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“Not really. I told you this before,” I confessed.
“Work for me,” he suggested suddenly.
“Doing what?” I asked, surprised by his offer.
“We hire all the time. You have a degree, and I’m sure we can place you,” he assured me.
“I think that would be too familiar. We should have some space,” I reasoned.
“I doubt I would see you during the day. I’m in and out of the office most of the time,” he pointed out.
It was so tempting. I really hated my job, and Beatrice had gotten worse as time wore on. She piled on all the shitty jobs no one else wanted to do, and she was nasty, not respecting those who worked for her. It was grating on my nerves.
“But still. You would know I was on the floor somewhere,” Oliver remarked, his tone contemplative.
“And you think I would seek you out?” I countered, studying his expression for any hint of sincerity.
“Wouldn’t you?” he prodded.
“I would try not to,” I admitted, though a part of me knew it would be futile.
“And if you didn’t succeed?” he pressed further.
“Then I would take you into the privacy of my office,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
“To do what?” I inquired, curiosity piqued.
“Ryleigh, where is this conversation going?” Oliver interjected, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“I’m simply trying to ascertain if you would try something during the day,” I explained, trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism despite the escalating tension between us.
“Try something?” he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Sex, Oliver. Sex in the office. Sex in your very large, very comfortable office,” I stated bluntly, daring him to deny the possibility.
“Highly inappropriate,” he retorted, though his gaze lingered on mine, betraying a flicker of interest.
“But not improbable. Face it, we’re like gasoline to flame,” I pointed out, unable to deny the magnetic pull between us.
“Gasoline doesn’t catch fire; the fumes do,” he countered, his lips quirking into a half-smile.
“You know what I mean,” I shot back, feeling a flush creeping up my neck.
Oliver kept staring into my eyes, his gaze unwavering. “Yes, I do.”
“So, would you?” I pressed, the question hanging between us like a charged wire.
“Have sex with you in my office? Would it make or break your coming to work for me?” he countered, his voice low and measured.
“Make? Like it’s a perk? You might be horrible in bed,” I challenged, refusing to back down.
“I assure you, I’m not,” he replied confidently, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Then show me,” I dared him, my heart pounding in my chest.
“I won’t tonight. You’ll just have to trust me,” he murmured, his gaze intense.
“I hate you,” I muttered, though the words rang hollow even to my own ears.
