Page 39 of Under Your Scars

I know exactly why I desire her in my soul, and I’ll tell her about it one day, because she deserves to know why I call her angel.

CHAPTER 11

THE ANGEL

Friday morning, when I arrive at work, Christian is lounging in my office chair with a wide grin on his face that has me blushing the second I step out of the elevator.

“Good morning,” he greets casually, dropping a small paper bag on the center of my desk. “Got you breakfast.”

I peek inside the bag to find a blueberry muffin. The corner of my mouth quirks up. “Thank you.”

He stands up and buttons his suit jacket before placing a tender kiss to the crown of my head. “I just wanted to say hi before I got trapped in meetings all morning. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” I whisper, my cheeks going pink as I notice several other people on my floor turning their gazes to us. “See you later, Mr. Reeves.”

He tightens his jaw and sighs heavily at the teasing way I say his name. He lightly pinches my chin between his thumb and knuckle of his index finger before leaving, and I sit down in my office chair wondering how the hell I got so lucky to capture his attention.

I boot up my computer and then head to the breakroom to make my coffee, where I’m met with curious eyes and low whispers as I pass by. I try to ignore them best I can. I keep my gaze to the floor like I’ve got something to be ashamed of.

I had assumed Christian wanted to keep our new relationship private for as long as possible, but bringing me breakfast and kissing me in front of everyone isn’t exactly inconspicuous. I suppose I’ll have to get used to the judgment and the whispers—it comes with the territory of dating arguably one of the most recognizable people on the planet.

When I get back to my desk, I spend the morning transcribing all the notes the attorneys took on our trip yesterday. It feels good to have some work to do again. It takes me a few hours, but I get it typed out and dispersed amongst the department. Around the same time, I receive an email from Christian asking me to proofread his recommendation letter for the winner of the bowling tournament. The junior who won wants to go to MIT, which is coincidentally where Christian went to school, too. His recommendation letter is closer to a thesis. I don’t know how the hell he managed to get it written so fast. It’s flawless too. He had to have stayed up all night writing it, because I didn’t get off from the club until one in the morning and his estate is on the other side of the island from my apartment. It had to have been close to 2 AM before he even got home.

At lunchtime, Christian texts me to come up to his office. I don’t have any hesitation when I step into the elevator and swipe my access card. I’m practically bouncing on my toes.

Christian is leaning against the conference table in his perfectly tailored suit with a cigarette between his smile. I’ve never really liked smokers. My father is one, and I’ve always detested the smell, but Christian makes it look sexy.

He makes everything look sexy. He’s just fucking standing there and my panties are wet. I’m truly, utterly down bad for this man.

When the elevator closes behind me, I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow. “Yes, Mr. Reeves?”

He uses one finger to motion for me to come to him while he places the nub of the cigarette in an ashtray, and I take a few steps until our legs are lightly brushing together. “I have something for you.” From behind him, he pulls out a box from Tiffany’s and holds it in the space between us.

I suck in a sharp breath. “I—”

“It’s to say thank you. For organizing everything yesterday. You’re great with the kids there. They all love you. I never would have thought to have a bowling tournament.”

I meet his eyes. “You paid me thirty dollars an hour yesterday to kick your ass in that bowling tournament. You didn’t have to get me anything.” I gulp and look down at the iconic blue box. “Especially not something expensive.”

“Something tells me you could use a few diamonds in your life.”

Ignoring my protest, he nudges my hand with the box, his bottom lip between his teeth like he’s nervous. As ifhe’sthe one that needs to be nervous in this situation. I open it slowly, like I’m afraid something will bite me. I lift the lid to find a diamond tennis bracelet inside.

“Icannotaccept this.”

He once again ignores my protests and takes my left wrist in his hands, fastening the silver and diamond bracelet around it. It’s so sparkly that it glimmers with the smallest movement.

I sigh. “It’s beautiful.”

“Like you,” he whispers, lifting my hand to his mouth and placing a small kiss on the inside of my wrist. “Now…how about lunch? What are you in the mood for?” I open my mouth and he presses his finger to my lips. “If you say you brought a frozen lasagna again, I’ll rip my hair out.”

I gulp. “It’s actually a pot pie this time.”

He shakes his head in feigned disappointment and chuckles. “There’s an old woman that sells homemade tamales outside the lobby on Fridays. They’re amazing. What do you say?”

I lick my bottom lip. “I’m fine with my pot pie, Mr. Reeves.” I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist. “Or maybe I’ll pawn this and buy myself a five-course steak dinner.”

“Or,” he draws out the word playfully, “you can keep the bracelet and let me buy you a five-course steak dinner on that date you owe me.”