Page 13

She takes in a deep breath, the movement drawing my attention to the gentle swells hidden under the bulky sweater and for a second, a morbid curiosity enters my mind, and I wonder what she’s hiding beneath those thick layers of clothing, like it’s her armor against the world.

Then I remember the way my groin reared to life the other day when she showed up in my office with a wet shirt, her dark nipples saluting me under the damp fabric, looking very much like a wet dream come to life.

Fuck. This shouldn’t be happening. These impulses and thoughts.

Insanity.

“Send me your analysis when you’re done. I’m curious.” My voice is hoarse, and I level my eyes at her beautiful ones, and am momentarily stunned by the vivid shade of purple. A breath lodges itself in my throat.

She grins, and the impish glint I saw the other day in the conference room reappears in her eyes, and I almost flinch as the full impact hits me in my chest. Fucking bad memories and the damn dream have me out of sorts today.

“You want to see it? I’m only an intern though.

It’s probably not at the level of detail you’re used to. ”

“Your level doesn’t matter to me. It’s your work that counts. Don’t let titles hold you back. And somehow, I have a feeling you’ll surprise me…in a good way.”

Grace bites back a smile and nods. “Will do. I should have something for you within the next hour.”

“Good.”

“Yep,” she murmurs, her eyes now dipping toward the floor.

I clear my throat and swallow, my mouth suddenly feeling dry.

I should leave now and go back to my office where work is waiting for me.

But having someone to talk to at this early hour when I’m usually surrounded by silence and paperwork is quite…

acceptable, or appealing if I’m completely honest with myself.

Suddenly, the work that was exciting to me moments ago is no longer drawing my interest.

Glancing at Grace, I find her still staring at the ground, her feet kicking some invisible object on the dark carpet. A few strands of silky brown hair hang over her face, and I wish I could ask her to look at me so I can see what she’s thinking.

The silence stretches on, and I find myself wanting to ask her more questions, to find out why she wears ill-fitting clothes, why she seems so energetic and positive most of the time, even though based on her resume and what she told me in my office a few days ago, she’s barely scraping by.

What drives her to get up each day? Is it the same gnawing hunger and emptiness as me?

Somehow, I doubt that would be the case with her.

I tear my eyes away from her, not liking the direction of my hypothetical questions and my burgeoning curiosity toward this woman. Picking up my laptop bag from the floor, I turn around toward the hallway and—

“So, why are you here so early this morning?” Grace asks, and I look up, finding those startling violet eyes staring at me and I wish I could stand closer and look at the hues underneath a brighter lamp, to see if they are indeed purple and not a trick of the light.

Fuck. I’m not the type of man to wish for things. I take and ask for forgiveness later. But a nagging voice inside me tells me following my impulse wouldn’t be a good idea in this situation.

Her question fully registers a second later, and a sudden heaviness blankets me, shocking me into silence. In the last few moments, I had almost forgotten the weight in my chest and the dark dreams haunting me at night.

Swallowing, I reply, my voice thick, “Couldn’t sleep. The wind.”

Wisps of my memories float to the forefront as an invisible rope coils around my lungs, slowly restricting my airflow.

That dream is like an old nemesis, haunting me for over fifteen years, and like every time in the past, when it resurfaces, the memories would wrap itself around my chest in a vise, and a phantom ache would appear in the spot where my heart is.

It was one of the last times I felt bone curling sadness. Nana passing away a few years later finished what’s left of my heart.

She stares at me, her lips softening into a sympathetic smile, her big eyes never leaving mine, and I have a distinct feeling she’s somehow trying to see through me and read my thoughts.

I want to shift my stance. A part of me wants to walk away and another part of me wants to stay rooted in place, to find out what she sees when she looks at me.

“Fun fact,” she begins, breaking the moment of tension, and she gives me a quick waggle of her brows. “Do you know why the wind is measured in knots?”

My heart thuds loudly in my chest and I feel the lump loosening in my throat from the same tingling sensations I noticed when I saw her dancing at her desk.

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“Do you know why the wind is measured in knots?” she repeats, her smile smug.

I shake my head in bewilderment at this sudden change in topic. “No. Why?”

“A long time ago, sailors didn’t have a way to measure wind speed, so some of them started tying knots to a rope and tossing the rope behind the ship, letting the rope uncoil and run its course for some time.

Then, they’d count how many knots were submerged during that time period, and that was used to determine the speed of the ship under the wind. One knot equals one nautical mile.”

“And how is this relevant to what we were talking about?”

She rocks her heels in place, her eyes sparkling with unshed laughter.

“The best way to get yourself out of a funk is distraction. Whenever I feel troubled or sad, I’d search online for interesting facts.

Then, I’d come out of that experience a little wiser and also get a reminder of how fascinating the world and its history are.

And how little our problems are in the grander scheme of things. ”

The thudding in my chest speeds up, a sweeping warmth flowing to my fingers, which was chilly a few moments ago.

Somehow, this unassuming woman, so unlike all the women of my past—who’d be decked out in their finest clothes, throwing teasing grins or coy smiles my way—can see through me even though she barely knows me.

My heart spasms and I let out a rough chuckle. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” My fingers twitch with an impulse to do something, but I don’t know what.

“What do you do for fun, sir?” Her voice is sweet, a refreshing morning breeze against my skin.

My cock twitches at the word “sir” coming from her lips. Looking up, I find her once again smiling. “Why do you ask?”

“I have a hypothesis…”

“I’m beside myself with anticipation,” I reply, twisting my lips to the side as a spark of amusement makes its way back inside me.

Grace squints, her full lips pursed as if deep in thought.

“You’re young, but you’re in the office before anyone else, and I always see the light in your office on when I pack up for the evening.

You don’t seem to have any crazy gossip about you in the news.

My guess is, you don’t have any hobbies, really enjoy work, and are a complete bore, or… ”

She pauses for dramatic effect, and I feel my eyebrow lifting.

“You’re using work as an escape from something.

And since the wind keeps you up, and you have dark circles under your eyes, my bet would be the latter.

But I wonder, what would keep someone like you up at night?

And don’t you have friends to hang out with? ”

Her words are metal bolts to the chest, the arrows hitting much closer to the bullseye than I’d expect, and I still my body, fighting all impulse to move, to flinch, to give anything away.

Chuckling halfheartedly, I murmur, “Are you sure that’s how you want to talk to your boss? You know you have to please me and make me happy in order to get a full-time offer. ”

Her eyes widen and I realize how my phrasing sounds.

A bolt of heat rushes south at the thought of her pleasing me, her knees on the floor, those big eyes staring at me as she calls me “sir” before choking on my cock, and I nearly groan out loud at the lurid direction of my thoughts. Something tells me she’s not going to be obedient.

A pretty flush travels up her slender neck to her face and once again, I find myself wishing the lights were turned on so I could see the exact shade of pink and whether it extends all the way to her ears.

This shouldn’t happen. I already had my session with Liesel. I should be able to hold these useless impulses in for another few months. I gnash my teeth as frustration claws inside me. Fucking biology.

“I mean,” I mutter and clear my throat, “well, you know what I mean.”

She wets her plush lips and gnaws at her tempting bottom lip again. I want to tug it from her teeth with my fingers and soothe the bite marks. My nose flares and my breathing ratchets up.

Grace lets out a nervous chuckle as her chest seems to lift and fall in rapid succession. “Well, it’s not eight yet. So, you aren’t my boss.” She swallows and swipes her lip with her tongue again.

My eyes are glued to the motion, the way her lips glint under the soft light, looking so lush, so pink, so inviting. Dragging my eyes back to hers, I find her pupils dark. “You’re right about that.”

I shift my stance on the floor, thankful the space is dark so she can’t see the inappropriate bulge in my pants.

I’m going to regret this, but my mouth can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out.

“How about this? Outside of work, you can call me Steven, and I’ll give you a pass on all the crazy ideas from your mouth. ”

Her lips tip up into a bright smile and she nods before stepping forward, the sweet floral fragrance drifting to my nose again. I resist the urge to close my eyes and inhale deeply.

Grace extends her hand toward mine and says, “You got yourself a deal. And I’ll do you one better. Since you look like you’re a loner and don’t have any friends, I’ll even be your friend. I’ll be team Steven. ”

She smiles at me and my heart spasms. “Hi, I’m Grace Peyton, future financial rock star on Wall Street.” She throws me a wink, the beguiling gesture causing my heart to skip another beat, and I can’t stop the smile from appearing on my face.

“I’m Steven Kingsley, the King of motherfucking Wall Street,” I reply, and clasp her hand tightly in mine.

The simple touch sends a sharp jolt to my system, much more alarming than the boiling hot water in my shower or the chilly breeze of my colder than normal air conditioning.

But I ignore the warning bells in my mind as I stare at this alluring woman in front of me, watching her smile widening, the whites of her teeth blinding.

“Team Steven, huh?” I whisper, looking down at our hands.

I revel in how small her hand is compared to mine and now, standing a few feet from her, I realize she’s much shorter than me, completely at odds with her colorful personality, and my nostrils flare as I’m hit with another whiff of her intoxicating scent.

“Yep. We’re a team. You’re stuck with me now.”

I drop her hand and clench mine into a tight fist, wanting to keep the lingering warmth in my chilly palm.

“So, what now, friend? ” I ask, unable to stop the smile from seeping into my voice.

She gnaws on that plush lip of hers again, but this time, it doesn’t seem to be from nervousness. Her eyes take on a mischievous glimmer and she replies, “It’s my personal mission to make sure you get a life outside of work, friend.”

I arch my brow. “And how are you going to do that?”

She taps a finger on her chin as if she’s contemplating a flurry of ideas before responding, “Are you brave enough to enter a bet? A dare?” She matches my quirk of brow with a sardonic lift of hers, as if taunting me to say no.

My blood pumps loudly in my ears and my nerve endings sizzle with energy. A challenge. A Kingsley never backs down from a challenge. “ Don’t come crying when you lose,” I toss back at her. “What are we betting and what are the stakes?”

“Jamie and the gang are going to Lunasia after work on Thursday, so this is technically a work event. Word is out they’re going to try out the karaoke lounge next to the club.

I dare you to come and stand up in front of the room and sing us all a song.

” She grins gleefully at me, her feet bouncing on the floor.

She looks smug, and that smile on anyone but her would look condescending.

She waggles her brows again, as if saying, gotcha.

What the fuck. Me singing a stupid song in front of an audience?

No fucking way.

The blood slowly drains from my face.

Grace pauses, and adds, “Oh, and in order for this bet to be witnessed, I need to be there, so you also need to front me one hundred dollars.”

“For what?” I can’t keep the incredulity from leaking out of my voice.

She scrunches up her shoulders and sighs. “The cover is expensive, and I need to run to the store to pick up a top. They won’t let me in if I’m wearing this sweater or anything else I have at home.” She fiddles with the hem of the offending article of clothing again.

I narrow my eyes at her. Either she’s good at the hustle and I’m completely being played here or she really can’t afford to splurge on a top and the admission.

She adds, “Regretting it? It’s okay if you don’t want to bet. We can talk directly about the stakes. If I win, or if you forfeit, you need to listen to me for one day.”

“And what if I win?”

She smirks and straightens her shoulders. “I’ll do the same.”

“What about the one hundred dollars?”

“That’s the price of entering the bet. Take it or leave it,” she deadpans, and crosses her arms over her chest.

Tapping my fingers on the glass partition behind me, I stare at her in silence, my eyes sweeping over this she-wolf clad in a husky’s disguise, the petite Amazonian carrying a personality bigger and more unique than most people in this building.

Images of myself serenading my staff flash to the forefront, and I inwardly cringe.

But the lure of the challenge is too intoxicating and fuck it, I never back down from a bet. Keeping my eyes pinned on her, I curl my lips up and murmur, “Deal.”