Page 23 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Twenty-Two

CYRUS

I pace back and forth by the fireplace that I’ve just stoked for the evening, reading Holly’s messages and wishing that I didn’t send mine. Why can’t I just learn to keep my mouth shut with this woman? Everything I say and do sends her running for the hills. I have completely messed this up.

Come on, Stone. Get a grip of yourself! One woman simply cannot possess such powers to make you lose it like this.

Oh, but she can .

And she’s locked in her room right now, all alone and confused, and probably hungry again as it’s been a whole day since I delivered her breakfast. At least she’s showered, though.

The only reason I knew she showered was because the pipes had screamed blue murder for water to run through them, but to no avail as hell was frozen over outside still.

So what did any good man do? Boil six pots of water on my stove, and dip all of my hand towels in them to wrap around the pipes outside to defrost it enough for her.

It’s when she was in said shower that I wasn’t any good man .

I’m not a sneaky man by nature, but I am a curious one.

I didn’t intend on prying, but the meddling inside my head had hit me hard.

I wanted to know if she was okay. When I snuck in I saw Holly’s phone sprawled on the bed with one of my sister’s historical romance books.

When I saw her phone face side up, I tapped on the screen, not expecting to see what I saw. A message from a contact saved as Cyrus Stone aka Sexy Boss .

Sexy Boss …

Oh, perfect. Now I get to look at her right in the eye, knowing what my name is in her phone. Which is going to be absolutely fucking impossible.

…And queue the dick pulses.

Dammit.

Nervously, I run my hand through my hair.

If I keep pacing the floor any more I’m going to end up falling through the hardwood and straight to China.

But I can’t help it. I’ve been left on read.

God, I’ve made a big mistake. Of course kissing her was a mistake, that’s why she hasn’t replied to my last message.

Split seconds later, my phone buzzes. Ah! I nearly drop it trying to pull it out of my pocket… three times. My fingers are butter at this point trying to unlock the damn thing as if reading a text message is a sport I haven’t been trained for.

What the hell?

Am I having a stroke?

Miss Holly Cate:

Do you always run your hands through your hair like that?

Only when I’m nervous.

Wait…

I turn, seeing Holly standing by the corridor with wet hair that falls down each side of her shoulders, peached cheeks, and eyes as weary as a wild animal.

I don’t know what to do with my hands, or my breathing, or where to look.

And for some ridiculous reason I think I have word anxiety: the sensation that if I open my mouth I will say something about my contact number in her phone , or something else I’ll regret, like admitting that I’ve seen her enjoying herself when she read my book, or worse telling her I have her underwear in my room that I stole from the bar.

No… I know something far worse than that.

If I tell her she’s the main character in my new novel.

The book where my desires with her are fastly unraveling.

“How long have you been standing there?” I finally ask, my voice pitching in random spots like a pubescent teenager. Jesus Christ, pull yourself together, Stone .

She crosses her arms, stalking her leg out to the side and tilting her hips. The air grows thickly strange, like a big cumbersome cloud hovering above our heads. “Long enough to know that whatever is in your head must be similar to the quandary in mine.”

“Holly, I don’t want things to be awkward between us.” I stow my phone back into my pocket and attempt to approach her, but she takes one step back.

“Neither do I. But, that kiss was a mistake…” she trails off.

“You need to keep your word and stay away.” The words stab like a blade to my heart, so much so that I barely even know what she continues to say.

“I like my job here, Cyrus, but I would like it a whole lot more if you also gave me the job I am good at.”

I pretend that I’m not affected by her words but it’s a lie. I don’t want to stay away. “Ah, yes. The manuscript,”

“That’s right. And it would make a world of difference if you didn’t kiss… your employee , don’t you think?”

Is that a rhetorical question? Because if it is, no.

I don’t think so. In fact, not kissing her sounds like a nightmare.

I run my fingers through my hair again, fighting the urge not to pull it from my scalp from frustration.

“It would make a world of difference if my employee didn’t kiss her boss back,” I retort, spitting the words faster than my brain could spin them around in my head.

“Cyrus. I mean it. This—” she flaps her hands in the air, shifting back and forth from her to me. “ Can’t happen.”

I can deny it all I like, but I know she’s right. I’d lose everything if we were caught together. Quinn would hang me. “I know. I know. Strictly business from here on.”

“And stop gawkin’ at me like that, will ya?”

Ah, there’s that Aussie accent coming in full swing, pushing aside all of her clean, well-spoken professionalism. “It’s the glasses, they make me look cross eyed,” I joke, knowing full well that it certainly isn’t.

“I mean it. I just want to focus on working, I’ve been dying to see what you’ve written so far.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. How about this, why don’t we read over the manuscript tonight?”

She smiles and finally steps toward me, but keeps her distance. “Really?”

“Of course. But on one condition.”

“Oh?”

“I read it to you. Only because of copyright safety and stuff, any paper forms must be in my possession or locked in a safe. Riverton House rules,” I lie, crossing my arms then panic shoving them into my pockets instead. Why do I never know what to do with my hands?

I don’t know if she will fall for it or not. I’m not at all concerned about what she does with my manuscript. I just need to see each and every one of her facial expressions while she discovers the parts that I put in there just for her— of her.

“Oh, well okay then.”

“I’ll start after dinner, how’s that?”

“Alright,” she says, walking past me to the Christmas tree I chopped down for her. Shit , Christmas is tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Silence is all that takes up space before she finally speaks again, fluffing around with the needles on the pine tree and smelling them. “So…”

“…So?” I mimic.

“Want me to cook dinner?” she asks, but I don’t know if she’s asking me or telling me.

It’s not even four in the afternoon. When I frown, she shrugs with her whole body.

“Your brunch worked up my appetite, I guess. Plus the faster I eat, the faster I can relax by the fire listening to my real life audio book and sip a nice glass of wine, and maybe a light snack. This being snowed in business is hard work.”

“Whatever you need to feel comfortable being stuck here with me, we will do,” I say, smiling, even though living with me was part of the job.

“So, what do you feel like?” she asks, making her way to the kitchen. I follow her, keeping my distance.

“You can surprise me.”

“Have you got pastry?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“And mince?”

“Yes. I’ve got every kind in the freezer,”

“Well then,” Holly claps her hands. “An Australian delicacy is what we’ll eat tonight.”

She’s going to cook me an Australian meal…

“Exhilarating.”