2
| JASON |
MONDAY
(Time: 4:21 a.m.)
I head to the front door and pull it open midway through her second round of knocks.
She’s standing on the doorstep, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. Almost impossibly chipper. Chased of course with her usual dose of excessive and usually unnecessary worry over whatever is racing through her thoughts right now.
“’Morning, boss.” She flashes me a hasty but genuine smile and promptly hands me a large paper cup of what smells more like sugary liquefied hazelnut than coffee. Where on earth she went to get fancy coffee to go at this hour, I don’t even want to know. I’ll check with my security folks later. For now, I take the cup and leave it on the table in the foyer. I’m not ready for coffee. I’m not even dressed.
She steps over the threshold, grabbing the abandoned cup to take a quick gulp—like she needs more caffeine—before she says in a rush, “So I had some things to run by you.”
Maybe it’s because she pulls out an unbelievably over-stuffed folder—one of many in her bag—or and maybe it’s because she did take me literally on the sunrise thing, but I feel perfectly justified in reaching out to put a hand over her mouth to stop her from overloading me with information before my brain has had a chance to wake up.
Her eyes widen the instant my skin touches hers.
Great. At the sound of her breath catching softly in surprise, every muscle in my body is tensed up and ready to go. Now all I can think about is drawing that same gasp from her again, preferably along with my name, as I plunge hard and deep into her wet little—
The way her eyes shoot down south grabs my attention, and I notice she’s looking at the front of the sweatpants I’d had to start wearing to bed after the crazy little insomniac began these invasions of my private sanctuary.
Sure, I’d normally have concealed my morning wood better, but I’m in my own goddamn home, and I’m not some kid who needs to hide the fact that my cock is rock hard from thinking about a beautiful woman.
I am curious about her reaction though.
She’s staring at my hard-on as if I’m some kind of alien who just showed her a third eyeball. As if she’s noticing for the first time ever that I’m a man and she’s a woman. As if she’s never had a man react to her this way before.
Bad idea, dude. Just walk away. Now.
“I need breakfast,” I say, turning and heading into the kitchen. She can follow or not.
She follows.
And thank fuck, she seems to be back to her usual oblivious-to-everything-but-work default because I hear her rattling off what sounds like a long-ass checklist of things on her mind as I take out eggs and a few other things from the fridge. From some issues she foresees coming, to the design details she’d wanted to talk to me about earlier, to some interior construction constraints she’s figuring out, it’s all standard stuff, and I tune in with one ear as I make some food.
“Are you hungry?” I ask when she finally pauses to take another breath.
“No thanks. I already ate,” she says before launching back into an in-depth analysis of our progress on the project.
As always, her attention to detail is impeccable; if only she had nearly as much insight to how much I’d like her to leave right now. It would be nice to just enjoy my once-quiet morning rituals again. But, I get it. This is a big project I handpicked to have her run point on. I know it’ll take time for us to get into a groove that doesn’t drive me up the wall. The important thing is that she’s damn talented, even if her process is damn unorthodox.
I finish making my skillet scramble and sit at the counter to eat while she begins easing into what sounds like the start of a marathon explanation about how the guy we’d been considering for an open position on her project isn’t the best decision, and how she knows a guy who’d be much better suited.
“He’s hired,” I interrupt her, and she pauses, her mouth hanging slightly open as she stares at me.
I calmly take another bite of eggs, studying her as intently as she’s watching me. Does she not realize I trust her opinions on this sort of thing? If she says her guy is better, he’s fucking hired. I wouldn’t have her on the job if I thought she was in any way incompetent.
“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide, “okay. Thank you.”
She still seems surprised at my response. Has no one ever taken her seriously? So far, she’s been running a tight ship, and even when snags come up, like they always do with any project, she’s been ironing them all out before I have to get involved.
I walk over to put my plate in the sink and she watches me, utterly silent for a refreshing change. The fact that I actually miss hearing her voice, however, makes me think I’m still way too fucking tired to be functional at the moment.
“I’m going to shower,” I inform her then, leaving it to her to see herself out as I walk back toward the master bedroom.
A half a minute later, I’m standing in the shower, under a pulsing spray of hot water when I hear her start talking again.
Okay, I guess she’s staying. And now I’m butt-ass naked and she’s in the doorway of my bathroom, talking about the team and how they’ll love the new hire. Great. Fine. Whatever. The glass shower door is frosted. The woman’s not going to keep me from my shower.
She keeps talking, and I start soaping down, avoiding soaping too far down, just like I avoid the unexpected desire I suddenly have to yank her into the shower with me.
Because that would be bad.
In a so-fucking-good-it’s-bad sort of way.