I stare at the screen, my heart doing acrobatics. I remember that he’s paying me an obscene amount of money for the week. But how long can it possibly take to hire a few vendors and find a couple gifts? I can sit in the office and work on some of my designs or classwork if I’m done with everything else.
Lily: I'll be there at 9.
Ethan: Good girl.
The words hit me like a physical touch. My breath catches. Heat pools low in my belly. I’m instantly turned on. Who knew two little words could work that way?
Good girl.
He knows exactly what he's doing.
And God help me, I like it.
The next morning, I show up at Ethan's house with my laptop, my phone, and a determination to keep things professional. Purely professional. I won’t lust after my… what is he, exactly? My employer? I’m determined. Professional Lily the personal shopper.
That lasts approximately fifteen minutes.
"I need your opinion on something," I say, pulling up the florist's proposals on my laptop.
Ethan comes to stand behind my chair, leaning over to see the screen. He's close enough that I can smell his cologne and feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"What am I looking at?" he asks.
"Centerpieces. Option one is white roses with eucalyptus. Classic, elegant. Option two is white roses with gold accents. More modern. Option three is a mix of white roses, peonies, and greenery. Softer, more romantic." Of course, all three have white roses included, for his mother. I’d asked his sister’s favorite flower, and he’d told me she liked them all. It wasn’t a helpful statement. But, I understood. I also don’t have a favorite flower.
His hand comes to rest on the back of my chair. Not touching me, but close enough that I'm hyper-aware of his presence.
"Which one do you like?" he asks.
"I asked you first."
"Lily." His voice drops. "I trust your judgment. Pick the one that feels right."
"Option three," I say immediately.
"Then that's what we'll do."
"You didn't even look at them closely."
"I don't need to. You know what you're doing."
I twist in my chair to look up at him. Big mistake. From this angle, I can see the flecks of gold in his gray-blue eyes. The faint lines at the corners that deepen when he smiles.
"You have a lot of faith in me," I say quietly.
"You've earned it."
"I've known you for three days."
"Sometimes three days is enough." His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "Sometimes, you just know."
The air between us crackles with tension.
I should look away. Create distance. Remember that this is a professional relationship.
Instead, I hear myself ask, "Know what?"
"That someone matters. That they're worth the risk."
