by Emma Hart
“Well.” I switched arms on my ice pack. “I’ve worked here since I left school, so anything you want to know, I can tell you. You just gotta ask.”
“I’m afraid I have a lot of questions.”
“Go ahead.” I pulled the ice pack off my head and stretched my arms. That was harder to hold in place than I’d thought.
“It’s not about the hotel,” he warned me.
“It’s fine. If you can’t tell, I was born here and never bothered to leave.”
A smile formed on those plump lips, and he caught my gaze with his gray one. “Is it normal to have seen more breasts in one weekend than I have in my entire life?”
I opened my mouth to answer it, then froze. My cheeks burned red hot, and I cleared my throat three times before I was able to form any kind of sentence.
“During Mardi Gras, absolutely. It’s somewhat of a thing…” I paused again as his smile widened. “And not one I’ve ever participated in until the hussies who call themselves my best friends made me. So…I’m sorry that you’ve seen way more of me than you ever should have.” Another pause. “And there’s something I never thought I’d say.”
Jacob burst out laughing. He threw his head back, resting on the top of the crushed velvet chair I hated so much, and just laughed at me. All that did was cause me to blush again, somehow even harder.
Was it too soon to look for a new job? There was no way I could work with him.
I’d embarrassed myself enough times already.
“Believe it or not, I’m not holding that against you.” His lips quirked up, eyes flashing with amusement. “I’d seen much worse in much brighter conditions that night.”
I coughed. Yep. I needed a new job, didn’t I?
“Um, well, you’re welcome?” Why did that have to come out as a question? Why did I even say that? Man, I was an idiot. “So, moving on…Let’s forget that ever happened and our first meeting was today, shall we?”
“Mellie—can I call you Mellie?” He paused.
I nodded.
Jacob swung his foot onto the floor and sat up, leaning forward to rest his forearm on my desk. His intense gaze held all the possible shades of amusement, and something fluttered in the pit of my belly. “Mellie,” he said in a low voice. “Today’s meeting wasn’t exactly better, was it?”
I swallowed. My tongue slipped out and traced over my lower lip, and even as my cheeks heated, I managed to clear my throat. “Yes, well, I was expecting you here. In my office.”
His half-smile never wavered. “We got here eventually.”
There was that fluttering again.
I coughed, sliding my chair away from my desk. I stood up beanpole straight and smoothed out my skirt. “Why don’t I show you around and introduce you to everyone?”
“That sounds perfect.”
Chapter Four
Upside #4: Your single friends are sympathetic to your plights. Unless it’s all their fault. Then they don’t give a fuck.
“I’m going to kill you.” I glanced at my phone and almost cut my finger instead of the onion. “Both of you. I’m going to kill you slowly and painfully and I’m going to enjoy every last darn second of it!”
Chloe’s eyes widened in her little box on the screen.
Peyton leaned forward. “It’s not our fault!”
“You’re the ones who made me flash!”
“Technically,” Chloe started, “You pulled up your shirt.”
“You’re not blaming me! I’m the victim here!” I scooped up the diced onion and shoved it into the pot with the ground beef. “You’re the ones who told me I’d never see those guys again. Oh, maybe you won’t, but I have to see one of them every single day!”
“Maybe he’ll be like your old boss,” Peyton tried. “Not there.”
“Nope. He’ll be there all the time. There’s no escaping it, you lying hussies. He said as much today. He plans to be as involved as possible.”
“Oooh.” Chloe swept her hair into a messy bun. “Sounds like he’s gonna be steppin’ on your toes.”
I dropped the knife onto the solid wooden board I was dicing garlic on and glared at the camera. Not even the screen—the camera. “I’d rather he stepped on my toes than saw my boobs!”
“It is pretty awkward,” Peyton agreed. “And the whole gin thing? Ouch, Mel. Are you sure you can hang onto your adult card?”
“I’m going to trade it in for a mugshot if we stay friends,” I muttered.
“Pish.” She waved her hand. “We’ve been friends our entire lives. You talk so much shit.”
“You talking shit is why I’m in this position. Where my boss knows what my boobs look like!”
“I mean, on the upside,” Chloe said slowly. “You do have great boobs!”
“Yes, Clo, but that’s not the point. Her boss doesn’t need to know that!” Peyton sighed.
I pointed my knife at the phone. “You. You shut your bitch ass mouth. You don’t get to take my side when this is your fault!”
“All right, fine. Did he like your boobs?”
I paused, slowly lowering the knife. “He said he’d seen worse in brighter light. Or something like that.”
“See? Not only did he see your boobs, but he likes them. That’s a good thing.”
“How is that a good thing?” Chloe asked. “The entire point of this conversation is that him seeing her unfairly perky tits is a bad thing, never mind liking what he saw.”
“My boobs aren’t unfairly perky.” I tossed the garlic into the pot and stirred. “Are they?”
Peyton pursed her lips. “Probably perkier than your C-cup should be.”
I blinked. “They’re hardly spaniels’ ears, Peyt, and I’m twenty-seven, not seventy-seven!”
She moved back from the screen, cupped her boobs, and pushed them together. “You know what happens when I take my bra off? I take out someone’s eye!”
“Yeah, you have big boobs, we get it.” Chloe rolled her eyes—and so would her B-cup if boobs had eyes. Maybe they rolled her nipples.
“We’re getting way off track here.” I stirred the spaghetti, then set down the wooden spoon. “The point here is that I flashed my boss on Saturday night after y’all made me, then y’all told me I’d never see him again, and that was a lie!”
“If he liked what she saw,” Peyton said. “Why don’t you just go the whole shebang? Then you’ve seen each other’s genitals and there’s no shame. Or do you need a hook-up? I got a great submission earlier from this guy with a nice thick cock and—”
“Oh look, my spaghetti is done. Bye!” I hung up before she could go any further down her latest attempt at getting me laid and took a deep breath.
My spaghetti was nowhere near done.
But thank the baby Jesus on a unicorn ride that conversation was.
***
I stared at myself in the mirror of the ladies’ bathroom at the hotel. I looked perfectly presentable; I knew that. It was the same fitted, three-quarter-length sleeved blouse I wore every day. I was wearing a black pencil skirt that hugged my figure from my waist to my knees, curving over my hips and ass perfectly.
I buttoned the top two pearly white circles that were glinting at me at in the mirror.
I undid the top one.
I’d never cared so much about my cleavage in my life.
How much was too much? That was a question I hadn’t asked myself since I was a teenager and living with my parents, and my answer was invariably different to theirs.
I sighed. There was something wrong with me. Jacob Creed already knew what my boobs looked like. A little cleavage wasn’t going to make a difference now, was it?
No. No, it was not.
I shook my head and left the bathroom. He’d emailed me to tell me he’d be in after lunch, and it was now officially after lunch. Where was he?
I wandered back to my office and closed the door. I’d already made the mistake of leaving it open once today and had no intentions of doing that again. I’d dealt with everything
from an early drunk to a young mom wondering where she could get diapers for her two-year-old.
Spoiler alert: not in my hotel.
I took a sip from my berry refresher and leaned back in my chair. I wanted to kick off my heels but knowing my luck, Jacob would show up just that second.
Three light knocks sounded at my door.
Talk of the devil and all that…
“Who is it?” I called.
“It’s Jacob,” he replied.
I tucked my hair behind my ear and said, “Come in!”
The door creaked as he pushed it open and joined me. He looked dapper in a light blue shirt with navy slacks and dark brown shoes. His hair was the same wavy style it always was, and he smiled when our eyes met. “Good afternoon. How are you today?”
I returned his smile, steadily ignoring the fluttering in my stomach. “Hi. I’m good. How are you?”
“Perfect. How’s everything going today?”
“Well,” I said, “I haven’t smashed any gin today, so it’s already an improvement on yesterday.”
Jacob chuckled and took a seat in that stupid crushed velvet chair. He wiggled, adjusting his seating position a few times until he was comfortable. “Has anyone ever told you this is, quite possibly, the most uncomfortable seat in existence?”
Grimacing, I nodded. “Only everyone who’s ever been unfortunate enough to sit in it.”
“Awesome. That’ll be the first thing to be replaced. I’m not stealing your chair, and there’s no way I’m working sitting in this damn thing.”
I blinked at him, holding my cup halfway up to my mouth. “Why would you be sitting in that chair?”
He raised one dark eyebrow, amusement in his eyes. “There’s only one office, and you’re in it. I need to be here to oversee renovations when they start, and I can’t set up in the lobby now, can I?”
More blinking from me. “Can I set up in the lobby?”
Jacob laughed. “If you must, but I can’t see how that would be helpful for you to do your work.”
“I’ve never shared my office. I don’t know how to share my office.” Damn it. I sounded like a teenager who’s just been told they had to share their bedroom with their younger sibling.
Luckily for me, Jacob was still laughing. “I promise I won’t get in your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”
All right, this man clearly didn’t own a mirror. There was no way I’d be able to ignore him. I mean, if he were in an art museum, he’d be the Mona Lisa of the place.
He’d also be the resident radiator because he was so fucking hot.
“Um, okay?” I was uncertain. “Don’t you think it’ll be awkward? I mean, we’ll be basically on top of each other. This office isn’t that big. I don’t even think we could get another desk in here.”
I looked around dubiously. No. You couldn’t. Between the shelves and my desk and the filing cabinets, there was simply no space.
He clicked his tongue and did the same, his gray eyes scanning the space with the same question I’d just asked myself. Then, slowly, his attention fell on my desk, and a tiny smile teased the corners of his mouth.
I held up my finger and shook my head. “No. No. That would be a disaster.” Not to mention, I was the messiest person I knew. I couldn’t keep things in line if I’d tried. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Aw, come on. Would it really be that bad to share an office with me?”
“You’re not just proposing sharing an office, Mr. Creed. You’re proposing we share a desk, and that’s another thing entirely.”
“Jake.”
“What?”
“My name. Call me Jake.”
“But… I can’t.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”
I swallowed. “You’re my boss.”
He stood up, grinning, and walked to the window where he leaned against the sill. “And your boss is telling you to call him Jake.”
He had me there.
“Fine, Jake. But I still don’t see how us sharing an office will be anything less than awkward.”
“I don’t see it being awkward at all. I promise not to sit across from you and picture you topless.”
My cheeks burned, but he just grinned.
“Look, try it. If it’s super awkward, we’ll figure something else out, but I really need a base here at the hotel.”
I was going to regret this. I knew it. He might not sit and think about me topless, but I already knew it’d sure as hell be easy to picture him naked about ten times a day.
Sweet Jesus, I was screwed.
“Okay, but my desk is a hot mess,” I tried. It was my last attempt at getting him to give up on this idea. “There’s stuff everywhere.”
“So, tidy it.”
I blinked at him. “It’s all organized.”
“You just said it was a hot mess.”
“It’s an organized hot mess.”
“There’s no such thing as an organized hot mess, Mellie.”
I held out my hands. “I show up for work every day on time looking like a human being. I beg to differ.”
Jake stopped. His gazed danced slowly over my face before his flat expression brightened with the upturn of his lips and the silent laughter that make his eyes shine almost hypnotically. “Touché,” he muttered. “But, it still needs tidying. Organized mess or not, I can’t work in that.”
“I don’t have the time to organize it. I have to do the roster.”
He leaned forward, flattening his hands on top of two folders. His upper arms tensed, and the sun coming in through the open window played against the dips and curves of the muscles his short sleeves allowed me to see.
Man. You could bounce a quarter off those biceps.
It’d probably bounce so hard it’d take out a window—or an eye—but it’d be worth it.
“I can’t decide,” he said in a low voice, his expression still amused, but somehow…darker. “If you’re trying to be a child about this, or if that’s just how things are going to be. Because if it’s the latter, this isn’t going to work.”
I was being a child. Whatever.
I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair. One of my eyebrows raised in a perfect arch, and I met his eyes without flinching. “You might be the new owner and my new boss, Mr. Creed, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me you’re sharing my office and now, apparently, my desk. It allows you open a discussion about it.”
“Is that right?”
“I’m not in the habit of lying.” I stood, letting my hands fall to the side. I wasn’t going to look up at him anymore, and it worked because he lifted his head to keep hold of my gaze, even if he didn’t straighten his back. “I don’t like the idea of you sharing my office. I’m not going to change my mind, and I’m not going to pretend I do. If that means I glare at you ten times an hour, you’ll have to deal with it.”
“I’ll have to deal with it?”
Was I making him angrier or more amused? I couldn’t tell.
“Yes. Because you’re the one who forced yourself in here without considering if it might be even remotely awkward and uncomfortable or if you might encroach on my own work.”
He was stony-faced. No emotion whatsoever peered back at me. Not from his mouth, not his jaw, and not his eyes. He was like a robot, but I knew his brain was whirring. His gaze was too solid and intense, despite being almost cold in its vacant-like stare.
“I don’t know if your attitude is amusing to me or if I can’t stand it.”
Well, that feeling was borderline mutual.
“If you can’t stand it, let me know. I know where the door is. I’ve walked through it enough times in the last nine years. More times than any owner of this place has.” I picked up my drink, sipped it quickly, and set it back down. “Now, if you don’t mind, if we’re done, I have to track down who’s requesting what hours.”
I walked around my desk and past him, heading for the door. Only, before I could get there
, his arm shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and stopping me in my tracks. I wobbled on my heels but managed to keep my balance as I turned to glare at him.
Jake stepped forward, almost threateningly close to me. “You won’t walk out, Mellie. I don’t have to be here forever to know you love this job. You’d only leave if you were forced to.”
“You sound awfully like you’re considering it anyway,” I bit out.
Slowly, a half-smile tugged at his lips. “No. Just thinking out loud. And again—my name is Jake, not Mr. Creed.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do. Call me it again, and I have half a mind to throw you over my knee.”
My jaw dropped. Did he just—no! “I’m not a child, Mr. Creed. I don’t need you to spank me.”
Why did I say that out loud?
“You might not need me to, but you’d sure as hell want me to carry on once I started.”
I yanked my wrist from his grip, and steadfastly ignoring that stupid, sexy grin on his face, turned and stalked out of the room before I could say something I’d regret.
Knowing my luck, I’d end up pulling my skirt up for him.
This was a bad, bad idea.
Chapter Five
Upside #5: Whenever you ask if your butt looks big in this, you know you’ll get the truth from the mirror.
I licked the last of the sugar from my fingers and threw the donut box into the trash. Wednesdays were my favorite days. I didn’t have to work until two, which meant I could lie in bed until nine and eat donuts for breakfast without wearing pants.
Sure, this morning I was wearing shorts, but that was because I’d had to see the mailman, and I didn’t think he wanted to see my underpants.
I wandered over to my coffee machine right as my phone rang. The shrill noise filled the area of the small room, and I almost jumped as I scrambled across to the microwave to grab it from the top.
“Hello?” I answered, turning around and—a searing pain shot through my big toe. “Owww, motherfucker! Ow, ow, ow!” I grabbed my foot, which left me hopping, and ultimately, I almost fell against the cabinet. “I’ll call you back!” I shouted at whoever the hell had called me and hung up.
