“Of course,” I say, my voice taking on a slightly teasing edge, unable to help myself. “I’ll see you at six, then.”
“Great.” I refocus on my laptop, trying to ignore the way she’s still standing there, but my hands hover over the keyboard. Without looking up, I mutter, “You can leave now.”
Her eyes narrow. “I was just—”
I regard her without turning my head. “Making sure I understood the meeting time? Yes, Gemma. Message received.”
She scoffs. “You’re such an arse.” She spins on her heel.
“What was that?” I say, finally looking at her, my lips curving into a smug grin.
“Oh, sod off,” she tosses over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her.
I stare at the closed door, my pulse racing.
Her attitude doesn’t seem to have improved, and I hate that I like it.
This is going to be a long evening.
Chapter Seventeen
Gemma
The clink of the metal spoon as I stir my tea fills the kitchenette.
“Are you ready?” His smoky voice startles me and I drop my spoon, spinning around to see Max standing in the doorway. I press a hand over my thudding heart.
“Bloody hell.” I glare daggers at him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
The prick has the audacity to smirk. “Apologies.”
I fish the teaspoon out of the mug.
“I’ve finished up,” he says, and I notice he’s popped another button on his shirt, exposing a ridiculously defined dent between two painfully obvious pectorals.
Jesus Christ, even with his shirt on, that chest should come with a warning label.
“Obviously,” I retort, finally focusing.
He jerks his chin toward the lift. “My office.”
Bossy. I school my expression into neutrality. “I’ll meet you up there—just have to grab a few things.”
He nods in acknowledgment before leaving, and I take a moment to collect myself.
Snatching my mug from the counter, I rush to my office to collect my documents and then head upstairs. The office, now eerily quiet, feels different when it’s empty. I’ve been here after hours plenty of times before, but knowing there’s barely anyone left, save me and Max, it feels quieter. Private.
His door closes with a quietsnickbehind me. He’s at his desk, focused on his laptop screen. The muscles in his forearms shift as he clicks the mouse pad, and the sight is almost pornographic.
“Right,” he says, glancing up. “What did you want to discuss?”
I set my mug and documents on his desk, smoothing my skirt as I sit across from him. I push my glasses farther up my nose and arrange my papers.
His office smells more like him than it did this morning—strong and masculine.
“I wanted to discuss the timeline for the hotel photo shoot. I understand this isn’t something I’d usually bring to your attention, but I’ve been going through the logistics, and I think we need to persuade some contractors to bring things forward if we want to get the best photographs to meet the launch date.”
“Show me.” He lifts his brows expectantly, but when I stand and bend to arrange the right paperwork, I’m acutely aware that my position gives him an excellent view down my cleavage. From the way his breathing changes, he’s noticed. When I glance up, I catch him quickly looking from my chest back to my face.
