I blinked at myphone trying to distinguish between the bubbly feeling in my belly and theirritated tension settling on the back of my neck. Of all the high-handed,bossy bosses, Ezra Baptiste was the worst.
The. Worst.
Which was why Iignored the email totally. And why I practically ran inside my apartmentbuilding and then smashed my floor button convinced that I could make theelevator move faster. It was why I threw all my things on the kitchen counter ina messy pile and stripped on the way to the bathroom so I could take theworld’s fastest shower. It was also the reason I picked out a subtly sluttyoutfit—my most flattering skinny jeans that made my butt look banging, myfavorite and only pair of Jimmy Choo heels, and a cream, long-sleeved, wrapblouse that tied at the nape of my neck and was mostly backless. I would haveto get creative with the bra situation but it was worth it.
I had just finishedapplying my last layer of lip gloss when my phone buzzed. A text this time.From a number I didn’t have programmed into my phone yet, although we’d sharedtexts for work for the last two weeks so I had it memorized.
If you buzz me in, I’ll be a gentleman and come get you.
The clock read6:39. He was early. Andsexy as hellchivalrous. And confusing because Iknew he was up to something, but I didn’t know what.
I stared at thephone for another minute, deciding what to do with him. There was a lot I hadthoughtabout doing with him. Quittingthe EFB Enterprises account just to teach him a lesson, or driving myselftonight just to spite him, or throwing myself at him and sucking his face likethe sex-starved hermit I was were just a few ideas I’d tossed around.
In the end, Ichickened out completely and didn’t even text him back. I grabbed my purse,locked up my apartment and managed to get downstairs all on my own.
He was standingnext to the lobby door when I stepped off the elevator. There was a narrowhallway that led to glass doors so I could see his profile perfectly as hestared at the buzzer waiting for me to let him inside.
I bit my cheek tokeep from smiling, blushing, or reacting in any way. He’d dressed subtly sexytoo. But I doubted he’d done it on purpose. His jeans were casual and strangeafter seeing him so often in suits and tailored pants. He wore a heather graysweater that clung to firm, corded muscles. And he’d styled his hair in a morecasual way than usual. Or maybe he hadn’t styled it at all and that was theproblem. The stupid, delicious, irresistible problem.
The ends still lookeddamp from a shower and it was disheveled in a way that made me want to run myfingers through it.
My movement musthave caught his attention because he turned to face me fully and my heartkicked once, twice… three times. A patient smile broke free, and his eyessquinted with disapproval.
“I’m an independentwoman,” I told him before he could say anything. “Which means I know how totake an elevator all the way to the ground floor without help.”
“Yet, you stillcan’t remember to wear a coat,” he said pointedly.
I looked up at him,annoyed with how much taller he was than me. It made me feel too small, toodelicate. Too vulnerable. “You’re not wearing one either.”
His head dipped andhe hummed his agreement. “You’re a bad influence.”
My mouth dried outand for one senseless second, I imagined leaning forward, closing the distancebetween us and kissing him.
That would becrazy, right? He was bossy. And irritating. And my client now. Maybe the BlackSoul project hadn’t panned out like I’d wanted it to, but EFB Enterprisescould. And with a client like Ezra Baptiste in my portfolio, I could avoidworking with Henry Tucker ever again and grab creative director spots instead.
Clearly, I waslosing sight of what was important. My mom’s warnings clanged through my head.Don’t mess this up, I scolded myself.Focus.
I patted my purseand took a step back. “I have my notes,” I told him. “So if you want to go overthem in the car, I guess we can.”
He straightened,pulling back like he’d been trapped in the same spell surrounding us as me.Even though I knew that wasn’t right. Ezra Baptiste didn’t kiss girls like me.As in normal, common, boring girls. Ezra Baptiste, CEO of EFB Enterprises datedexotic women namedLilou, Bianca, andSarita. They were as wild and passionate and dysfunctionalas you could imagine. And when they left him, he named high-end restaurantsafter them that garnered Michelin stars and boasted James Beard winners forexecutive chefs.
He was a wealthy,successful CEO with wine cellars worth more than my entire apartment andeverything in it.
I was atwenty-something graphics designer considering buying a cat or two forcompanionship.
This man was notthinking about kissing me. I probably had something in my teeth.
I ran my tongueover them just to be safe and started toward his car in case he decided to saysomething about it and accidentally murder me with embarrassment.
“Thank you forindulging me,” he said to my back. “I’ve liked all of your mockups so far. Ithink the sooner the changes to the website go live the better.”
“Because yourrestaurants are struggling?” I asked only half kidding.
He stepped in frontof me and opened the door to his car that he’d parked illegally in front of thebuilding. “Not struggling, but they could always make more money. You shouldnever turn down an opportunity for more money, Molly.”
He was teasing me,but I wondered if he really believed what he said. “It’s hard to makemoremoney when you’re booked solidmonths out. I think you’ve hit the limit on your money-making capacity.”
I slid onto thepassenger’s seat and he shut the door without answering. While he walked aroundthe car, I flipped the visor down and checked out my teeth quickly. Nothingthere. Whew.
