“I’m sorry,” I say after an awkward pause. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess we’ve all been under a great amount of stress.”
César sighs, running a hand through his hair. I can’t help but stare at how much his shirt strains, showing off the muscles he’s hiding underneath. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve been preoccupied. You thought I was going to fire you this whole time?”
My face flushes, and I nod, not trusting my voice.
César mutters a low string of Spanish curses and storms around my desk. Before I can react, he’s in front of me—his body pressing in, backing me against the wall. My breath catches as his chest brushes mine, solid and unyielding. This is far from appropriate, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“You are my best damn employee,” he growls, voice rough with emotion. “I’m not losing you.” His eyes burn into mine, fierce and unwavering. “If you ever feel like this again—like you don’t matter—you come to me. You tell me. Becauseyou”—his hand comes up, fingers skimming my jaw in a phantom touch—“are too damn important to me to be walking around thinking I don’t want you.”
His voice dips lower, husky now. His eyes dip down to my chest, and I swear his pupils dilate. “Because I do. Maybe more than I should. And your happiness is important to me.”
His words slam into me, stealing the breath from my lungs. My body reacts on its own accord, arching closer to him. My nipples pebble, almost painfully so. Heat rushes between my legs.Get yourself together. This is your fucking boss! You’ve sworn off men, too, remember?
I remember. I just can’t seem to get my vagina to remember that. César and I walk a precarious line. At this moment, I don’t feel like his employee. He licks his lips, and it takes everything in me not to close the space between us and kiss him until I consume every part of him.
It would be wrong. Very wrong.
And yet the temptation is nearly impossible to ignore. With the air thick with heat, my body is ready to surrender to something raw.
I’m seconds from leaning in when César suddenly steps back. The distance between us hits me like a bucket of ice water, shocking me back to reality.
He stands there, calm and composed, like nothing just happened. Like the tension crackling between us was entirely one-sided and he didn’t just say he wanted me. I blink, stunned, my heart still racing. Did I imagine it? That electric pull, the way his eyes darkened, the way the world seemed to fall away? Or is my overtired mind conjuring fantasies I shouldn’t be having about my boss?
“You should go home, Lety. It’s getting late,” he says. Lety. Not Miss Zavala. He speaks my name like a gentle caress that leaves me feeling warm all over again. It also gives me whiplash. Like one minute, I think he wants me and the next, he’s cold and distant.
“I can’t,” I manage to say, somehow finding my voice. “I have reports I need to go through tonight.”
César stops and turns to look at the stack of papers on my desk. Without another word, he leaves, and I’m more confused than ever. A moment later, something squeaks against the tile. César comes back, pulling an office chair, which he parks right in front of my desk. To my amazement—and horror—he takes a seat, grabbing the top report. “Then we better get to work.”
“Oh, I don’t need your help?—”
“I didn’t ask if you needed my help,” he replies, head bowed as he pretends to be fascinated by whatever is in the report. “Besides, I’m not leaving you alone in this building and letting you walk to your car at night by yourself.”
Again, he steals my ability to speak, which is really fucking annoying because I always have something to say. Instead, I sit my ass down at my desk, peering over at him like that will somehow help me make sense of the situation.
“We could be here late,” I say in hopes it will persuade him to leave. “Don’t you have anything you need to do? A date or a bar you want to go to?”
“A bar?” He smirks. “Do I look like I’m in my twenties?” It’s not lost on me he mentioned nothing about a date. “No, Lety, I think I would rather be here.”
“But—”
“What about dinner?” He completely ignores me and pulls out his phone. “You like those street tacos from Las Trancas, don’t you?”
“I do …” I confirm, suspiciously. “But how did you know that?”
“Because you ordered it twice last week. You also mentioned it to me awhile back.”
I don’t ever remember talking about places I like to eat, but he somehow pinpointed my favorite place in town—a small, local food truck ran by the sweetest family. My face heats at the thought of César knowing how many times I’ve ordered food. A girl’s gotta eat, but a girl hates to cook.
“Fine, but I’ll pay for my half. I want?—”
“Carnitas. And no, you won’t pay for shit.”
I’m getting really tired of this man talking over me, but I’m also not going to argue if he wants to spend his money on me. I’m not going to try to convince him otherwise. I make a living out of taking money from men.
“Okay, I suppose if you’re going to feed me, you can also help me with the reports. They’re all for you anyway.” I settle in my spot, rolling my head from side to side, and grab the next report.
César’s lips curve into a slow, confident smile. “I’ll feed you whenever you want. As long as I’m the only one buying you food.”
