Page 47 of Manhattan State of Mind

I motion toward the chair facing the large mahogany desk. “Make yourself comfortable.” Though at this point, hell freezing over might make her more comfortable than being trapped in here with me.

She perches herself on the edge, her fingers rising instinctively to her necklace, her personal anxiety bead. It was a gift from her old man. Right now, she clings to it like a crucifix warding off the beast across from her.

“If that pendant had a pulse, Lucy, it’d be gasping for breath right about now,” I joke.

Her gaze flickers to me, her expression a cool mask that can’t quite hide the tinge of surprise. The humor doesn’t land, but her hand drops from the necklace. Small victories, I guess. No one ever said I was a comedian.

The tension radiating between us would be laughable except it’s tearing my insides to shreds.

An uncontrollable urge to seize her and hold her close courses through every vein in my body.

But instead, I maintain my distance, choosing to prop myself against the front of my desk, within her direct line of sight. “How was your return to work?”

“Fine, thanks,” she shoots back, her smile strained, her body rigid. She looks like she’s sitting on a fucking cactus. “The team’s been great and we’ve got everything documented, so I’m catching up quick,” she goes on. “It’s like starting a new project, you know? You just need to hit the ground running.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” My voice drops down low as I lean in closer, catching the sweet scent of her perfume—jasmine and something else, her own natural fragrance. It’s testing what little self-control I’ve got left.

“I want you to know that I’m here for you,” I say, striving to keep my tone as gentle as I can. “You need anything, anything at all—work related or personal, you just say the word.”

She pulls back like I threatened to bite her. If she grips those armrests any harder, she’s going to tear holes right through the leather. “Thank you, Mr. Wolfe, that’s very kind. But I’m confident I won’t need to bother you.”

The “Mr. Wolfe” stings. Every time.

“Lucy, you could never be a bother.” I study her, trying like hell to figure out what’s really going on in that head of hers. “How’s life treating you outside these walls? Family being supportive?”

Her expression shuts down. “Yes, everything’s fine, thanks for your concern.”

An unexpected thud, courtesy of the window cleaner, provides a distraction. Lucy’s attention snaps toward the sound, her body stiffening as if she’s contemplating a dramatic exit through the glass.

Am I that unbearable to her? Her every move screams of her desperate wish to be anywhere but here. With me.

“Why does talking to me make you so uncomfortable?” I ask gruffly, regretting the words as soon as they escape my mouth.

She bristles. “I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just… this job is crucial to me and you wield a lot of power over my future. Networking isn’t my strong suit.”

“I see. Is this what we’re doing, then? Networking?” My words are heavy with sarcasm, and I grit my teeth to stop any further outbursts.

Do you remember what we did on this desk late at night, Lucy?

Her mind might not right now, but her body fucking does. It remembers a time when she was writhing and moaning beneath me, full to the brim with my want.

What would she do if I fell to my knees and begged for a taste of her?

Probably scream the building down and get security storming in.

She bites her lower lip, visibly uneasy, and scuffs the toe of her sneaker against the carpet. Would it matter if I told her I purchased those sneakers for her? She goes through them every three months like clockwork, replacing each worn-out pair with the exact same style.

Her voice is soft when she speaks again. “I’m not sure what we’re doing here; you haven’t told me why you called me in.”

She glances briefly at my lips before her eyes flicker back to meet mine.

A pulse of desire jolts through me, a sharp reminder of how long it’s been since we’ve been close. It’s been weeks. So many agonizing weeks since I felt the heat of her skin against mine, since I’ve been able to breathe her in.

“I wanted to see how you’re holding up,” I say, forcing my tone level. “You took a nasty tumble at the company event, ended up in the hospital. I care about my crew, contrary to popular belief.”

She nods, though I can sense her skepticism. Her beautiful eyes stare into mine, full of queries she can’t quite piece together. “I heard you were present at the Plaza when I… took a plunge?”

I stiffen, my pulse pounding. Just the mention of that night sets me on edge.