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Once inside, TJ closes the door behind us. I’m lowering myself to sit when he tears his shirt up and over his head and tosses it onto his desk. He rubs a towel over his damp skin, masculinity and sex radiating off him.
I miss the chair by a fraction of an inch because my eyes are glued to the sculpted body in front of me. My ass bounces onto the floor with a thud.
And I’m mortified.
“Shit, you okay?” TJ offers me his hand but I swat it away.
“I’m fine. I … uh … have some ideas I want to … uh … run by you.”
“Only here for five minutes and you’ve already got ideas. I knew you’d be perfect for the job.”
I smooth my hands over my skirt and sit in the chair, making sure to keep my eyes trained on the floor. The desk. The ceiling. Anywhere but on TJ’s beautiful body. “Well, the … uh … the desk is a mess. I’d like to get some … uh … file folders and organize …”
“Carla.” TJ steps lowers his head until I look up at him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine … I just … can you please put a shirt on?”
A wide grin spreads across his face. Reaching into a gym bag that’s sitting on the floor, he pulls out a dry T-shirt and yanks it over his head. He sits on the corner of the desk, still wearing that smug grin. “That better?”
“You’re my boss. It’s unprofessional to see you without your clothes on.”
“It’s only unprofessional if you’re looking at me like that.”
My cheeks heat but I lift my chin, determined not to entertain this conversation. “I just wanted your permission to make things more efficient behind the front desk.”
“You have my permission to do whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you.” I nod and stand.
“Carla, I thought I told you to wear any kind of pants you wanted.”
I look down at my red pencil skirt and black kitten heels. The color of the skirt matches the gym’s logo on the T-shirt. “Is this not okay?”
“It’s totally fine. I like how you knotted the front of the shirt too. Just want to make sure you’re comfortable here. It’s a gym. You don’t have to be so … secretarial.”
“Maybe I like being secretarial.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
TJ’s steel gaze holds me captive. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Nope. I’m good.” I spin around and push against the door. I jiggle the knob and push harder, leaning into it with my hip.
“Pull, Carla.”
“Right. Pull.” I swing the door open and all but run out of the room. What the hell is wrong with me?
TJ’s busy with clients for the remainder of the day. The phone rings once, and the only “work” I have to do is greet everyone who walks in. Most of my time is spent separating the piles of paper into smaller, homogeneous piles.
At seven o’clock on the dot, TJ’s locking the front door.
I wave my arm Vanna White-style. “Look at all my piles.”
He leans over the desk and whistles.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and jingle my keys. “Well, I’m off to Staples.”
