Procedures.
Contingencies.
I hear none of it.
I watch Willow nod along, eyes focused, posture attentive.
She’s trying so damn hard to look capable, to take up just enough space without being a burden.
Like she’s learned the hard way how easily people decide she’s too much.
Something sharp twists low in my gut.
“—so I’ll print that out for you,” Kelly says. “And don’t forget the lunchroom. It’s really just a converted shed, but the guys appreciate it. Soup in the crock pot, frozen bulk kind, sandwiches laid out buffet-style. They’ll fend for themselves, promise.”
Willow nods again. “Okay. That sounds easy enough.”
Her voice is steady. Braver than she probably feels.
I don’t give a rat’s ass about lunches.
What I want—what my body wants—is to pull her into me.
To test the thought that’s been gnawing at me since I first laid eyes on her.
To feel if she fits the way my instincts insist she will.
Soft where I’m hard. Curves meeting muscle like they were designed to.
My cock reacts like it’s got a mind of its own.
Thick. Hard. Immediate.
I turn away sharply, clearing my throat and staring at a stack of invoices like they’ve personally offended me, willing my damn cock to behave.
This is fucking ridiculous.
I’m forty years old, not some hormone-addled twenty-year-old with no self-control. And yet I’ve never had desire slam into me this fast, this violently, without warning.
Never.
Willow responds to something Kelly says, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
I miss whatever she agreed to, and it irritates me more than it should.
“It’ll be fine,” Willow says gently, shaking her head like she’s reassuring herself.
Damn straight it will.
The knowledge that this job is temporary settles something dangerous inside me.
Kelly will be back in about six weeks.
That’s it.
No blurred lines.
No workplace bullshit.
