“You weren’t exactly subtle about it.”
“They didn’t notice,” I said, stabbing a piece of lemon cake with my fork.
“What happened to remaining professional?”
“I was professional.” I pointed my fork at him accusingly. “I justreallylike cake.”
His eyes narrowed. “Liar.”
“No, I really do.” I shrugged, moaning again as I ate the bite off my fork. “Really, really do.”
Something flashed in his eyes. “You asked for professionalism.”
“I know what I said.”
“Do you?” He leaned forward. “Because the way you’re acting, you make me seriously doubt that.”
“I’m acting like me, Hudson. Do you have a problem with that?” I raised an eyebrow, challenging him as I gathered more frosting on my fork to lick off.
“Yes.”
“Sucks for you. I’m just eating cake. If your mind is taking you other places?—“
“Landry…” He glared at me, though his gaze dropped to my mouth as I ran my tongue over the frosting. God, he was easy. “I’m warning you.”
“So I can’t have my cake and eat it too?”
“Not if you’re going to be a cocktease and a brat.”
“Fuck you, Gable.”
“Not on the agenda anymore, remember?” He sat back in his chair with a smirk on his face. Damn, I wanted to wipe that grin off his lips.
My attention dropped to his nice suit and tie. It was my turn to smirk. “What a pristine suit you have there, Mr. Gable. It would be a shame if you got something on it.” I grabbed a forkful of chocolate ganache cake.
Hudson’s eyes widened as he glanced down at his immaculate appearance. “Don’t you fucking?—”
Before rational thought could intervene, I flicked the fork, sending a perfect arc of chocolate straight onto his white shirt.
Time seemed to stop as we both stared at the brown smear on his collar. His expression morphed from shock to disbelief to something that made my stomach drop. Not anger, but a dangerous sort of determination.
“Bitch,” he said, his voice deadly quiet.
“Dick,” I said, not sounding sorry at all. “My fork slipped.”
Hudson chuckled darkly and picked up his own fork. He loaded it with lemon curd filling and met my eyes. The intensity of his gaze senta shiver down my spine, but it didn’t stop what I would’ve guessed was a psychotic grin from spreading across my face.
“This shirt was expensive.”
“Should have worn a bib.”
He launched the lemon curd, hitting me square in the chest, just above the neckline of my blouse. The cold, tart filling slid down between my breasts, making me gasp. His gaze tracked its descent.
“Oops,” he echoed.
I glanced down at the yellow trail disappearing beneath my blouse, then back up at him. He trained his gaze on the spot where the lemon curd had disappeared, his pupils dilated. Something hot and liquid pooled in my belly at his expression.
“You’re dead, Gable,” I whispered, reaching for the nearest cake sample; a chocolate mousse with hazelnut cream.
