“I was going to grab some lunch,” she says. “Would you like anything?”
“No.” The word comes out colder than I anticipated, and I notice her wince. I should try to be nicer, but having someone in my space is new to me. Perhaps in a week or so, I’ll get used to her. But right now, her fucking perfume has intoxicated me, and I can’t stop thinking about tasting it on her smooth, creamy skin.
“Okay.”
“I told you not to wear that godforsaken perfume again,” I grit through clenched teeth just as she walks away from me. Her body goes rigid. She stops, and I notice her small hands fisting at her sides before she glares at me from over her shoulder.
“I forgot. I woke up in a good mood because I was excited to come to my first day at a new job. But since you’ve decided to talk to me like I’m nothing more than shit under your shoes, perhaps I should find something else.”
I don’t say anything as she marches angrily down the hallway to the office. Moments later, she passes me with her purse and laptop bag. She doesn’t say anything, not even a fucking goodbye.
The door slams seconds later, and then silence meets me. It slaps me in the face as a reminder of the last time I was left alone. When my wife walked out and never returned. All that did come from her were regretful memories.
Shit.
Rushing to the door, I snag the handle and tug it open with a whoosh. Nea is already halfway down the drive, and I have to run after her to catch her. The moment I reach her, I grab her arm, spinning her on her heels. Under the leafy drive, I take her in. The gentle sunlight streams through the canopy overhead, making her eyes shimmer like gemstones, and the memory of the painting hits me square in the chest.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. I never apologize. I’ve never needed to because everyone who knows me knows I’m an asshole. I make no apologies for it because it’s who I am, and I’m not going to change anytime soon. What’s the saying? "You can’t teach an old dog new tricks”?
“Sorry for?” she asks, tipping her head to the side and folding her arms across her chest, which immediately catches my attention. The soft, luscious mounds of her tits tease me from the neckline of her blouse.
Clearing my throat, I lift my gaze to hers. “For being an asshole. You’ll have to get used to it because it’s just who I am.”
“I’ve met assholes, and then there’s you,” she bites out, her confidence making my body turn hot with the need to spank her pert little ass. God, I’d love to have her bent over in front of me. “Are you even listening to me?”
Her gritted question slaps me back to reality. “What?”
“Ugh,” she growls, and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. I want so badly to kiss her, to touch her skin, to feel if it’s as silky-smooth as it looks. I notice she doesn’t have any makeup on, and I can’t help but admire that her beauty is natural. Jesus, I need to get laid.
“I just need help with the gallery,” I tell her, trying to keep the conversation away from my errant thoughts.
Chapter 8
Nea
I want to say no.
I want to refuse him and tell him where to shove his gorgeous gallery, but when I look into his eyes, I see the agony clearly breaking him inside. I’ve known pain, I’ve known loss, and I see that in his expression as he peers down at me.
When my mother died, all I wanted to do was crawl into a hovel and die along with her. I wanted to go with her and not come back. I couldn’t understand how people kept telling me to live my life, to move on. How the fuck do you come back from losing someone who was your world?
“Fine.” I nod. “But there has to be ground rules.” My voice is filled with confidence, but it wavers the second I see Julian’s eyes glint with emotion that grips my heart right in my chest.
“I never liked rules,” he tells me, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to lean in and kiss me. It’s like those movie scenes when a man finally goes after the woman he loves and steals her lips with his. And the music plays over them as they embrace.
But this isn’t a movie.
And Julian’s my boss, not my lover.
“Well, if you can’t abide by a few, then I will leave,” I tell him, my body trembling as I think about having to find another job. This wasn’t a good record. One day and I’m already wanting to walk out. I handled Flavio. Why can’t I just deal with Julian? Perhaps it’s because I think he’s deliciously tempting, and I want nothing more than for him to bend me over his desk and have his wicked way with me.
“What are they?” he asks, breaking through my lust-filled thoughts. The way his dark eyes are piercing me, I wonder briefly if he can read my mind. If he heard the filthy thoughts I’d been having about him.
“Well, since you asked. Firstly, we should be able to greet each other in the morning. Secondly, my perfume isn’t offensive in the least, so if you have an actual reason for me not to wear it, like you’re allergic, then tell me. And thirdly, if you ever talk to me like I’m nothing but a nuisance in your home, I will walk out.”
He just stares at me. Not even his mouth twitches. I was convinced he would laugh or something, but there’s no fucking reaction from him as he bears down his glare on me.
“This is the first and only time I will cower to you,” he tells me, the confidence in his tone causing a tremble to shoot through me. “I run my gallery the way I see fit. And yes, I’m not the easiest person to be around, but I have rules as well, like my employees obeying my requests.”
My brows shoot together. “Requests and demands are two completely different things. Perhaps you should look them up,” I bite out, spin on my heel, and walk toward the gate. I’m so angry, my hands are trembling so much, I know if I were holding anything, I’d drop it. Thankfully, my laptop bag is slung over my shoulder, or that would certainly be on the ground.
“Be back after lunch,” Julian shouts at me, but I don’t turn to look at him. I’m far too infuriated right now, and I know if I cast a glance his way, my resolve would falter. I just need time to breathe. I need to be far away from him and his nice-smelling cologne and his stupid handsome face.
Reaching the main road, I stop, looking around, taking in every store close by. When my gaze lands on a small coffee shop, I make my way toward it. Perhaps a sugary-sweet latte would help calm me the hell down.
After placing my order, I stroll down the street to the park I glimpsed earlier, and settle on a bench with my drink and a muffin. The double chocolate will not be good for my waistline, but when I’m angry, I tend to binge on sweet treats. Tomorrow morning, I’ll wake up early and go for a run, I think to myself as I bite into the fluffy confection.
I’ve never been so annoyed, so goddamned irritated at someone. Julian is a special breed of brooding asshole and sexy Adonis. It’s infuriating because even though I have to be angry at how he spoke to me, I can’t be. He doesn’t want to lose me, clearly, but he also needs to learn I’m not a pushover. If you treat me right, I’m a loyal employee. But I don’t stand for being spoken to like I was.
Once I finish the muffin, I pick up the cup and head back toward the house. I don’t rush; I take my time, meandering down the drive, taking in the flowers lining the long path toward the door.