Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I stayed through my scheduled midmorning break to monitor the kitchen staff, though they probably would have done fine without me. I am tired, but I’ve handled long work days on minimal sleep a hundred times before. What Brayden sees on my face is probably less about physical exhaustion and more about how anxious I am that I might screw this up.
Giving myself a little shake, I scan my list for the third time, confirming again that we’re not forgetting anything. “I’m fine.” I force a smile I’m too exhausted to make believable. “I promise to slap on some fresh lipstick so our clients don’t think you’re overworking me.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and my bare lips. “I don’t think you need it.”
Snorting, I grab my purse. “You’re just blinded by my inner beauty.”
He doesn’t reply to that—though, really, what can he say? Instead, he narrows his eyes and asks, “How was the house you saw yesterday?”
“A total bust. I don’t need fancy finishes, and I know better than to expect them with my budget, but a working furnace in the middle of a Jackson Harbor winter is a must.”
Brayden barks out a dry laugh. “Snob.”
I laugh. “I guess so.”
“Have you thought any more about my offer?”
A lot. Nonstop. Too much. My brain’s been spinning with the implications and potential complications of moving in with Brayden. That’s half the reason I stayed up so late last night. I knew I wouldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well get some packing done.
I bite my bottom lip. I know what I need to do. I know what the best decision is, for me, for my son. “It would just be temporary.”
“I know.”
“And you have to promise you’ll tell me if we’re in your way at all. Ever.”
“I promise.”
“I’d like Santa to visit Noah there on Christmas morning—presents under the tree and his stocking hung on the mantel and the whole bit. If that’s not too much to ask. Because he’s four, and Christmas is everything to him, and—”
“That’s not a problem, Molly.”
I nod sharply. “And I think we should agree that we won’t sleep together.” His eyes go wide, but I stumble on. “Because we’ve done that, and we know it’s a bad idea and it’ll only complicate things, and I know it’s Christmastime and sometimes that can be kind of lonely so we might be tempted only to regret it later, and because I’m your employee and you’re my boss, and I like this job so I’d rather not compromise it for physical gratification.”
“That’s a lot of reasons.”
I swallow. “I have more.” But no matter how many items I add to the list, I’m still afraid it’ll fall short. Because he’s him and I’m . . . I’ve never thought myself weak before, but our night in New York proves I have very little self-control when it comes to this man.
“Do you need more?”
Maybe. Probably. But he probably didn’t need any reason at all, so it doesn’t matter. “So we’re agreed?”
“No sleeping together,” he says, but I swear his gaze drops to my mouth for a beat, and my mind flashes to our night together, his eyes on my mouth, his hand on my thigh beneath the table. Is he thinking about it too?
Lust zaps through me at the memory. I close my eyes, only to be bombarded by a thousand more. His head between my legs. His mischievous grin. The smell of him when he came back to bed and pulled me into his arms.
When I look at him again, his expression has shifted to one of concern. Is he worried that I have feelings for him? Or that maybe I’ve been thinking too much about sleeping with him, and he hasn’t thought about sleeping with me at all?
“You really do look tired. Is there anything you need me to do before the party gets here?”
Oh. That. Work stuff. Not hot, under-the-table, super-naughty, spank-bank stuff. “I’m fine.” I clear my throat and can practically hear screeching tires. I mentally shift gears. Work. “If you want to greet Mr. Yuseki when he arrives, that would be great. I think he trusts me, but he’s a little old school with the woman-in-charge situation.”
“We’ll greet him together,” he says, and some of the tension I’ve been carrying all day melts. Because yes, Brayden takes his business very seriously, and yes, he wants this to go as well as I do, but he trusts me, and he wants Mr. Yuseki—a potentially huge client for repeat business—to understand that. “Be right back.”
He disappears, and I dig in my purse for my lipstick. One look in my handheld mirror, and I see that he’s right. I look like hell. Like a woman who has too much on her plate and is too stubborn to admit it. My boss isn’t the only one who has trouble delegating.