Natalie
“Hey, love,” Elena sounds through my console. “I’m going to head home. Do yourself a favor and get some rest this weekend.”
“Is that your way of saying I look like shit, Elena?” Silence ensues on the other end. I know it’s because she hates it when I use profanity. My father can cuss like a jilted, drunken sailor, but God forbid I swear around her. Sadly for her, I’m just the asshole to keep doing it. “Tough room,” I joke. “I’m right behind you. I’ll lock up.”
“’K. Have a good weekend, sweetheart.”
“You too.”
The pit lights dim as Elena makes her exit. I revel in being the last in the office some nights, especially when the sun sets late because of the time change. Behind my desk, I light a tiny candle for a slight shift in atmosphere before ambling down the hall to claim a dark beer. A taste I acquired in Seattle and refuse to part with, allowing it to be a small consolation.
Twisting the top off, I wander back toward my office as I scroll through the latest hourly headlines and stop altogether when my phone rings. EC fills the screen as it rumbles in my hand, feeling like a five-alarm bell though I keep it on silent. With the slide of my thumb, I could hear his voice and possibly stifle the ache that’s been nagging at me for endless weeks. At the very least, I can congratulate him.
“Maybe you should fucking answer it this time, ’cause from where I’m standing, it looks like you want to.”
The bottle damn near slips out of my hand as I look up to see Easton standing just short of entering the pit at the edge of the lobby. His phone rests in his palm, his eyes damning, his beautiful features twisted in a mix of irritation and hurt, chest heaving like he just ran here.
I stand stunned, tempted to fly to him and rain his gorgeous face with kisses. He’s nothing short of breathtaking in a simple T-shirt, board shorts, and high tops, his black cap flipped backward, giving me a clear view of his face and rapidly darkening expression. His hostile eyes dip and rake me over in a slow, appreciative sweep. Today I wore a plaid tennis skirt and matching collared shirt, which bares an inch of my midriff. I left my hair down and tamed my curls before painting my lips a hot pink to match my pumps.
“Easton,” comes out more like a moan, and his eyes hood slightly in response as he takes a step forward, and I jerk my head. Coming to my senses, the exhilaration kicks in, and I rush toward him, then past him, yanking his arm to follow. He chuckles as I nearly rip his arm off, his laugh amplifying as I shove him against the exposed brick wall of the lobby near the door, praying we’re out of view of the cameras.
“You been working out, Beauty? Because I’m feeling a little manhandled.” His clean, woodsy scent envelops me as I palm his chest before looking up to him, and the awareness hits me like a freight train. My mouth refuses to do anything other than lift in a full smile.
Damnit!
We drink each other in for a few thirsty seconds before he speaks up.
“I should’ve just walked out of here, but Jesus Christ,” he rasps hoarsely, “you look so fucking beautiful.” His pained, faraway gaze shifts to focus fury on me as I try to register the fact that he’s standing in front of me.
“Easton,” I croak out, equal parts terrified and enthralled, before glancing toward my father’s empty office. “You can’t be here.”
“The fuck I can’t,” he snaps, his eyes roaming my profile again as if he’s fighting himself.
Panic takes over as some vampire-like motor functions kick in.
“Just…wait here,” I demand, and he nods quickly in reply. “I’m serious. Stand right here. Not an inch to the left or right, okay?”
He nods slowly as if I’m the dummy as I rush to gather my purse, blow out my candle and flip off my office lights before hauling ass back into the lobby.
“Don’t move!” I bark as I set the alarm.
“If you’re this bossy at the office, I’m not sure we’d make it as coworkers,” he jests.
A nervous laugh escapes me, and as soon as the alarm begins to beep, I rush him out and remotely lock the door. Turning, I start at a dead sprint around the side of the building and past Speak’s designated parking area. Glancing toward the street in a panic, I feel his eyes on my profile as I weigh whether or not we’re far enough away from the security cameras. Dad should already be on the golf course with his best friend, Marcus. I know this because I spoke to him half an hour ago. Mom is at the spa with her girlfriends from the station. Even knowing they’ll have no reason to scan the cameras, my anxiety spikes significantly at the idea they might. Easton’s minty exhale hits the side of my neck, causing my lashes to flutter briefly as his arms encase me. When his fingers curl around my waist I look up at him and feel nothing but the same debilitating attraction that’s been haunting me for eight straight weeks.