Twenty minutes after leaving work, I stood on the bottom step of a light brick office building that I would have passed right by if not for the GPS app on my phone. Even from the outside, this place was the polar opposite of Emerson & Taylor, with its nondescript sign and plain architecture.
I couldn’t help wondering if Oliver’s office followed the same design—or if he was here today.
Smoothing down the front of my dress, I walked up the steps and into the building. The lobby was nice, unsurprisingly reminding me of a hotel atrium with its ambient lighting and diamond-pattern carpet. Spotting the circular receptionist’s desk, I waited for the skinny guy behind it to finish the call he was taking before approaching.
“Welcome to Manning Hotel Group, do you have an appointment?”
“I’m actually picking up something for Margaret Emerson.”
He pulled his thick brows together. “What was your name?”
“Lizzie Connelly.”
As soon as I replied, his eyes widened in recognition, and he bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Ah, okay. I have you listed. Take the elevator.” He pointed to the two cars on the side of the lobby. “Go to the fifth floor, and when you get to the desk upstairs, just tell Danielle who you are.”
Patting his desk twice, I started toward the elevator as the phone began to ring. “Thanks.”
Smiling crookedly, he reached for the receiver. “Yeah, no problem.”
As I waited for the elevator, my own phone buzzed from inside my purse. I checked it as I rode the car to the fifth floor. I’d stupidly linked my work email to my device, and I cringed when I spotted the new message from Margaret with the subject line Tasks 10/17 & 10/18. Sighing, I dropped my phone back into my bag and waited for the doors to open.
I should’ve known the single task from the first email was too good to be true.
Stepping off the elevator, I came face-to-face with another receptionist’s desk. “Danielle?” I asked hesitantly, and, putting on an obligatory smile, the bespectacled brunette glanced up at me.
“Ms. Connelly?”
“Yes, that’s right. I was supposed to be picking up a—”
“It’s alright, Dani, she can come back with me.” My gaze lifted to a boyishly handsome man, whose head was poked around the corner. The receptionist gave me an encouraging nod, and I frowned as I walked behind the desk to join him in the next hallway. With a head of curly black hair that I was immediately envious of, he wasn’t incredibly tall, but I still had to tilt my chin back a little to look at him. “I’m Easton Campbell, head of IT.”
“So, I’m picking up a computer?”
His deep brown eyes crinkled as he laughed and shook his head. “Not exactly.” Walking ahead of me, he opened an office door on the right, and motioned me in. When I stepped through the doorway and into the large office, I froze.
Blue eyes that had haunted me for the past week and a half stared from behind a large, U-shaped mahogany desk. I let my gaze wander down slowly, feeling a pang in my chest when Oliver’s full lips stretched into a grin. My mouth was still hanging open when he looked past me and said, “Make sure you delete it from Margaret’s sent box.”
I heard a soft chuckle behind me. “Already taken care of,” Easton assured him. “Enjoy your lunch, boss.” Then a second later, the office door closed quietly behind him.
“What the hell is going on?” I finally managed, and Oliver stood from his desk. My eyes helplessly followed the motion, taking in his broad chest and powerful shoulders through his business suit. He walked in my direction, but just before he reached me, he stopped and gestured to the right of the room.
I twisted slightly to see a tiny, two-person dining set positioned between a mini fridge and a recliner. The tabletop was covered with takeout boxes. “I ordered us lunch.”
“The package for your mom...” But he shook his head, and I allowed myself to reevaluate the respectful way Margaret’s message was worded and what he’d said to his IT guy a couple minutes ago. “You sent me that email, didn’t you, Oliver?”
Walking across the room, he sat down at the dinette, his eyes burning into me. “Guilty. But the last thing I want to talk about is my mother. For the next hour, you’re all mine.” He motioned at the other chair and added, “Sit down.”
Pinching my lips together, I reached for the doorknob. “What if I turn around and leave?”
He dipped his head, drawing my attention to that ruffled light brown hair that was just begging to be touched, and a shiver coursed through my body. “Then I’ll consider you uninterested. The choice is yours.”
For what felt like the longest minute of my life, I stood completely still with my hand on the doorknob behind me. My heart pummeled my rib cage, my breathing sounded uneven and broken in my ears.
“Sit down, Lizzie,” he implored.
Before I knew what was happening, my legs moved me toward him. I settled into the chair and covered my knees with the hem of my dress. The moment I looked up from the tabletop and into his eyes, I instantly regretted it because his slow, conquering grin swallowed me whole.
Chapter 6
“Hope you like Mexican food.” Oliver’s smooth voice flowed over me, adding a few more butterflies to the ones already flitting erratically around my stomach. He worked the lids off the takeout containers and began piling two disposable plates with food.
Despite my nervousness, I inhaled deeply; the aroma of chicken tacos and rice was tantalizing enough to draw a sigh from me. “It smells incredible.”
“So do you.”
His eyes locked with mine, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away—Oliver Manning was hypnotic. He’d probably been hearing that his entire life from women and gossip columnists, yet he completely owned what he was. What he could do to a woman with the slightest jerk of his mouth.
What he could do to me.
“You look terrified,” he drawled.
I carved my hand through my hair, noticing the way his eyes carefully traced my movements. “Why do you say that?”
Setting my plate in front of me, he angled his head to one side. “You haven’t moved an inch since you sat down.”
I reached forward and grabbed a fork from the center of the table and removed it from its plastic wrapping. “That was about nine inches,” I declared, and he let out a low chuckle of amusement.
When his full lips parted, I was almost certain he was going to follow up with something absolutely naughty, but then he asked, “Thirsty?”
I nodded, observing him from beneath my lashes—finding it impossible to tear my gaze from his toned body as he strode to the refrigerator. Even the most unassuming task, like getting a drink, seemed ridiculously sexy when Oliver was performing it, and my pulse felt like it was going to race right out of my skin. I pretended to be more interested in sifting my fork through the rice on my plate, but it was obvious he knew I was watching.
I could tell from his enormous grin when he faced me.
Satisfaction drenching his husky voice, he told me, “I’ve got water, Coke, Dos Equis, and Oktoberfest.”
I cleared my throat. “Water, please?”
He returned to the table with a bottle of San Pellegrino and an Oktoberfest, which he placed beside his plate. Standing next to my seat, he twisted the top off my water before leaning over me. His face was close to mine. So close our noses skimmed. So damn close his mouth would claim mine if I moved even the slightest bit. And, dammit, I wanted to move.
Oliver Manning serving me—me—was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
“What?” I croaked.
“You. You’re beautiful,” he mused aloud, and I shivered when I felt his hands on mine. Breathing became a thing of the past as he wrapped my fingers one by one around the cold green bottle of water. “And you still look terrified out of your beautiful mind,” he added before standing straight.