Page 28 of Sweet Nothings
“Of course he did,” I mutter. Leave it to Micah to come up with a lame excuse that actually makes our business appear weak and incapable.
Worry sets in as I look up and count the levels as the elevator continues to climb to the top. We’re approaching Laurel’s floor.
Fuck.What is wrong with me?
Gripping the leather portfolio, I hold my breath as we pass Laurel’s level. I don’t breathe again until the elevator stops for my office and the doors slide open. Olivia and I step out onto the marble floor. I walk ahead of her until she reaches her desk situated outside the large oak doors to my office. She sits in her chair, booting up her computer.
“Message my brother and ask him if he ever considered discussing this excuse with me before he ran with it, or if he took it upon himself to make an executive decision without my approval,” I call over my shoulder.
“Yes, Mr. Harding.”
I push through the door and slam it shut behind me.
I’ve taken only two steps into my office when my breath is stolen from my lungs.
Seated in my oversized leather chair, with her legs crossed and a sinful smirk playing out across her red painted lips, is Laurel Branford.
“Now,” she says wistfully, leaning forward on her elbows and pointing toward me. “Is this a habit of yours? Slamming the door after you enter your office, barking orders as if you own the place?”
My mouth spreads into a wide grin. The vision of her in my private space does indescribable things to my insides.
Eyeing her, I scratch at my chin, then I curl my fingers into a fist. Anything to distract me, forcing my cock to calm down.
A chuckle rumbles from my throat as I walk toward my desk. I drop Erik Larsson’s contract on the top of it and bend down, leaning far enough forward to be level with Laurel, compelling my eyes not to fall to the swell of her breasts peeking out between the open collar of her white blouse.
“I seem to be rubbing off on you more than I expected, Ms. Branford.” I growl. “I’ve underestimated you.”
Her smirk has faded as she leans back in my chair. She stands, moving around the desk so we’re on the same side.
Her black mini skirt hugs the full curves of her hips with every step she takes. My eyes fall to her bare feet.
I find myself grinning again. I can’t remember the last time I smiled this many times in such a short time span.
“I figured if I were to go toe to toe with the infamous Lennon Harding, I may as well have ripped a page from his own book.” She shrugs.
She’s standing incredibly close to me. Close enough for me to touch. Close enough for me to reach out and feather my fingers across the length of her body.
Of all the sides to Laurel I’ve seen, this one is my new favorite.
“I wasn’t aware we had a meeting scheduled,” I tell her.
“We didn’t… but since you left your office door open, I figured it wasn’t necessary.”
I swipe my thumb across my mouth, hiding my smirk. She truly did take a lesson from my playbook.
“My office is open to you always, Ms. Branford,” I say, lowering my voice.
A small gasp escapes her perfect lips. Her scent surrounds me, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else other than her. I don’t care she broke into my office without me here, and I sure as fuck don’t care that she’s interrupted and thrownoff my entire schedule. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this unscheduled meeting?”
I won’t deny the way my stomach lurches at the idea that she might be here because she’s reconsidered marrying me. Aside from my proposal, I doubt Laurel would want anything to do with me otherwise. After she found out the truth about my father’s true intentions for her, Laurel has kept her distance from me, our business, and the Harding name. At least publicly, anyway.
Without breaking eye contact, she reaches down and picks up a black folder, slaps it against my chest and tilts her head, staring into my soul with her indigo eyes. I place my hand over hers.
“I’ve reconsidered your proposal, Lennon,” she says, her eyes falling to our connected hands. She clears her throat and slides hers out from under mine. Her gaze lifts back up to my face. “I’ll marry you.”
The feeling stirring inside me isn’t one I was expecting. I expected to be thrilled and relieved she’s accepted my father’s outrageous request, but I can’t ignore the echoing ache inside my chest. I told Laurel that if she were married to me, she deserved a marriage that was more than transactional, and I meant it.
She deserves more.