“Sorry. Colt,” I pretend to correct myself, teasing him a little bit.
“I mean the fact that I’m the first person to help you…and it’s Mr. Fowler, at work.”
Heat roils through me at the authority in his voice and I can’t help but grin.
“Are you okay to sit?” He asks.
I adjust my head so that our eyes meet as he looks down at me. “I have been since I woke up,” I tell him, throwing a slight purr into my words.
His throat bobs as he swallows. “Rowan…”
A knock on the door pulls our attention from each other as Mr. Davis cracks the door, poking his head into the room. His eyes scan over the office – from me laying with my head in Colt’s lap, to the papers scattered all over the floor and the chair rolled away from the desk.
I quickly sit upright, putting a hand to my head at the ache of the sudden movement, and Colt’s hand finds its way to the small of my back.
“Uh, Fowler?”
“The door was closed,” Colt explains with that same authority dripping from his voice, “because Miss Caldwellhad a medical event and needed some privacy. Close it on your way out, Davis.”
“Right,” he says, not sounding entirely convinced. “Talk to you about this later, yeah?”
He dips his head back out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I’m not sure if he’s talking to Colt, to me, or to both of us, but I shiver regardless, only warming again when Colt’s hand mindlessly makes small, soothing circles at the small of my back. I find myself leaning into his touch, wanting his hand to move, to touch more of me. To hold my face in his hands. To holdme.
After a few minutes, Colt stands and grabs my water bottle, brings it back and sets it in my hands. I take a long drink of it, feeling myself blush as he watches.
“You—” I stop myself from saying what I really want to, instead opting for, “Thank you. Again.”
Those eyes that had hardened with authority when Mr. Davis came in melt back into that gentle softness they had when I woke up, and a smile creeps across Colt’s mouth.
“Next time that happens, come in here and lay down or something, okay? You could have gotten hurt.”
“I promise.”
He pulls the cuff of his sleeve back to reveal his watch, checking the time. “Are you hungry?” He asks. “Lunch orders should be going out soon.”
“Yeah,” I laugh, “and I’m supposed to take them.”
Grabbing his phone from his desk, he says with a grin, “Perks of having your son work for you, you can give him chores.”
TWELVE
Colt
“Weren’t youjusttalking about how young she is and callingmean HR nightmare?” Davis asks as we tee up.
One of our properties includes a members-only golf course, which we often find ourselves using after end of business as a way to blow off steam without joining the stuffier of our colleagues at happy hour.
It’s a decent-sized course with eighteen holes, a few of them a bit more challenging than the others. We figure we’ll have them redone once we each nail a hole-in-one in every location. It’s been four years, but we’re still hopeful.
Lining up my shot, I tell him, “I wasn’t kidding. She really did have a medical thing.” I pull my club back and swing, knocking the ball far enough away that I’m pleased with the shot.
“And she had to have her head on your lap for it?” He asks, throwing me a sideways look.
“Davis—”
Hands up in surrender, he says, “Hey, I’m not judging.”
“It sounds an awful lot like you are.”
