She returns my smile—it’s more refined and understated than mine, but she’s British, and it counts. “Looking for you. This is your office? The security guard said it was on the other side of the building.”
Holy shit, she was looking for me!
“Did he?” I mean, he’s right. And my office is pretty sweet. It’s on the opposite corner with floor-to-ceiling windows, lots of space, and modern furniture.
But I’m not offering to take her there. Partly because, as a rule, I try not to be alone with beautiful women in my office unless we’re very clearly sticking to business. But also because there’s no way in hell I’ll make it across the floor with the semi in my pants.
Besides, as nice as my office is, Hudson’s is nicer.
“Why don’t you come inside?” I gesture for Genevieve to follow me into his office, making eye contact with his secretary. “Trish, hold my calls, will you?”
“You’re so bad,” she mouths.
I really am, aren’t I? I should probably feel guilty about it.
Spoiler: I don’t.
“Have a seat,” I say to Genevieve over my shoulder as I shut the double doors behind us. I have the same predator feeling I had when she was buckling herself into the passenger seat of my car.
She’s trapped. With me. Alone.
And since I’m a betting man, I’m putting a large wager on things getting naughty.
First, the niceties. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?” I ask, crossing the room toward her.
“A little late in the day for that, don’t you think?”
Fuck. What time is it anyway? “Scotch?”
“And too early for that.” She hasn’t taken a seat yet and instead is surveying my—I mean, Hudson’s—office. “It’s tea time, but I don’t reckon you have any scones and jam lying around, so I’ll pass, thank you.”
“Are you sure? I bet Trish could whip—”
She cuts me off before I have a chance to buzz the secretary. “No, please. I was teasing. I’m good.”
“You’re good,” I confirm, nervously. Because I am nervous. Because I’m trying to pull off my brother’s office as mine, for one reason. For other reasons too. Like, why-won’t-she-sit-down reasons? And oh-my-god-she’s-so-pretty reasons.
She’s much better at post-one-night-stand than I am it seems, because she’s the one to fill the awkward silence that has settled between us. “This is quite brilliant. I’m impressed.”
I’m not sure what she’s impressed with because I’m a disaster. My mouth is dry, my hands are clammy. Oh, she means the office. Of course. God, I want to just get past the small talk and onto the part where we take our clothes off and start playing Happy Businessman. Are there security cameras in here?
And what did Genevieve just say?
“I’m sorry. I’m having difficulty focusing. I’m too distracted by wondering why you wanted to see me.”
“I asked about the square footage, but that’s not my business and I should get to the point.” She looks so young right now, so innocent. I’d thought maybe twenty-five when I first met her. Now, even in her professional attire, I’d say she’s possibly younger.
It makes me feel more predatory. I watch her every move as she paces the room, ready to devour her.
Finally, she plops down in a chair facing Hudson’s desk and crosses one long leg over the other. Then she frowns. “I’m not sure how to begin.”
I don’t understand all she said, but man, do I understand that last bit. Having so little experience with repeats, I’m at a loss myself. Are we supposed to talk first? Just start going at it? Is she going to think this makes us a couple?
Does it?
So many questions. She has to be just as confused as I am.
You know what? This is new, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stick to a business model of operation. I’m going full disclosure.
Sitting on the edge of Hudson’s desk, I make my declaration. “You don’t need to say anything more. I was actually in the process of trying to find you myself.”
“You were?”
“I was.” God, it’s so sexy how she arches her brow like that. Full disclosure for the win. Maybe more of it will get me an even bigger reward. “Genevieve, I’m not usually like this, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about our night together. You’ve taken over my head like a drug, and I…”
I hesitate, not because I’m unsure, but because I’m surprised how sure I am. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d really love to see you again.”
“Oh.” She’s surprised too. It’s in her body language, in her tone of voice. “Oh,” she says again, more acceptant.
Acceptant, but it’s not really an answer. “I’m not sure if that’s a yes…?”
She sighs, her lips twisting before she responds. Then she says, “Would you be entirely offended if it’s not?”
Uh…“What?”
I heard her wrong. There’s no other option.
But now she’s brushing her hair behind her ear in a way that seems to mean I’m trying to be polite. “I had a lovely time with you, Chandler.” Because, duh. “But I’m not interested in a date.”
Ah! This makes more sense. She’s not looking for a relationship. Neither am I—I don’t think.
I’ll clarify. “You misunderstood me. A date wasn’t what I was interested in either. I was thinking more like a replay.”