Page 53 of Mine to Love
I’m smart enough not to ask what this is. Focus on work. Keep conversations about business and nothing personal, and it won’t be awkward. That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past few weeks. So far that lasted negative five seconds.
I ignore the possible reference to sex and keep it about work. “I appreciate the gesture, but I would have preferred if you asked first before decorating my office.”
“Your office?”
“Yes.”
“I thought this was my office.”
“Yours is across the hall.”
Reese’s jaw hangs open. “But that one is bigger.”
“They’re about the same. I didn’t take out a measuring tape.”
“But that one has an ocean view.” She turns around and faces her office.
“I thought you might appreciate it more than me.”
She faces me again. “You don’t like the ocean?”
“I don’t mind the ocean.”
Her mouth falls open again and no words came out. I like her mouth like that, open. I remember too well how soft her lips are. How sweet her mouth is. How her tongue tangled with mine.
“I’m... I’m sorry for intruding on your personal space. Give me an hour and I’ll have everything out of here.” She crosses the hall and is back seconds later without her bag and starts scooping up decor.
I watched her with amusement as she hurries back and forth, her heels tapping along the hardwood floor, and then I pitch in to help. The trees are heavier than they look, and I wonder how she got them in her car and up the flight of stairs all on her own.
A pang of jealousy hits as I picture a male friend with a truck offering to lend her a hand. I wouldn’t have been much help anyway. There’s no way all this shit could fit into my car. Maybe I should think about buying an SUV.
“Where do you want this?” I ask, hugging the base of the tree around his center.
“You don’t have to help.” She rushes to me and stretches out her arms to take the heavy pot from me, and I shake my head.
“Where?”
“Um.” She twirls about the room and points to the sliders. “There.”
Okay, maybe she doesn’t twirl, but she spins so gracefully on her heels she could be a ballerina. I set the pot down to the right of the door and head back into my office for more. She follows me, this time quietly.
I lower my gaze to her bare feet.
“Easier not wearing the heels.”
I swallow. Hard. I don’t know what is sexier, her in those spiky heels or in bare feet.
We work in silence emptying my office and filling hers. When we’re done, I leave her to rearrange everything and go back into my now empty space. Plants and knickknacks aren’t really my thing, but they did make the office feel...nice.
My building in Texas is made of steel and glass, and the homey touches would have been out of place there. Here, in the converted apartment above the donut shop that smells of vanilla and sugar, it’s needed.
Since Reese has done nothing wrong and she was embarrassed about taking over my office, I go to her, leaning my shoulder against the doorjamb and watch her rearrange the plethora of white pottery dishes that hold plants, fake and real, I learned.
“I know it’s not in your job description, but if I gave you a spending allowance, how would you feel about sprucing up the rest of the place?”
“You want me to decorate for you?”
I shove my hands into my pockets. “Or not.”