Page 18 of Saved By the CEO

I will find the caller. I will find them and make them regret ever pressing those three digits.

“Yeah, like I said, everyone overreacted. I’m fine, really.”

“That’s good,” Josh says. “I was going to ask yesterday, but then HR sent out that email.”

I pause, my sandwich halfway to my mouth. “What email?”

“You didn’t see it?” He leans back in his chair. “Something about respecting employee privacy after medical incidents. It was very serious and HR-y.”

So that’s why no one has said anything.

I take a bite out of my sandwich and make a face. It’s stale.

Josh chuckles. “Didn’t anyone tell you the sandwiches suck here?” He pushes his plate toward me. There’s a generous slice of pizza on it. The crust is slightly uneven, and the cheese has browned in some spots, but man, if it doesn’t make me salivate. “Take my last slice. I’m full anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

Please say yes.

He nudges the plate even closer. “It’s yours.”

I dive in. It’s cheesy. It’s gooey. It’s greasy. “It’s amazing. Where is this from?”

He blushes a little. “My oven. I made it last night.”

“Impressive.”

“Thanks,” he says, smiling. He clears his throat and continues. “I like cooking, and I think I’m pretty decent at it. If you want, I could show you sometime.”

I take another bite as I consider his proposition. He’s clearly asking me out on a date, which is kind of why I came over. I want this. I want to go on a date with him. So why am I hesitating?

“I’d like that.”

His face splits into a wide grin that crinkles his eyes. It’s a cute smile.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mr. Bennett smile properly. I’ve seen smirks and smug little grins, but never an open, happy smile. Does he have dimples? I bet he has dimples.

“Great. Are you free tomorrow? I can make us some lasagna.”

Focus.

“It’s a date.”

Mr.Bennett is avoiding me. He’s not physically hiding from me or anything like that, but he isn’t talking to me. That’s why this elevator ride is downright painful.

We’re heading to a meeting in the IT department. We stand in total silence, both watching the little red number go down. I am so aware of him it’s almost creepy. He flexes his hand, and I am instantly flooded with incredibly inappropriate mental images.

I take a deep breath and try to focus on literally anything else, but instead I fill my nostrils with his clean, manly scent.

Why does he have to smell so good?

I take a whiff. It’s loud.

Whythe fuckdid I do that?

Mr. Bennett turns his head and looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed. I scramble for something to say.

“I’m sorry. My nose is stuffy. I feel a bit under the weather.”