Page 60 of Family Affair

“Sure you don’t.” Clearly, he found that fact hard to believe.

What could she say? Aaron worked long, if not hard, to get the job he had, and for him, his position was highly prized.

But she didn’t lie to him. Lording over minions held little interest, and she had no aptitude for intrigue and corporate politics. And personally, she prioritized creativity over profit.

She wanted to create. She dreamed of earning a name as a professional artist. She planned to one day open her own gallery. In the meantime, she needed to eat. Hence working for Aaron.

And speaking of work. “Aaron, why are we having this discussion?”

Aaron blinked remembering that he outranked her, and straightened up in his chair. “Because, Ms. Milroy, taking on a client isn’t part of your responsibilities in Heated Designs. Next time you’re contacted, you are to refer all inquiries of similar nature…” he paused for effect, “…to me. AndIwill decide who’s the best source of information.”

He dismissed her with a single waive of his soft small hand.

She went to her desk, her mind already switching to other work-related matters, Aaron’s reprimand leaving no more than a sour aftertaste. She was becoming quite adept at brushing his nagging off and considered it a valid self-defense mechanism against idiots.

Pulling out a stack of old reports from a box on the floor, she placed the papers on her knees and started thumbing through them, sorting out duplicates for shredding and leaving the originals for scanning.

The task was as menial as they came, but Coco didn’t mind. It allowed her time to think about Rosa and the gallery, and about her Arizona trip in the fall, and about adding more landscapes to her portfolio or produce more flowery designs that seemed to be so popular.

What she avoided thinking about were the hazy, perturbing images of Cade’s dark head hovering over her face, leaning closer, his talented fingers doing wonderful things to the skin of her thighs, his hot mouth deliciously offset by the scrape of his scruff.

Her cell phone vibrated and it took her eyes a few seconds to focus on an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

A small muffled boom went off inside her stomach that released warm streamers uncoiling in all directions.

“Cade?”

“Yep.” Pause. “You can tell my voice?”

Yes. His voice. His smell. His taste…

“Yes, as you can see, I can. I mean, as you can hear.” Excitement made her tongue-tied. She was suddenly tripping over the simplest words.

Good grief, what waswrongwith her?

He chuckled, a rich, pleasant sound. “How’re you feeling?”

Her cheeks warmed up. Spotty indistinct memories of her dark bedroom swirled around against her will, her body heated, imprinted by the touch of his large rough hands. “I’m well, thank you. Well enough to be at work.”

“Are you? At work?”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a few seconds. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“I… don’t have any plans.”

“Then I’d love to take you out for dinner.”

She should say no. She and Dan had unresolved issues, and he was Dan’s brother, and Frank’s, and it was all so complicated.

“I’d love to go,” her tongue and lips constructed the sentence before her brain could order them to be quiet.

“Is seven a good time?”