I add a couple to my pile, then head back down the aisle towards the counter. A familiar voice stops me in my tracks, and my pulse skips when I realize who it is.
“Yes. Yes. I’ll be home when we agreed. Yes, drop him off then.”
I pop my head between the shelves and spy Michael with his phone pressed to his ear, his face creased into its usual frown. What ishedoing here? He’s the last person I feel like running into in the middle of my first day at work.
I slink back behind a stand of Moleskine notebooks and hold my breath, as if he’ll hear breathing and somehow realize it’s me. No doubt he’ll be up in arms about running into me again and I’ll end up feeling stupid, somehow. Maybe I should just hide here, until—
Actually, no. This is my place of work, for crying out loud. I eventoldhim that a few days ago. He can hardly get annoyed at me for being here.
I square my shoulders, lifting my head high. I’m just about to stride past him to the counter when I remember what I’m holding. I glance down at the stack of books in my arms and despite myself, I feel my cheeks color.
Shit.
Somehow I can’t see Michael, with his disdain for everything female, perusing my reading material with any kind of admiration. Who knows what unpleasant remark he’ll have up his sleeve?
His frustrated voice drifts down the aisle to where I’m hovering. “Look, I said I’ll be there, okay?”
I can’t stop myself; I peek around the stand at him. I haven’t seen him in a few days, and I notice his usually perfect suit jacket is a bit rumpled. He looks tired, almost worn-out, and for the first time I see a flash of something real beyond his chiseled, expensive, brooding exterior. Maybe he is human, after all. I feel a whisper of compassion for him after what Agnes told me this morning. Is it possible she’s right and he is a nice guy?
He lifts a hand to loosen the collar of his shirt, revealing a hint of dark chest hair. My eyes linger on it and heat uncurls deep inside me. A little fantasy begins to play out in my head; one involving him taking me on the floor of the book aisle when no one else is around.
He hangs up the call and stuffs the phone into his pocket, glancing up. Instinctively, I whip back behind the stand of Moleskines, my heart slamming into my ribs. It’s like I’ve been caught in the act; watching him, imagining him touching me, and—fuck—I’m still holding these damn books…
Panic tears through me as his footsteps approach, and I thrust the books onto a stepladder behind me.
“Hello, Alex.”
I spin back to face him, my cheeks warm. “Michael,” I say with as nonchalant an air as I can muster. “What a surprise, seeing you in here.”
“Uh, yes.” His gaze slides to the right. “I forgot you work here.”
I falter for a second, thrown. Heforgot? Really?
He glances back at me and adds, “I come here all the time anyway, so…” he trails off, slipping his hands into his pockets, and his shoulders flex through his suit jacket. I swallow hard, noticing my mouth feels dry. I wonder what he looks like without that jacket.
Shit, pull yourself together.
I tear my eyes away, attempting to fold my arms across my chest in a casual manner. But all it does is press my breasts up, as if I’mtryingto draw his attention to them. Oh, the curse of an ample bosom.
I let my arms drop with a cringe. Why do I find it so impossible to be normal around this guy? And more to the point, why do I care? He’s been nothing but a jerk to me.
He peers at me strangely. “Are you okay?”
I plaster a smile on my face, reminding myself where I am; the first day of a new job that I donotwant to mess up.
“I’m fine! I’m just…” What am I doing again? Not shopping for erotica when I should be working.Be professional!“I was just enjoying the large selection of books we stock. For example, this”—I gesture with a vague motion to the bookshelf in front of me—“is my favorite section.”
He follows my gaze to the shelves and frowns, leaning closer to inspect the titles. “You’re interested in military history?”
God, no. But better that, than the books I was just carrying.
“Oh, yes.” I nod emphatically. “I find itsothrilling.”
“Really?”
“Of course. It’s fascinating, all of the, er, history.” I wince as I hear myself. Jesus, I sound like some kind of simpleton.
“How… interesting.” His brow knits as he gazes at me, like he’s trying to make sense of me. The longer he stares, the more I start to sweat. Any minute now he’s going to make some sweeping generalization about women and it’s making me nervous.
