“I told her no thank you,” Grace cuts in.
“Are you cold?” I’m still sitting in my chair as Grace stands in the entryway. She darts her tongue across her pink lips, and it stirs something inside me.
I blink my eyes and bring my focus up. It’s unlike me to get so distracted by a woman. Normally, I can control myself andthey’re the one losing it, begging and pleading for relief. I shake the thought from my head. Maybe this is a bad idea. But it’s already in motion, and once I decide I want something, I don’t stop until I have it.
And I’ve decided I want Grace Morgan.
“It’s snowing outside.”
I tilt my head. “And in here?”
She rolls her eyes, the action making my cock twitch. If she was mine, I'd punish her for that. But she's not.Yet.So instead, I watch as she pulls the large coat from her body and hands it over to Mel. Then she tugs the beanie from her head and tucks it into her oversized bag before smoothing her palm over her messy hair.
Finally, Mel excuses herself, leaving me alone with Miss Morgan.
“Sit.” I gesture my hand to the chair across from my desk.
Grace looks at me for a long moment, her assessing gaze rolling over my body before she moves to the chair. She sits ramrod straight, folding her hands neatly on her lap.
“So…” Hazel eyes lift to meet mine. “You said you might have aproposalfor me?” she asks skeptically.
“Not might. I do.”
“Okay…” she trails off. “So? What is it?” One hand rises to nervously play with her hair, twirling the caramel lock between her fingertips. She looks plainer than she did last night in the form-fitting dress that all the waitresses wear. Today, she's wearing a pair of jeans, chunky boots, and a sage-colored sweater that’s swallowing her body whole. Why is it so oversized? She dresses like she doesn't want anyone to see the shape of her, which I know from the dress last night is exquisite.
“First…” I run my thumb over my jawline. “Why were you late?”
“Oh, uhm.” She fidgets in her chair as she comes up with her answer, and I wonder if it will be the truth or a lie. I don’t know her very well, but I can sense her unease around me. Not that last night was better, since she clearly wanted me to get away from her.
There was a part of me, maybe a rare, nice side, that wanted to distract her so the tears lining her eyes wouldn’t fall. Did she cry at the club, or did she make it all the way home before the tears started rolling down those flushed cheeks?
“The subway,” she finally says, wringing her fingers together. I note the bad habit. “I missed the first one, so I had to wait.” I think she’s telling the truth. She seems embarrassed about it with the way her gaze stays on her lap.
It takes effort to restrain myself at the submissive gesture.
“I don’t normally tolerate tardiness,” I tell her. “Will that be a problem?”
Finally, her eyes rise, and her fingers clench, the nails biting into her palm. “I don’t even know why I’m here.” I can hear frustration lingering in her tone.
“You're here because you were fired last night. And I'm assuming youneededthat job. Am I right?"
She purses her lips together and doesn't respond.
"So, I have a proposal for you." I continue, eyes on hers. "But I must warn you, it’s a bit unorthodox.”
A nervous laugh bubbles from her chest, and she twists her fingers together in her lap again. "Is it a job?"
“It’s a paid arrangement with defined terms and boundaries." It's not a job in theofficialsense. It doesn't come with health insurance or an office. But it does come with money. And right now, I think that's what Grace Morgan needs most.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, biting the sensitive flesh. I catalogue the movement, wishing it was my teeth on her lip.
“Okay, tell me.”
Leaning back in my chair, I prop one elbow on my armrest, my chin in my palm. “I have aspecificneed.”
“Mhm…” Again, her fingers twist together, her breathing picking up slightly. "What do you need?"
“Awife.”
