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“I’ve just got a headache,” I tell her in my most reassuring tone. “Just want to get home, you know? I’ll catch up with you guys next time.”
Angela shoots me a suspicious look but doesn’t question it further.
Carter doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s probably got a hot date,” he announces to no one in particular.
Angela laughs. “Oh please, if she did, you know we’d know all about it!”
“No date,” I insist, giving them both the most innocent look I can muster.
“Sure,” Carter says, winking. “Whatever you say, babe.”
My heart stutters.Does he know? Did Marcus tell Harrison? Surely not.
No,I decide.There’s no way he knows. He would have said.
By 4:55, I’ve tidied my desk and shut down my computer. The second the clock ticks over to 5:00, I practically jump out of my seat.
“See you later!” I call as I head to the lifts, waving goodbye to Angela and Carter who are both still focused on their computer screens.
“Hope you feel better!” Angela calls back.
“Enjoy your date!” Carter’s voice carries across the office.
“Not a date!” I shout over my shoulder, already grinning as I press the button for the lift. The second the doors close and I’m alone, I let the smile take over. I’m not sure that I’ve ever looked forward to anything more.
***
An hour and a half later, I’ve showered, blow dried and curled my hair and finished my make-up to perfection.
In my bedroom, the dress I bought on Monday lays waiting for me on the bed.
My entire body feels like it’s vibrating with anticipation.
It’s perfect. If this dress doesn’t get him into bed, then nothing will.
I slip into it, pulling it down over the new set of black lace underwear and matching bra I’d bought especially for tonight. It hugs every curve just right, dipping low at the front, cinching in all the places I want it to before fanning out to a short, flirty skirt that falls at my thigh. I smooth it down with my hands, heart thudding against my ribs like a drum.
Just as I’m about to put on my boots, the intercom buzzes, making me jump.
He’s here.
I press the buzzer and let out a long breath, trying to steady the wild flutter in my chest.
A moment later, there’s a gentle knock on the door.
With one final glance in the hallway mirror, I take a deep breath and open the door. And he’s actually there.
Marcus Andersson. Standing inmydoorway.
That same immovable smile from Monday’s lunch spreads across my face, impossible to contain.
He looks fucking incredible.
His hair is a perfectly tousled mane of dark waves, streaked with hints of grey that catch the hallway light like silver threads - effortlessly stylish and irresistibly masculine. His eyes gleam with excitement and flirtation, heat pooling between my legs just from the sight of him.
His black wool coat rests on his broad shoulders, framing a charcoal grey shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of the toned chest underneath. A silver chain holding a black gemstone rests lightly against his skin. His black jeans fit him as though they were custom made for his body.
He’s holding a bottle of wine and smiling like I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at.