“Is it broken?” he asks.
I angle the phone to show him, and he scrunches his nose when he spots the labyrinth of cracks.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I say, dabbing my sleeve over the coffee stains on my coat as I straighten to full height.
“I’m here on business. I’m assuming you work in this building,” he says, bending down to collect my glove. I snatch it from him, shoving it into my pocket.
“Got it in one, Sherlock,” I reply, my eyes trailing over his frame. “Hope that shirt wasn’t too expensive.”
“Only Tom Ford.”
“Shame.”
“I can tell you’re really cut up about it.” The corner of his lip twitches.
“Naturally.”
Behind him, I see Tab spring into action, grabbing paper towels and cleaning spray from under her desk. She walks toward us.
His brows pinch, eyeing me with way more interest than I’m comfortable with after making a complete tit of myself. “What’s your na—”
“It’s okay, Tab,” I say quickly, interrupting him as I lift a hand to stop her. “I’ll clean it up.”
“No, no. I insist!” Tab says, dropping to her haunches, mopping up the coffee puddle and wiping his shoes.
“Oh,” he starts. “That really isn’t necessary—”
“Exactly, see? He’s happy to clean his own shoes.”
Tab’s cheeks stain pink before she ducks her head and darts back to her desk.
I fix him with a pointed look. “Well, this has been nice. But I have a very important meeting to attend, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Before he can respond, I sidestep him, darting toward the elevator.
“Apologies about the shirt,” I call over my shoulder.
Once I’m inside, I turn back to find the stranger rooted in place, watching with a smirk as I jab at the buttons, willing the doors to close. As they finally shut, I release a deep breath, inspecting my ruined coat. “Damn it.”
Chapter Three
Max
Six companies occupy multiple floors of the building.
I watch the elevator numbers ascend to see which floor she gets off at. I turn away when I see she’s reached the upper levels.
Bingo. Exactly where I’m going.
I noticed her the moment I stepped onto the Piccadilly line, trying to get as close as possible in the crammed carriage. As luck would have it, some mother wedged her pram against my arse, trapping me in place. Between that and being sandwiched amongst other passengers, I couldn’t have moved even if I’d wanted to.
She’s of average height, maybe five six, with a slender build and curves in all the right places. Even with her trench, I could clearly make out the dip of her waist. Her coat hung open, teasing the fullness of her chest and the delicate infinity necklace resting against her creamy skin. Her dark blond hair brushed just past her shoulders. Cute wire-framed glasses perched askew on her button nose. Her ivory skin was makeup free, except for a flick of eyeliner, and glossy lips that begged to be touched.
Most of all, I was intrigued by her sass—she didn’t speakto me the way some women do. Not that I’d expect her to swoon, but I’d be lying if I said other women didn’t.
Venom and sin wrapped in a delicious, unassuming package, and I can’t help but crave her bite.
I run my hand down my front. Lukewarm coffee has seeped through the expensive fabric, plastering my shirt to my skin. It feels revolting, but I can’t even bring myself to care—I had too much fun watching the little live wire panic.
