CHAPTER30
“We are up to no good; may as well get on the couch and make it worth your while. I’m sure I could help un-wrinkle that skirt,” he teases. I roll my eyes; he’s in his playful mood. I probably won’t get much work done this afternoon at all when he is like this. He is trying at the best of times, but worse in playful mode. I check my watch in irritation; we should get out of here.
“In your dreams,” I respond drily, trying my hardest to ignore him.
“Always.” He throws me a quick wink with a mischievous smile. I remain impassive. He’s tiresome, and we have a meeting we should already be arriving at. Needless to say, he no longer intimidates me, and his overly familiar behavior is a sign that we have grown somewhat closer in the past weeks. He’d stopped behaving quite so properly a while ago, and I had given up objecting because he is simply too exhausting.
He’s watching me as I smooth a stray hair back into my French knot, aware that his eyes are on me. I raise mine in question, throwing him my haughty look. My silent, “What?”
“I miss it sometimes you know?” He’s watching me now, a strange look on his face and a faraway glaze to his eyes.
“Miss what?” I mumble, trying to sort my jacket out. He really did a number on making me look rumpled this time.
“Being able to intimidate you.” He’s grinning again, eerily reading my thoughts of a moment ago, something he does a lot.
“Shame,” I respond flatly. I add a note to my planner for a reservation next week and pull up a newly received email. It’s Finance asking for the spreadsheets we finished this morning. I message Rosalie asking her to resend them with the original timestamp.
“I think it’s safe to leave the closet with you now, Mr. Carrero.” I close my iPad inside its protective cover and don’t look at him.
“We’re back to Mr. Carrero, are we? Have I made you pout, Miss Anderson?” He throws me his most innocent schoolboy look.
I’m fully aware that I use his title when he pisses me off; he thinks I’m mad at him.
Maybe I am. He did haul me into a closet after all.
“I think you need the boundaries redefined, since you just manhandled me into a closet,” I pout at him.
“Point taken. I’m so deeply sorry for my terrible behavior.” He’s still smiling at me, and I feel the urge to smile back tugging at the corners of my mouth. This annoys me immensely. I hate that he always manages to make me cave, even when he’s pissed me off. He’s incorrigible and exhausting. I don’t know why I endure this every day. I push the urge to smile down; I would rather stay pissed, or appear to be, as it usually gets him to behave a little more demurely.
“Anytime soon?” I say as I gesture at the door impatiently with a nod, then cross my arms.
“You go, I may stay here for a bit and watch you walk out.” He turns, getting comfy again to watch me move, with a look of wickedness gracing his face. I exhale heavily.
“Enjoy the view,” I retort. “I’ll leave my resignation on the desk as I pass.” I smile sweetly, upper hand as always, knowing he couldn’t run things quite so well without me. “Reason being sexual harassment … again!” I raise my voice to highlight my uppity tone.
“You couldn’t leave me, Emma. You adore working for me too much. You would miss my sexual harassment.” The laugh in his voice indicates he is still smiling my way.
Ass.
I raise an eyebrow back at him and turn away as though I’m serious and fight the urge to smirk. He has a way of getting under my skin, even when being juvenile.
I open the door and slide out, looking around cautiously. I notice that his office door is ajar, and I head out to peek around, checking everything is clear. A short walk to my old desk and I can see most of the floor is vacant with only the regular secretaries milling around, paying no heed to me. Rather than venture back in, I pull out my cell and text him that all is quiet.
I can’t believe he made me hide in the closet from his father. Sometimes he acts like a two-year-old, not New York’s most eligible bachelor!
He appears a moment later, looking cool and collected, and smiles as he tugs a strand of my hair back down from my French knot. I could slap him; he knows how much his messing with my hair annoys me, yet it’s something he does several times a day for a reaction. I smooth it back in place and curse under my breath at his back, resisting the urge to throw him a finger. I pick up the files for the meeting and check my watch again; we could make it if he moves his ass."
