He set his glass in the sink. “Come over whenever you’re ready.”
She walked him to the front door.
Once outside, he turned back. “Do you trust me?”
“You? Hell, no,” she replied.
“If you didn’t know me, and we were working together, would you trust me then?”
She shook her head.
“If we’re gonna pull this off, we’ve gotta trust each other. We’ve gotta act like what we’re doing is real.”
“I’ll fake it so good, you won’t even know.” She shut the door, snapped the bolt into place.
He chuffed out a laugh as he trotted down the stairs.
You won’t be faking a thing, I can promise you that.
Five minutes later, he pulled into his garage. Five minutes after that, he was standing in the shower, his raging hard-on interfering with his ability to think. Being around her had turned him into a savage, but he was going to keep the focus on her and only her.
Ignoring his boner, he washed off, then turned the water to cold and tried to freeze his libido. Even the chill didn’t tamp out his desire, so he turned off the water and dried off. After running his hands through his wet hair, he pulled on worn jeans, shrugged into a collared blue shirt and buttoned it up.
He eyed himself in the bathroom mirror. Was this something Claude Amos would wear? Carrera had money and he dressed like this… but what about Claude? He changed into black dress pants with a belt and a collared white shirt. With a different sport coat slung over his shoulder, he went downstairs.
In the kitchen, he pulled out the steaks and potatoes, set the air fryer on the counter. Working quickly, he made a small salad, then opened a bottle of Santini Chianti.
Thiswasn’ta date. Slash was his work partner, but he’d never invited a woman from the office or an employee from his company over for dinner.
Small steps.
The doorbell rang. Muscles running along his shoulders went taut. Women didn’t make him nervous, ever, so what the hell was happening to him now?
As he padded to the front door, he inhaled deep.
He opened the door and his brain went into slow motion. Slash stood there, wearing a tight blue top and white pants. She’d worn a little makeup, pulled her hair into a twist but left her long bangs framing her face.
“I’m here to work,” she said.
Though she wore no smile, he wasn’t put off. She was more than worth all his effort to prove he wasn’t the bad guy… anymore.
He opened the door wide. “C’mon in.”
He wanted to tell her she looked gorgeous, but that wasn’t appropriate work talk, so he shut the door behind her.
She slipped off her sandals.
“You can keep your shoes on,” he said.
“Barefoot works.”
Normally good with small talk, he couldn’t do that with her. Small talk was used to fill the gaps or get to know someone.
He led her into the kitchen. If she liked his home, she didn’t show it, didn’t comment either.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She eyed the wine bottle on his kitchen island. “Santini Chianti.”
