Page 11

After I’d read her a bedtime story, I covered her up and shut off the bedside light, leaving the twinkle lights on, and made my way downstairs. After I cleaned up the kitchen, I sat down at the table and opened my laptop. I wanted to get some of my notes down, and the next thing I knew, it was nine-thirty.

I was so focused on my book that I didn’t hear Everett come in behind me.

“Working late again?”

I jumped, my knee hitting the underside of the island. My tea sloshed and I slapped my laptop half-shut on reflex, like a teenager caught looking at something inappropriate.

I glanced over my shoulder. Everett stood in the kitchen doorway, his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled, top three buttons undone just like in my book, and I stilled. How long had he been there, I wondered?

“Mr. Stone.” My voice was strained. I cleared my throat. “I was finishing up some…I was making notes for….Sophie’s schedule for tomorrow.”

He ignored me and walked over to the cabinet, pulled out a glass, and filled it with water from the refrigerator door. He took a slow drink and set the glass down, meeting my eyes.

“Your hours ended at seven.”.

“I know. I wanted to get caught up with…”

“I don’t pay overtime, Miss Wilde.”

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to. I was…”

“Let me guess…Sophie’s schedule,” he said, leaning against the counter. He crossed his arms; his eyes moving from my face to my laptop.

“Yes…I like to make sure I am organized.”

“I see. Well, that’s a lot of typing for a schedule for a seven-year-old.”

“Well, I’m very thorough.”

“Mmmhmmm.” He picked up his glass and took another drink. “What are you writing? I’m not an idiot; I know it’s not Sophie’s schedule.”

“It most certainly is…”

He stared at me, making me uncomfortable.

“I saw your laptop the other night when you fell asleep on my couch. I looked you up, so I know you’re not working on her schedule.”

Heat flooded my body, and my fingers tightened on the edge of my laptop.

“You were writing about someone named Ethan,” he said. “CEO, a widower.” He paused. “Seems like an interesting character.”

I wanted to die. Actually, I was going to die. Right here, in Everett’s kitchen. I was going to die of embarrassment, and they would find my body slumped over my laptop full of fan fiction about my boss.

“It’s fiction. It’s not….he’s not…”

“He’s not what?”

“You,” I said, my face on fire.

Everett looked at me. The kitchen was dark except for the pendant lights that hung over the island. He stared at me as if he were looking through me, and I felt a prickle at the back of my neck as my cheeks heated.

“I never thought he was.”

He stood there against the counter, looking sexy as hell. I sat on the stool, and my laptop lay between us. The house was so quiet I could hear the hum of the refrigerator. My heart beat in my chest as he stared at me.

He pushed himself off the counter and took two steps toward the island and stopped.

“He’d taken off his suit jacket at some point and hung it over the back of his chair, and he’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and he’d undone the top three buttons of his dress shirt, showing off a splattering of hair on his chest.” He finished, reciting word for word what I’d written earlier, and lifted one eyebrow. “Are you taking notes about me, Miss Wilde?”