Chapter Four
Bailey kept her eyes glued to Cash as they ascended the narrow staircase—which was a mistake, because his jeans were tight and his arse was tighter, and it all made her feel slightly… warm.
Still, she followed him in self-conscious silence. He led her along the short corridor at the top of the stairs, then into a spacious office filled with cheap chairs, cheaper desks, and several thousand pounds worth of MacBooks.
“Sorry about the decor,” he said, sliding into a wheeled chair behind the largest of the desks. It sat directly in front of a wide window and was flanked by two locked filing cabinets. “We need to get Gem to work her magic up here,” he continued. “But she’s so busy now.”
“Right,” Bailey murmured. “About Gem—”
“Hang on.” He reached into one of his desk drawers and produced a battered A4 notepad and an old biro. Bailey watched as he flipped through the pages, revealing snatches of darkly-shaded artwork. The glimpses were so compelling, she was drawn forward almost against her will.
But then he came to a clean page and popped the lid off of his pen, looking up at her with a professionally bland expression. “Shop’s open ten ’til five, for consultations, but we only take appointments from eleven. Gem gets here about half an hour early to open up, but that will be your job from now on, too. Unless I get there first. We’re open Monday to Saturday. What hours can you do?”
Bailey reached up to fiddle with one of her locs, then remembered that they were coiled neatly on top of her head. She drummed her fingers awkwardly against her collarbone instead. “Um… I can’t do Mondays, or Wednesday mornings. Uni. But are you sure—?”
He looked up sharply, his frown cutting her off. “What do you mean, uni?” He demanded.
“University,” she said slowly. “I’m an undergrad at—”
“How old are you?” He dropped the pen and folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. But the relaxed pose was at odds with his clenched jaw and the way his words were forced out from between gritted teeth.
“I’m twenty-five,” she said. “Oh, no—twenty-six, actually. It was my birthday last week.” Awkwardly, she gave a little wave of her hands. “Hooray for me!”
He stared, stony-faced. God, why the hell was she so embarrassing?
“But anyway,” she forged on, folding her hands safely behind her back. “What I’m trying to say is… well. I’m… I’m not taking Gem’s job, am I?”
He stared at her for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, he barked out a laugh.
“That’s what you think? That I’d throw out my employees for the next pretty girl that comes along?”
Bailey felt her cheeks heat. “No! I mean—wait. Pretty?”
He arched a brow.
Funny; he’d been a hell of a lot more charming when she was just selling him coffee.
With a sigh, Bailey explained. “I just meant, I know you’re a kind-hearted guy.” Even if he appeared to have undergone a personality transplant overnight. “And if Gem is already doing this job, there’s no reason for you to pay two people for the work of one.”
Cash unfolded his arms and picked up his pen again. He began marking out bold, swirling lines on the corner of the notepad, not even looking down at his hands as he did so. Like it was habit. Muscle memory. His eyes remained on hers, and she felt like a fly drowning in lemonade on a hot summer’s day. Doomed, and a little too happy about it.
“I appreciate your concern,” he said. “But don’t worry. My kind heart—” and the twitch of his lips told her what he thought of that claim—“doesn’t stop me from running my business properly.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean—“
“Bailey. It’s fine. Gem’s an apprentice. She works the desk right now because we don’t have a receptionist, and the apprentice gets all the shitty jobs.”
“Ah,” Bailey said. “I see. So she won’t feel pushed out if I take over?”
Cash chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Bailey. She won’t feel pushed out. Are you always so… Painfully considerate?”
She shifted on her heels, resisting the urge to look away from his mocking smile. How could he make her feel so uncomfortable and so electrified all at once?
“Do unto others,” she muttered finally.
“You a Christian?” The doodle on his page was turning into a full-on work of art; a cascade of feathers, falling from a twisted, dying tree.
“No,” she said. “But I used to read the Bible a lot. When I was a kid.”
He raised his brows, and she raised hers. Let him question her; it was true. The Bible was the only book to be found in most hotel rooms.
And she’d spent a lot of time in hotel rooms back then.
But he let the statement pass. “What do you study?” He asked, suddenly dropping his pen again. It was as though he didn’t want to hold it, but his fingers kept picking it up anyway.
“Psychology with cognitive neuroscience,” she told him, her feet bringing her closer to the desk without permission. Closer to him. He watched her advance with cool certainty, as though he knew exactly how hypnotic his attention was. In the absence of another chair, she leaned against the side of his desk, and his gaze sank lazily to the place where her rounded hip met the wood. He took his time looking, unashamed, and the bold perusal aroused her awareness. Desire, warm and languid, awoke. It unfurled in Bailey’s belly and took a look around. Decided it liked the view. Settled in for a while, ready to make her thighs clench and her life hell.
This man might be more than she could handle.
Cash met her eyes again, and she found herself studying the colour: cold jade shot through with flecks of molten gold. Impossible eyes.
“Are you going to psychoanalyse me?” He asked, his voice low.
“I’m not a doctor. I don’t even graduate ’til July.”
“But could you?”
“I don’t think I’d want to,” she whispered.
And just like that, the crackling energy between them was wiped out. His face was smooth as he leaned back in his chair, putting distance between them.
“Good,” he said. And then, his voice strained, he continued, “When you mentioned university I thought you might be… Younger than I’d hoped.”
Hoped? Why would he hope for anything to do with her? It couldn’t be the job; Gem was young, too. No; something told her Cash had slipped up with that comment, and he knew it. First he called her pretty, and now he… Hoped.
“I took some time off after college,” she explained. “Illness in the family.”
“Oh?”
“My mother.” Why was she saying this? She never said this. She usually stared in silence until the subject was changed. “Lung cancer. She died.” Alone. Alone except for Bailey. Because all those men she’d spent her life chasing…
Well.
Cash cleared his throat and broke eye contact for what felt like the first time in forever. But then he was back, his gaze hypnotising her once more. Only now, she remembered why she couldn’t let that happen. “I’m very sorry,” he said, and she almost believed him. When he looked at her like this, she could pretend he was the man she’d dreamed up, rather than the man he was turning out to be.
“Also,” she said, desperate to wipe the softness from his face, “I was held back at school.”
“Held back, and now you’re studying neuroscience?”
She shrugged. “It’s a long story.”
He looked like he wanted to hear it—only the sound of laughter interrupted them, floating up from downstairs, shortly followed by a burst of music. Thank God.
The close, intimate air of the office dispersed, leaving behind a shabby room with too many fluorescent lights. And the softness in Cash’s green eyes faded away, until only the harshly-drawn lines of his face and the sharp set of his jaw remained.
“That’s the rabble,” he said. “Why don’t you go down and let Gem set you up? I’ll sort out the forms you need by the end of the day.”
“Um… Alright.” Bailey paused for a moment, despite her determination to let go of her attachment to this man. Now that she’d decided he was nothing but an illusion, she perversely wanted to see some evidence to the contrary. Some glimpse of the man who’d charmed her with his sweet smile and gentleness.
But Cash remained a stony-faced stranger, beautiful and untouchable and so fucking hot. The sight of his broad chest and defined biceps beneath his simple black T-shirt was burned into her retinas.
There was nothing soft about this man.
With a quiet sigh, Bailey turned to leave. But as she approached the door, she noticed a small sprig of plastic holly taped to its frame, haphazard and incongruous. It reminded her of the Christmas cheer downstairs. She looked over her shoulder at Cash and found him staring at her, his features full of something achingly intense, yet tender. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that it was longing.
But then he cleared his throat and averted his gaze, the shutters falling once more.
“Who put this up?” She asked, pointing at the mistletoe.
He coughed. “I did, actually.”
“Yeah? So you like all that stuff downstairs?”
He looked pointedly at the clock on the far wall. “You should get going. Appointments will be starting soon.”
“Right,” she said quietly, and hurried off. But as she made her way out, a reluctant smile curved her lips.
Maybe Hot Coffee Guy was in there somewhere.