Page 20

“It doesn’t suit you,” he informs me. And I swear I feel the touch of his gaze, his strong fingers sifting through my hair from across his desk.

Does he suddenly look thirsty, or is it just me?

I feel mildly panicked as heat starts to prickle between my thighs.

No. Damn it,no.

I amnotcrushing on my new boss.

I haven’t even broken up with Justin yet. Dating one boss at a time is more than enough.

“You know what… this is really heavy. Do you mind if I put it down?” I edge forward to rest the box on the edge of his desk.

“What is it?” He regards it as if it could very well be a bomb.

“Oh. It’s a cake. Here.” I peel open the box to show him the lovely pink-and-turquoise cake with the wordsI’m Sorrypiped onto it in turquoise icing. It is, in a word, gorgeous, but at total odds with the vibe of his sleek, cold office; the room and its furnishings are minimalist and masculine, and this cake is everything but.

I really should’ve gone with a black one.

“I work in a bakery,” I repeat, feeling awkward.

Has anyone in history ever been less excited to see a cake?

Damn, it’s hot in here.

Why did I think I could sweeten his opinion of me? What did I expect him to do, thank me profusely for the flowery cake he didn’t ask for, and lavish me in promises of job security? Offer me a raise?

“Why don’t I put it in your fridge for you,” I suggest. I take the cake to his impeccably clean—actually, empty—little bar fridge, and set it carefully inside. “There. You can enjoy it whenever you like. It’ll keep for a few days.”

When I turn to face him again, his eyes are dragging over my white jacket.

Okay, wait.

That.

That thrill across my skin.

I’m not supposed to be feelingthat. Not right now. Not here.

Not withhim.

“The thing is…” I clear my throat. “I really like working at Velvet.” Okay, just a small lie. “I’d like to keep working there.” Truth. “I really need the job. And I’m afraid I made a bad impression.” More truth.

His eyes narrow as he takes that in.

He emits the empathy of a blade, the kind that resharpens itself every time you withdraw it from its case. I get the feeling that if he reached out to touch me, he’d slice right through me.

I don’t know why it turns me on.

“So you think I’m going to fire you. And that cake, it’s a bribe?”

“It’s an apology cake.” When he just stares at me, I add “It’s a thing.”

“And what am I supposed to do with an entire cake?”

My face must be as pink as the cake now. “You could share it with your family? Or your staff? Or… your… girlfriend?”

We stare at each other for an uncomfortably long stretch of time while I wait for him to say something, I try to think of something more to say, and his office phone starts ringing.