Wanting her.
3
BASIA
If there’s one thing that can almost make me forget I have a stalker who mails body parts, it’s spreadsheets. I’m halfway through reconciling a particularly ugly claims report when Morgan leans into my cubicle like a curly-haired menace.
“So,” she says, sing-songy. “How’s your warden today?”
I don’t look up. “He prefers ‘bodyguard,’ thank you very much.”
“Oh, please,” she snorts. “That man looks like he’d carry you out of a burning building and ground you for sneaking out afterward.”
My fingers pause on the keyboard.
“I do not sneak out,” I say primly.
Morgan hums. “Well, if you ever tried, he’d know.”
I finally glance at her. She’s grinning, chin propped on her hand, dark eyes bright with mischief.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I accuse.
She shrugs. “I know what it’s like to have a man like that focused on you.”
I wince. “He’s just doing his job.”
“Sure,” Morgan says. “And I just admire Damien’s arms for their personality.”
I swat at her, but she ducks easily, laughing. “Be serious,” I say. “He’s… intense. And bossy.”
“Uh-huh. And how do we feel about that?”
I hesitate for half a second too long.
Morgan’s grin turns feral. “Oh. You like it.”
“I did not say that!”
“You didn’t have to,” she says smugly. “Your face did.”
I groan and drop my head onto my desk. “Please tell me you have work to do.”
“I do,” she says cheerfully. “But this is more fun.”
Before I can retaliate, my phone buzzes on my desk.
Caleb:
Outside.
My stomach does that annoying little flip it’s been doing more and more lately.
I glance at the time. “He’s early.”
Morgan peers over my shoulder. “Is he ever late?”
“Well, no.”
