Page 22 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

i’ve been such a good boy

Rosie

“ Y ou can’t stay here all night.” I jerk back from the intrusion of Jasper’s voice as my AirPod is pulled from my ear.

“I can too.” I snatch my AirPod off him and jam it back in my ear.

I am halfway through my slush pile and I’m not giving up yet.

With Jessie’s book edits taking up most of my time, I haven’t had the opportunity to comb through as many submissions as I would have liked.

This week I decided, what better way to prove myself than to find the next New York Times best-selling author before anyone else did.

If I found the next Jane Austen or Nicholas Sparks, that job would be mine tomorrow.

Not that I didn’t have faith in Jessie being a smash hit, but I’m not putting all my eggs in one basket, I know better than that.

The problem is, it’s been a week since Chris gave his pep talk and I still haven’t found my Julia Quinn.

Instead, it’s just been slush. A few great pieces, though they aren’t really what I’m looking for, but I know it’s in here somewhere.

I have clocked up almost sixty hours in the office this week and I’m running on black coffee, Reese’s Puffs cereal—the best cereal on planet Earth—and my power pumps.

I am ready to drop dead, but I’m not giving up yet.

“Babe, you need a wine, a bath, and at least ten hours of sleep. You look like shit.”

I gasp audibly, snatching my AirPods out and turning to glare at Jasper. “You take that back, I look amazing.”

“You look like you’ve been getting no more than a few hours of sleep a night.”

I narrow my eyes at him but can’t hold back the sneer that would confirm just how accurate he is.

“Garcia, what is wrong with you! You’re going to burn out. What happened to putting your back out for orgasms, not the patriarchy?” I roll my eyes and turn back to the computer, unfortunately glimpsing the desk mirror next to my computer screen. Damn. Jasper was right, I look like hell.

“Ugh, fine.” I close the lid of my laptop and pack up my things, looking around the cubicles as Jasper swings his coat over his shoulders. “Where is Halle?”

“She left a couple hours ago. It was my shift tonight.”

“Your shift?”

“Yeah, to make sure you went home before the lights went out.”

“You are both being ridiculous. I haven’t even been here that late.” I have absolutely eaten dinner at my desk every night this week and followed out the cleaners as the lights were turned off, but they don’t need to know that.

“Want to go grab a drink before you go home? It is Friday.” From the defeat in his tone, he knows my answer before I say it.

“Nah, I think you’re right. I need a bath, maybe a facial, and a large glass of wine.”

“Have the bottle, babe.” He sighs, patting a friendly hand on my shoulder before turning for the elevator. I giggle and fall in line next to him.

When we make it to the entrance, I turn to Jas to see if he wants to share an Uber, but he has a goofy smile on his face as he looks through the front entrance doors.

“What is it?”

“Look who it is.” My eyes follow to where he is pointing.

“What the f?—”

“Hey, Rosebud.” That smooth sound of sweet, sweet sin tingles down my spine, mixed with that crooked smile. Why, God, why did you have to give a man that looks like him a voice like that and a good personality to match. It isn’t fair.

“What are you doing here?” I stop in front of him, crossing my arms, giving him my best bored stare while trying to calm my heart rate, which apparently doesn’t know the difference between the scent of Caleb’s cinnamon and cedar, and the effect of caffeine.

He tilts his head playfully, looking over my shoulder to Jasper, who makes a choking chortle sound in his throat before saying a half-assed goodbye and leaving me to fend for myself.

When Jasper is out of earshot, Caleb takes that as his cue and closes the distance between us, keeping his hands in his pockets.

I force myself to stand my ground and not be affected by his sexy scent or sickly sweet smile. Or the depths of his eyes.

“Plans?” His voice is lower than I’d heard before.

His eyes search my entire face but there is something different about his energy and I can’t seem to put my finger on what.

It’s like he’s on edge, teetering on the cliff, and I bet if I had the energy to provoke him I’d be able to get under his skin without lifting a finger. I am just too damn tired to bother.

“Pizza, bath, wine, bed.” I tick the items off my fingers and smile up at him.

“Sweet, sounds fun, I’ll order the pizza.” He pulls out his phone. After a minute of staring at him in shock, I manage to shake myself out of it, snatching his phone from his hand.

“Uh, I don’t think so, hotshot.” I lock his phone and slip it back into his pocket, watching the stupid smirk grow even further across his face.

“I’m tired, exhausted even, and ready to be surrounded by peace, not your arrogance.” I pat him on the chest and turn to continue up the sidewalk, but before I can take another step, I’m yanked back and pulled into his hard chest, his grip warm on my wrist.

“I’m too tired for the games tonight, and I’m not your plaything, pet, ” he all but growls, giving way to that edge I had recognized before.

The pretty playboy puts on his bossy pants—a new side of Caleb I secretly want to see more of.

The memory of the way he growled at me over the phone after my little gift last week has me shivering.

I have to work extra hard on not showing him the way my pulse has ricocheted in my chest, though I’m sure he feels it with the way his finger presses into my wrist. “Let’s get some pizza, I’ll pour you a glass of wine and a bath.

” His grip moves from my wrist to the back of my neck, where he massages the muscles there with a pressure so firm I can’t help the quiet moan that slips from my lips.

Jesus. “Let me work the tension out of your muscles and your mind. We can use your bed if you like, but I don’t need any specific surface, the bath will work just fine too.

” His devilish hands continue their ministrations on my neck as he leans down and whispers in my ear, “I’m done with your game of cat and mouse, Rosebud.

It’s Friday night, we’re both exhausted and I want to unwind the right way.

” He pulls back and looks me over with his hooded eyes before he continues, “Can we put a pin in the hard-to-get act and fuck the tension out of our shitty weeks so we can get back to what we’re good at? ” Oh my god.

I want to know more about this shitty week he speaks about.

God only knows why, but for some reason that bit of information sparked my curiosity, and I find myself wanting him to…

oh hell… talk to me. I want conversation.

I want to knock back a glass of wine, curl up on the couch with comfort food, and actually talk to Caleb. With our clothes on.

It has to be the exhaustion. I am finally losing my mind.

I bury it. All of it—the feelings and the stupid thoughts. I open my lips to say something—what, though, I have no idea. Before I can work it out, his massage on my neck travels down my spine, only making me fall into his chest, and the act alone has words leaving my mouth without permission.

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe you eat pineapple on your pizza.”

“I can’t believe you don’t, ” I tease back, unlocking my front door and stepping through, holding it so Caleb can enter with the pizza and wine we picked up on our way.

“Make yourself at home, I guess.” I gesture to the living room. “I’m just going to change.”

“Let’s just eat and have some wine, you can change when I run your bath.” He tosses out nonchalantly, like this is normal, like the notion of him coming over, pouring me a bath, and plying me with wine is just another Friday night for us.

I level a skeptical look at him, but he remains focused on pouring the glasses of wine, removing his tie, and unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he gets comfy on the couch.

I plead with my exhaustion to allow me to keep everything in check for just a couple more hours until the sex pest clears out.

“Okay then. So, tell me”—I swipe my glass from where he hands it to me, and I make myself comfortable on the couch—“why was your week so shitty?”

He drinks his wine and breathes out a heavy sigh before relaxing deeper into the couch cushions. His stunning eyes almost glitter as he looks at me, his attention never wavering.

“Just the usual. Had to make some staff changes, which increased my workload. I could delegate, but?—”

“If you want it done right, you do it yourself,” I finish for him, and he flicks me a small smile. “Staff changes? Is that a nice way of saying you fired people?” I bite my lip to hide the amusement in my face, and he just groans, throwing back the rest of his wine before pouring another one.

“The worst part of the job, unfortunately. You’ll know about that soon enough, I suppose.”

“So you do know about the editor in chief position.” I pay attention to his facial expressions and the way he rolls his shoulders like he’s holding a tension within them.

“Obviously, it was my idea. Your idiot boss was laying off people in the middle of a rebrand. I had to do something to help them save face.”

“Because it makes you look bad.”

“Obviously,” he teases, digging in and pulling apart the pizza before taking a slice. I place my glass on the coffee table and do the same as he continues, “So why are you so stressed, worried you don’t have the job in the bag?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That job is obviously mine.” I wave him off as I bite into a piece of pizza and he narrows his eyes at me.

“But?”

“What?”

“The job is obviously yours… but?”

Goddamnit. He isn’t meant to be this good at reading me.