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Chapter 7

Carina

I lock myself in my office, staring at my laptop screen like it personally offended me, punching numbers into spreadsheets and silently cursing at the IT guys from this fuckwad website platform I’m stuck using.

Any minute now, they’ll get back to me with something helpful.

Any. Minute. Now.

Still nothing.

I groan and flop back in my chair, rubbing my temples.

Okay, fine. So I’m not just sitting here, waiting for them to email me back.

I’m hiding .

Dina, MJ, and Shawnee— one of our new hires —have the front completely locked down, so no one actually needs me out there.

The lunch rush is steady. A nice flow of customers coming in, grabbing slices, sitting at tables, enjoying themselves.

And that’s good.

But it’s not enough.

Not enough to cover the rent. Not enough to expand.

I need bigger orders.

Big customers.

The office buildings in the area— they’re the real gold mine .

If we can get just a couple of them to start placing orders daily, especially for those big catered work lunches, everything would be solid.

Sure, we’re already set up with third-party delivery services, but I’ve also got Emilio, a kid fresh out of high school, on standby as our in-house driver.

I just need this damn website to start working so people can actually place those orders.

I tap my fingers against my desk, muttering under my breath.

Please freaking work.

But as much as the website situation sucks, that’s not the real reason I’m holed up in here.

Truth is?

I’m a little mortified that MJ asked that cute-as-hell customer to help me.

I mean, what the heck was she thinking?

He’s not just cute— he’s big, broad-shouldered, and unfairly attractive, with those deep brown eyes that look like they could see straight through me .

And now he’s going to be helping me fix my disaster of a website?

I groan again, dropping my head onto my desk.

This is so embarrassing.

Why couldn’t MJ just let me suffer in silence like a normal business owner?

The sound of someone rapping on the wall has me lifting my head, and—BAM.

I feel like I’ve just entered another dimension.

Because standing in my doorway like he was plucked straight from the pages of one of my romance books is Horace the Hottie.

Hands braced on either side of the open door.

Tall, broad, and unreasonably built.

Leaning forward just enough that I get the full effect of his size.

It’s like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Like he’s some leading man on the cover of a novel I’d one-click without hesitation.

Then— because apparently, he’s not already taking up enough space in my office or my brain —he turns sideways just so he can fit his big-ass shoulders through the entry.

I swallow.

Oh no.

“Hey,” he says, casual as can be, nodding toward my laptop. “I thought I’d check out your site before I head back to work.”

I blink.

Then blink again.

Because what?

“What?” I say brilliantly, because obviously, I have an incredible way with words.

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh.

“Your site?” he says slowly, like he’s testing to see if I understand basic language. “Your sister said you needed help? I work in tech?”

Oh. Oh. Right.

The website. The thing I’ve been stressing about for days.

The thing I literally locked myself in here to fix.

The thing I should be focusing on instead of the fact that this man is currently taking up all the air in this room just by existing.

I clear my throat, frantically grasping for some level of dignity.

“Right. Yes. The website.”

I turn toward my laptop, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

The mess on my desk.

The wayward curl falling into my face.

The sauce stain on my t-shirt.

The fact that I probably look way too flustered for someone who’s just been offered free tech support.

I force myself to look up at him.

Mistake.

Because he’s still watching me, dark eyes warm, his mouth still curled in that almost-smile.

And for the first time today, my website disaster is the least of my problems.

I have a terrible track record with men. I know better than to get the hots for this one.

Horace is simply out of my league. He’s somehow managed to combine hot boy body with brains, a real geek meets jock kind of vibe, and God knows, my ability to resist temptation is low.

Must be vigilant, I remind myself.

“Can I sit here?” he asks nodding at the tiny folding chair I have in front of my desk.

“Sure,” I say acutely aware of the fact that thing is way too small for him.

But he moves gracefully and sits best he can. Then he dips his head at the laptop and again I’m blushing like a buffoon.

“Here ya go,” I say and turn my laptop towards him.

Right away, he falls into some super geek tech mode. His perfectly arched brows furrow and those near black eyes seem to darken as he focuses on the screen.

He frowns.

“What is it?”

“Huh? Oh, well this site is garbage, What they’re doing is a classic bait and switch, promising you all kinds of security and flexibility, but denying you access. With your permission, I’d like to move your whole website to a more secure server,” he says, and I don’t even pretend I understand.

“Um, I have no idea what you are saying, but also, I’m broke. That is, my budget for this is nil until we start making some money?—”

“No worries. This is what my company does. And seeing as how this is already my new favorite restaurant, I figure we can work out a trade?”

“So like, free pizza for IT support?”

“Something like that,” he says, and his eyes seem to glitter at me.

“How do I know you’re not some psycho stealing all my information?” I ask, because hello, it is the 21 st Century and cybercrime is a real thing.

“Good question. Here’s my card. You can scan the QR-code and look up my company.”

I nod and do just that while he waits while I read.

Holy fucking shit.

He owns one of the biggest and most renowned cyber security firms on the east coast.

I swallow. When I lift my gaze to his, I see that wicked twinkle in his eyes is still there.

“Okay, fine. This seems within your wheelhouse, and I can definitely barter pizza for help.”

“Good. I am sending myself a copy of this, and I’ll take it upstairs to work on at my desk. I live in the penthouse. Shouldn’t take me more than a couple of hours,” he says, and I nod.

Just sitting with my mouth open while he unfurls himself from the seat. I try not to stare and simply look straight ahead.

Which turns out to be a very bad idea since I am now eye level with the enormous rod he’s packing behind his jeans.

Dear Lord, is this man gigantic everywhere?

“I, uh, I’ll call down when I’m finished,” he rumbles and I, finally, lift my gaze.

“Yep. Sure. No problem. Here’s a menu with our number,” I reply and hand him one of the tri-fold takeout menus we had printed up.

His fingertips brush against my hand and dang it, there go those fighter pilots again.

I ignore them and clear my throat, standing when he moves sideways to get through the doorway.

Horace turns back to me, and I give a little wave— again , this is because I am that cool. He smirks and dips his chin before leaving.

And I just stay there. Like a freaking statue.

“Carina? We can use some help up front!” Dina yells after five minutes pass and I am still standing in my office.

“Coming!” I shout back.

I close my eyes and shake my head, because, of course, I would choose that word.

And now it’s all I can think about.

Coming.

All. Over. Him. My sexy geeky neighbor.

I am in so much trouble.

Gulp.