“Why?” I frown.
“I am not ending up with a broke loser.”
My mouth falls open in horror. “So . . . you would marry a guy just for money?”
“No.” She shrugs. “Maybe.” She looks up. “Oh no, here he comes,” she whispers.
Ricardo comes over and sits on the corner of my desk. The floor manager has gone home for the day, so he’s not even bothering to pretend to work anymore.
“Hey there.” He smiles.
“Hi,” I reply flatly. Please go away—you’re embarrassing.
“Ricardo wanted to come and check on his favorite coworker.”
I stare at the stupid human being in front of me. “Why do you speak about yourself in the third person?” I ask.
Aaron snickers as he pretends not to listen.
“Ricardo wonders why you never come to his desk to see him.”
“Emily likes to get her work done,” I mutter flatly.
“Oh.” He laughs as he points at me. “Ricardo likes your style, Emily.”
I begin to work, and he stays sitting on the corner of my desk while he rambles, hardly coming up for air. Every now and then the four of us exchange looks, unable to believe what a tool this guy is.
From the corner of my eye I see the elevator doors open, and then I see somebody run back to their workstation. Huh? I look up to see Jameson Miles striding down the carpeted corridor toward my desk. His jaw is clenched, and he is glaring at Ricardo.
People are standing up in their cubicles to see who it is, and when they see him, they immediately drop into their chairs in fear.
What the hell is he doing here?
I watch in slow motion as he comes to a halt in front of my desk. Ricardo glances over and then nearly swallows his tongue and stands immediately. “Mr. Miles,” he stammers. “Hello, sir.”
“What are you doing?” Mr. Miles growls.
“I was training our new employee,” he splutters. “This is Emily,” he says, introducing me.
Aaron’s eyes meet mine in horror.
“I am well aware of who Emily Foster is and how often you frequent this desk. This is your first and final warning,” he growls. “Get back to work, and do not let me catch you here again.”
The blood drains from Ricardo’s face. “Yes, sir,” he whispers.
Mr. Miles glares at him and clenches his jaw in anger. “Go. Now.”
Ricardo practically runs back to his desk, and I stare at the gorgeous creature in front of me.
Gray suit, white shirt, paisley tie. He really is the epitome of suit porn.
“Emily, I need to see you in my office. Now,” he snaps before he turns and strides back toward the elevator, not bothering to wait for my reply.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I stand.
Aaron’s, Ava’s, and Molly’s eyes are wide with fear. “What the fuck?” Aaron mouths as he squeezes my hand in sympathy.
I exhale heavily and turn and follow the office god into the elevator as everyone watches. The doors close behind us.
Jameson glares at the doors, and I twist my fingers nervously in front of me as we fly up through the floors. Oh man, he’s going to fire me. That stupid fucking Ricardo has gotten me into trouble. This is all his fault.
I wasn’t even talking back to him . . . you know.
When we get to the top floor, the doors open, and once again he strides off. I hesitate. Does he expect me to run after him? I’m not a fucking puppy.
Who in the hell does this asshole think he is?
I fake a smile at his receptionist and storm in after him. He holds the office door open for me, and I brush past him. He closes the door and flicks the lock.
“What are you doing?” he snaps.
“Is that a trick question?” I hold my arms out wide. “I’m standing in your office. What does it look like?”
“I mean, why the hell are you openly flirting with that idiot from downstairs?” he demands.
My mouth falls open in horror. “I wasn’t flirting.”
“Bullshit. I saw it with my own fucking eyes.”
“What?” I snap. “Don’t tell me you dragged me all the way up here to chastise me about talking at my desk while I work.”
“I am not paying you to get hit on, Emily,” he growls.
I put my hands on my hips as fury begins to pump through my bloodstream. “Listen here, you.” I hold my finger up. “Firstly, I’ll get hit on by whomever I want.”
He narrows his eyes and puts his hands on his hips, too, mirroring my stance.
“Secondly”—I put my second finger up—“as my boss, you do not get to comment on my dating life.”