“Needing to be looked after,” He huffs, “I’ve got to run, but if you need anything or anything goes down, here’s my number. You can call Savannah, too.” He slides a torn piece of paper toward me where black ink has been scrawled.
“Got it, thanks,” I try for a smile.
“He likes you,” Killian says as he passes.
I laugh at that, “Not so sure on that, but I’m not here to be liked by him.”
“And that’s exactly why he does,” Killian chuckles before he lets himself out. I lock the door behind him and head to the stairs, stopping at the bottom step as I listen. I can hear the chair in Lily’s room rocking gently, but I don’t hear him directly, so listening to Killian’s advice, I give him his time and occupy myself making coffee for us both.
When it’s brewed and ready, I take his mug up to him, finding him in the rocking chair across from Lily’s crib, where she still sleeps soundly, the white noise machine filling the room with sound. His dark eyes flick to me.
“Here,” I place it on the dresser and step back, “Do you need anything else?”
My skin prickles as he drags his eyes down me, noting the tight denim jeans I opted to wear and an orange sweater with some brown boots.
“No suit today?” He cocks his head.
“Didn’t have time to change,” I tug at the hem of my sweater, “Won’t happen again.”
A knot forms between his brows. “Why?”
“Because this isn’t professional?” It comes out like a question.
“You’re not signing contracts all day,” His eyes do another light perusal, “This suits you far better.”
A smile touches my lips. “And you look good in sweats,” I start to make for the door, “But I doubt you’ll wear them every day either.”
His warm chuckle zaps down my spine as I pull the door closed on my way out. My cheeks are burning the entire way down the stairs, stomach knotting with a riot of butterflies. Why the fuck am I flirting?
He makes me fucking crazy.
I wrap my hands around my coffee mug and take a deep breath, attempting to settle the nerves rattling around inside my stomach. Did I not lay down the rules pretty clearly yesterday?
“And you look good in sweats,” I mimic my voice with added pitch and roll my eyes at myself. “How about we don’t flirt with our boss?”
“You were flirting?” Dean leans his good arm against the door frame and throws me a roguish smirk, some of that brooding darkness dissipating from his eyes.
My cheeks burn hotter than the scalding coffee in my mug.
“Good to know,” Dean continues, like I’m not currently melting into the countertop.
“That’s not what I meant,” I stammer out.
“No?” That damn grin is still on his face, making him far too appealing. I read a lot, romances mainly, and I never got it when the guys in them didthatsmirk and the female main characters melted into puddles, but I get it now.
I fucking get it.
“What did you mean then?” He rounds the counter toward me, still disheveled, still in those sweats.
“I was just trying to make you feel better, obviously,” I move around the counter in the opposite direction.
“But I thought we weren’t friends?” He counters, “Only friends make each other feel better.”
“No,” I shake my head.
“So, you’ll tell anyone that they look good?”
Fuck.
