floor. He hands them to me with a shake of his head.
“Thanks so much. You’re the best.”
Just then, the doorknob clicks, drawing my attention.
Showtime.
