Stepping out of the elevator, I have to admit, I really like the sight of Kiara sitting at Devon’s desk.
She glances up, then a stunning smile spreads over her face. I take in the soft curls falling over her shoulders.
She let her hair down.
My heart constricts, and there’s a weird sensation in my gut.
Jesus, I have a crush on the woman. Like a fucking teenager.
My worry about the damn Sicilians takes a back seat, and I almost chuckle at the thought, then say, “Morning, already hard at work?”
She nods, none of the awkwardness I was starting to get used to on her face. “I should be done by lunch. How many do you need me to print?”
“Eight.” Stepping closer, my eyes drink in her beautiful features, then lowers to the silk top she’s wearing. Looking for a reason to keep talking to her, I ask, “Are you still happy you started working here?”
“I really enjoy the work.”
That’s good.
“Are you born and raised in Chicago?”
Personal questions, Liam?
Kiara’s smile grows, drawing my attention to her glossy lips that look biteable. “Yes. I live in Palos Hills.”
What?
When I frown, Kiara hurries to say, “But I’m saving up to move into a better apartment.”
“Good.” I’m hit with a protective wave for the woman, and it has me asking, “And your parents?”
She stares at me for a moment, making me feel the question was too personal, but then she answers, “My mom’s a cleaner at a nursing home, and my dad… ah, he’s in sales.”
“Do you still live with them?”
Liam, why not just ask her to write down everything personal? You’re crossing the line.
Kiara shakes her head. “My parents never married. My mom has a studio apartment near me, though.”
I can’t stop myself from saying, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Sir.
Get to fucking work, Liam.
When I start to walk down the hallway, Kiara asks, “Can I bring you coffee?”
I pause to actually consider it and then find myself nodding. “One sugar, no cream.”
“Yes, sir.”
Christ.
Walking into my office, I shrug out of my suit jacket and hang it up before taking a seat at my desk. The second I switch on my laptop, I find myself sending an email to HR requesting Kiara’s personnel file.
With a ton of work waiting for me, I lean back in my chair, unable to tear my thoughts away from the woman who has me in knots.
This has never happened.
At thirty-nine, I resigned myself to life as a bachelor.
The second the email comes through, I dart forward and open the attached file.
Kiara Murphy. Twenty-four.
Fuck.
There’s one hell of an age gap between us.
A knock at my door has me closing the document. “Come in.”
My eyes lock onto Kiara the instant she steps into my office. She sets the coffee down, then gives me an expectant look.
Oh, she’s waiting to hear what I think.
My gaze lowers to the beverage, and I wait for the usual feeling of disgust to come. But it doesn’t.
Picking up the cup, I stare at the black fluid a moment longer, then take a cautious sip. When it tastes exactly the way I like it, the corner of my mouth lifts.
I set the coffee down, and meeting Kiara’s eyes, say, “Another job well done. Careful, though. I’ll expect coffee every morning.”
A happy smile explodes on her face, robbing me of my ability to breathe.
Jesus.
“I don’t mind. I’m glad you like it.” Too soon, she turns around, leaving my office.
Turning my attention back to the beverage, I take another sip. My lips curve wider, then I shake my head at myself.
Get to work, asshole.
Forcing myself to focus, I bring a contract up. Time starts to slip away until my office phone rings.
Seeing it’s Kiara’s line, I answer, “Yes?”
“I have a Mr. Gordon on the line for you.”
“I’m in the middle of something. Take a message for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir.
The image of Kiara in my bed, moaning that word, flashes through my mind.
I have to close my eyes when a burst of desire hits, making me harden at the speed of light.
Fuck, at this rate, I’m not going to get much work done.
