Page 38 of Hacking His Code

“Wow, to be born with such gifts, and on top of it all, being drop-dead gorgeous.” I snicker. “Some women have all the luck.”

“I don’t know,” Hunter says. “You seem to be quite lucky yourself.”

The compliment offends me, though I know it was meant to be nice. I am anything but lucky in this life. In fact, I’m verifiably cursed.

And I don’t much like Hunter Davies, of all people, callingmelucky.

“Says the man born to inherit a billion-dollar tech corporation,” I say, dripping with sarcasm.

His eyes shift guiltily back to the file he had been looking at, and I bring mine to the computer screen.

Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?

And when did I start asking myself rhetorical questions?

I most certainly know what is wrong with me. It’s working so closely with Hunter Davies, a man who possesses a despicable amount of arrogance, a quality I loathe, and yet for whatever reason, I can’t seem to vanquish him from my brain.

To make matters worse worse, I have no defense against him and his brand of cockiness. My sharp tongue will never wound him, and all it would take is a simple touch from him and I’d be completely undone.

He’s more terrifying than any FBI interrogation room, and even that black hole I was so scared of being thrown down.

As we work, Hunter spends more time looking at me than he does the file in his hands. I pretend not to notice, but it’s like working under a spotlight.

“I’m sorry, but is there something wrong?” he finally asks.

Confronted with my awkwardness makes the whole situation worse. I try to bury my nose in a file and ignore the situation entirely, but I feel Hunter’s eyes on me.

“Do you think I touched you or something?”

My head snaps in his direction. “No! That never crossed my mind.”

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you got up.”

“I’m just working…really hard…”

“I’ve seen you work really hard, and you’re never this tense and angry. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you bouncing your leg under the table.”

It’s not that I thought I was hiding my leg bouncing; it’s that I didn’t even realize I was bouncing my leg. I’m that nervous.

“What the hell is going on with you?”

How could he possibly understand?

“Hunter, just drop it.”

“I thought we were getting along quite nicely yesterday, but today you’re acting like I kidnapped you or something crazy like that.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s joking, making light of my bumbling and trying to get me to smile.

I try to fake a grin, but my lips won’t comply with my brain, and I’m pretty sure I look like Picasso’s muse with the face I’m making.

“You look uncomfortable. Do you have gas? Is it your period?”

“No! It’s just that,” I gesture wildly in the air, “you wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe if you clued me in, I would.”

My shoulders slump in defeat, and I decide the best course of action is to tell him exactly what my issue is. Or at least that part that doesn’t admit that I’m absolutely in lust with him.