“You’re staring.”His voice, deep and final, does not make room for a question.
I flush all the way to my toes.
He noticed.Of course he noticed.Details are his job.Still, I can’t help the zip of a thrill that runs down my spine.
“I skipped breakfast,” I lie.
As Sterling checks his phone, a crease forms between his brows.I’ve spent a lot of time staring at him, trying to work out what that crease means and how I can make it go away.
“Bad news?”I can’t help but ask.
His eyes flick up to mine.They’re so, so blue.Fall skies, clear and cool.My favorite.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”Not your business,he means.
Right.We’re not friends.Sterling doesn’t have work friends.
In college, I dreamed of working here, near—and hopefully with—the famed Sterling Ross, cutting through the PR schemes that covered the asses of the rich and powerful, exposing the underhanded motives they used to stretch the class divide even further.
Now I’m questioning why I ever wanted to be near the man.
This is why you should never meet your heroes.
* * *
My neck gave up an hour ago and is now protesting loudly.I push my laptop away, rolling the aching muscles but it doesn’t help.
Everyone else left hours ago, leaving only Sterling and me.It’s quiet enough that I can count his even breaths.I’d almost think he was asleep.
I glance over and find him watching me.
He keeps doing that.
He reaches over to replenish his stack of papers, and my gaze snags on his hands—strong, with long fingers and no freckles.A clean canvas, highlighting the rippling of veins under his skin.I want them on me.
His sleeves are rolled up, and I stare at the now-bare skin of his forearms.There’s a fine layer of dark hair there.My pulse spikes.I bet his calves look the same.Mature.Rugged.This newfound fact coalesces into my image of him, morphing it into something gruffer to match the deep furrow of his brow and rough growl of his voice.
It’s dangerously sexy territory, not that I’ve ever needed an excuse to think he was sexy before.
A sneeze tickles my nose, and I rush to cut it off, but a soft, muffled snort escapes me.“Excuse me,” I say when I’m sure there won’t be another.
Sterling reaches across his desk, pulling a Kleenex from the box and thrusting it toward me, but that’s not what stops my breath.Poking out above the cuff of his shirt is a black four-leaf clover.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”
Immediately, I know it’s the wrong thing to say.
Sterling stills, drops the tissue on my desk, and rolls down his sleeves.“I don’t let most people see it.”
Disappointment flashes cold against my skin.I guess I’m most people.
It’s late.The sun went down hours ago, and I can’t remember if I ate lunch.My stomach grumbles, and my back is screaming, but there’s at least a hundred pages to still get through.If I knew what I was really looking for, I could work faster.Any detail at all would help, but Sterling’s been nothing but vague.Does he think I’m going to steal the story from under his nose?
This is ridiculous.
Is this really what he wanted me for?To sit pretty and shut up?
Once again, I’ve let his reputation intimidate me.If I can’t hold a conversation with a colleague, how can I expect to ever hold my own against Fortune 500 assholes?
