“What time is it?”
A smile brushes his lips. “After one.”
“What?” I glance around his office, realizing the soft morning haze through the windows has given way to the bright light of afternoon. Looking back at the salad container again, I grimace. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
He shrugs. “You were in the zone, so I took a walk. No big deal.”
I breathe out, grateful for his understanding. The Aidan of last week would definitely not have been okay with that.
He motions to my sketches. “Can I take a look?”
I nod, holding my breath as he casts his gaze over the drawings. I’ve combined the raised platform with the compact kitchen from another design, making the space even more open, and Aidan’s brows rise as he takes it in.
“This is really impressive, Iris.” His eyes are warm and encouraging when they meet mine, and my heart backflips.
He means it. He likes my design.
My pulse thrums as I gaze at him. For the first time since I arrived at the firm, Aidan and I are on the same page. More than that, he likes my ideas, which is incredibly validating.
And yet…
As nice as it is to get along, I’m surprised to find myself missing the push and pull we had before. The spark that came from arguing with him. From the way he would look at me, as if he wanted me, and knew he shouldn’t.
Like it made him angry to want me.
And it makes me want to push him, just a little, to see if it’s still there.
“Someone’s in a good mood today,” I tease. “I’m not used to having such a nice boss.”
But Aidan doesn’t bite. In fact, he gives me a look that’s so calm, it’s as if I’ve said nothing at all.
“Don’t you hate it when I’m right?” I press.
I watch him, waiting for his jaw to tighten, for him to put me in my place, but he just gives me a long, patient look.
“Are you done?” he asks at last, his tone laced with amusement.
I blink in confusion, unsure how to reply. Then something occurs to me, something I’msurewill get a rise out of him.
I fix my gaze challengingly on his and say, “Yes… Sir.”
Aidan’s nostrils flare almost imperceptibly. “Careful, Cupcake,” he warns. “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”
I falter. That’sit?
Silence stretches between us. The air thickens, until even the room is holding its breath. But Aidan doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. Instead of growling at me like he has in the past, he simply watches me with a quiet, measured gaze that feels heavier than any argument. I thought I wanted him to push back, to argue with me, but this… this calm, unshakable thing is something else.
Heat blooms between my thighs as he gazes at me steadily, gray eyes shimmering, like he knows something I don’t. I’m so used to being yelled at, spoken down to, belittled—by him, my father, hell, everyone—that it’s a shock to be spoken to so calmly.
A shock, and surprisingly hot.
Aidan eyes me for a moment longer, then looks back at my sketch. “The layout is solid, but the bathroom feels tight.” He motions to the page with his pencil. “Let’s rework that part.”
I swallow, forcing my gaze to the page, away from his handsome profile, silhouetted against the window. My hand shakes as I take the pencil from his outstretched hand, and I inhale a steadying breath, trying to focus.
Aidan layers a fresh sheet of tracing paper onto the drafting table over my original design, then talks me through some simple changes. I follow his advice, sketching in the new bathroom, pausing to let him draw a quick line here and there, demonstrating what he means.
And it’storture.
