Page 8 of Protecting Love

At six forty-five there shouldn’t be that many in the building, least of all the woman trailing floral pastures behind her as if she were a damn rose garden.

His hand released the door, his head nodded to Paris Westerly, then he took a sip of his coffee that he’d poured into his travel mug as he walked out after waking up Ian this morning.

Being summoned by his boss at nine last night to get here for a meeting at seven was never a good thing.

But hell, maybe it’d be a little exciting.

Anything to spice up what he was doing.

“Early start?” he asked. Not that he had a problem with the silence, but the way she was glancing at him said that she might want conversation.

He didn’t think he was that much of a dick. Not like his ex-wife liked to say.

The one who blamed him for her breaking their marriage vows. Something she’d done for years and he’d been too absorbed in his career to even notice.

Or maybe he just didn’t believe she’d cheat on him. More like didn’t want to believe it.

“Yeah. I need a fresh one after yesterday.”

He didn’t want to ask, but her bright blue eyes were staring, one eyebrow lifted and almost urging him to spill the words out before he could stop himself.

“Bad day?” he asked.

Paris blew a breath out, the minty scent carrying in the metal box climbing the floors.

“I’ve had better. But a bellyful of chocolate eased it for me. Not that I was thankful for that last night, but you know, take the good with the bad.”

“I’ll have to remember that if I have a bad day.”

She laughed. The sound sent tingles in nerve endings on his body that had been dead for two years. Since he’d discovered Lorraine had been sleeping around.

He’d kept his fucking promise, said he was going to retire at the end of the year, just letting her know things were on track.

Then weeks later, his world collapsed.

“Do you have bad days? I mean, I feel like your facial expressions never change. No one would know if you were happy, sad, angry, maybe even hungry.”

His eyes roamed over her from head to toe, then back up, not missing one detail from her black pumps that had clicked on the floor as she ran to the elevator, her black pants that were a snug fit to a smoking body full of long limbs and curves in the right places, to her blue sweater that made her eyes pop and brighten his morning.

Not that anyone would ever be privy to those thoughts.

“You’d be surprised what people know about me.”

“Well,” she said, tapping her chin. “You like coffee.”

He held his cup out. “What gave it away?”

“The fact you have one of them with you all the time. I bet there isn’t anything fancy in there.”

“Americano. I’m not a fancy fussy person.”

Because years on the job, black coffee was the easiest thing to get.

That fluffy shit full of cream and sugar was for wusses. Or teens.

Ian normally had one a day. And it wasn’t worth arguing with his kid about it either.

“I’m with you. Though I need cream in my coffee. I’d rather get my calories from food, not drink them.”